
Table of Contents

Contents

My Warden

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

My Templar

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Ninteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

My Hope

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Ninteeen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

My Future

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Epilogue

# _My Warden_

After six years in Kirkwall, Cullen never thought he'd see the mighty Hero of Ferelden ever again until one night when she appeared unannounced in his room requesting him to help her track down a dangerous blood mage. Can he come to terms with his unrequited love while traveling across thedas and into the Deep Roads? Or could she be the start of thawing his hatred of mages?

## Chapter One

**Surprise**

_This is madness. I shouldn't be here._ Cullen repeated the thought while watching a drunkard attempt to open the door to the Hanged Man, except the man missed by about six feet and was currently yanking upon the shutters. Either he would abandon hope, or climb in through the window. Cullen felt naked without his templar armor, having scrounged through a found box for a worn tunic and a disquieting pair of pants. How long had it been since he last wore them? The tug across this thighs felt a fresh betrayal of the order with each pace. He should abandon this foolish plan, return to the Gallows, to his room, and forget that he even saw her.

It wasn't the first time he found an unexpected woman waiting for him in his room. The initial one was a prank from some of the other templars, which still gave him a headache to think upon. They paid one of the lady's from the brothel to sneak into the Knight-Captain's quarters and wait for him. When he confronted them later they insisted it was a gift, but as Cullen tried to get her to leave without melting through the floor, the Knight-Commander happened to walk by. Pure coincidence of course, there was no possible way the conspirators had anything to do with her interference. By the Maker's mercy, Meredith drew almost no attention to the half-naked woman sitting upon his bed. She only said that whatever she came for could wait for another time, and then gently reminded him of the visitor policy.

The next time Cullen opened his door late at night and saw the silhouette of a woman outlined by the waning moonlight, he would not be taken by unawares. Sighing, he shook his head, and mumbled, "I am sorry, but you've been brought here under false pretenses. I have no interest in any of your, um, _talents_."

"Oh? That's a shame, I do have many." The mystery woman turned to face him and Cullen's knees gave out. If it weren't for the table he hooked an elbow on, his body would have smashed to the ground. Six years took a toll on those from Ferelden, no one involved in the blight escaped its wrath unscathed, but she still radiated an ethereal glow beyond a mortal beauty. Even before she became everyone's hero, Cullen couldn't take his eyes off a vibrancy that floated off her. By the lone candle flickering on his desk, Cullen could only see the supple cheek risen in a cocky smile and one eye glittering in mischief.

"I...you, no. I can explain. There was a prank that, um..." he stampeded through a thousand different explanations while rubbing his hands across the desk that saved him. Maker, how were his gloves already dripping with sweat?

She only smiled and placed a delicate hand upon her soft hip, drawing his attention to a form he should not reflect upon. "A prank? Must have been interesting."

"It was childish and I...should not be telling, I doubt you care." Sucking in a breath, Cullen steadied himself and asked properly, "What brings you here, Lady Amell?"

Her smile dipped for a moment and she tugged upon her mage robes. They were not the blue and silver of the wardens; she still wore something similar to what was used in the circle though with a silverite sheet of chainmail over top. "I require the help of a templar. Someone in Kirkwall to assist me with a mission."

Cullen nodded, that made sense of a kind, but did not explain why she'd need sneak around to his room like a common bandit to ask for it. People would have greeted her gladly with open arms, especially the mages who held up the Hero of Ferelden as if she was their personal accomplishment. "Do you wish to speak with the Knight-Commander? I can go and get her..." He wanted to kick himself for laying out the option, as if he feared her presence so he needed a chaperon.

Her lips pursed as she glanced around the walls. Lowering her voice, she said, "This is a delicate matter, and I need someone I can trust."

Through the concern at her secrecy, pride swelled in him. She trusted him? Even now after all that occurred at the tower? It seemed too much to believe. "For what purpose?"

But she shook her head, "Not here, meet me at the...oh, what is that tavern called? The Stretched Man? I'm sure you know what I mean."

"Why can't you tell me?"

She wound a scarf across her lips and pulled up the hood of her cloak, blanketing her features behind a mask of fabric. "I will remain at the tavern for two days. If you do not appear within that time I shall make the journey alone." Without leaving behind footsteps, she moved towards the door. Cullen had no idea how she, a mage, intended to leave the Gallows unseen, but she had somehow gotten into his room without raising an alarm.

"Lady Amell..." he tried to reach out to stop her, but she turned her head to him. Only the glow of those intoxicating eyes were visible through her disguise.

"Two days," she repeated. "And, given the circumstance, I think you can call me Lana."

He spent the night waffling from an attempt at sleep to pacing through his quarters trying to determine why she of all people would track him down. What could the Hero of Ferelden possibly need from a solitary templar in Kirkwall? As the day carried on, Cullen went from refusing her offer outright, to excitement at the prospect, to curiosity, to confusion, and then landed at dread. Meredith seemed to sense a change in her second-in-command, her crisp eyes watching him from across the yard and calling to him more than was usual. After the day's duties were finished, Cullen lost two hours sitting in his room. Prayer should have calmed him, or perhaps brought sense to his fevered mind, but when he'd turn his head he'd still see her silhouette staring out his window. She came for him and no one else.

"Andraste, preserve me," Cullen whispered as he opened up the door to the Hanged Man. He'd attended to this establishment in the past, always under official means and usually with backup in tow. Now, in plain clothes and mostly unarmed, the denizens did not even bother to look up from their drinks at the recent addition. Two men were arguing about the nature of heroism in the corner, a deep discussion plumbing the depths of human nature only the truly besotted ever reach. Further in, towards the back row of benches, a man was engaged in his own rabid theory with whoever would listen. In this case he managed to entrap only one within his web of ramblings. Cullen could only see the man's fiery face, the nose and cheeks distended from drink as he banged his fist against the table in emphasis.

"I bet that Hero of Ferelden didn't even fight no archdemon."

"No!" His singular audience was turned away from Cullen so he could only see her back, a scarf knotting up her hair.

"She couldna, because there wasn't no archdemon."

"Really?"

"Sure as shit," the man burped, then took another drink. "I's all Ferelden tryin'a get us to feel sorry for 'em for Orlais, but we dinna need to pull that kinda shit when we threw 'em out. They're wanting to pull a fa't one over our eyes. But I'm on to 'em, on to 'em all. No blight, ain't had one in four hundred years. Why have one now? And it finishing up so soon. Can't be."

"Fascinating," she continued, the softest laugh in her voice.

Cullen clapped the conspiracy theory man on the shoulder, drawing his bloated attention. "I believe you've had enough."

"Sod off!" the man shouted, then jerked a mug to his beautiful audience. "I got company here."

Cullen glanced towards Lana, "Should we speak privately?"

She smiled and nodded, but the drunk man wasn't about to give up easily. "Hey! Tha's not your decision to be making there, bud." The man tried to rise out of his chair, but his shoes slipped in the special on tap, causing his elbow to smack against the table. Cursing haphazardly, he shook his fist at Cullen and shouted, "That'll cost ya!"

Somehow, Cullen never found himself engaged in a bar brawl before, most mages wise enough to keep their fireballs away from combustible liquor and accidental backdraft. He readied his fists to dodge the attack, but he needn't have bothered. Still smiling, Lana waved her fingers and parted the fade. The man's eyelids drooped and his body fell slack, the chin smacking into the table was punctuated by snores. It was so subtle, Cullen could only taste the lingering burn of mana by concentrating upon her. To everyone else, it appeared as if the drink finally took hold.

Solona wrapped her hand upon his arm and molded her body around him. He tipped his head up, doing his damnedest to not smell her earthy and lilac scent. The heat of her body racing up his arm was impossible to escape. She giggled and in a breathy voice whispered, "Let's move somewhere more private, shall we?"

Cullen could only bob his head, terrified of the squeak that might tumble out if he spoke. She guided the pair of them while giving the impression he was leading her into a back room. Beds stacked two high filled the area, but no one filled them despite the late hour. The Hanged Man kept its own strange hours. Lana closed the door, then waved her hand across it again. "There, no one will be getting through that," she said and unknotted the scarf around her hair. Despite sharing the same lineage as Hawke, they bore almost no likeness - the Champion all sharp lines and cutting cheeks to go with her brand of wit, while the Hero of Ferelden was a supple wholesomeness with a round face, full lips, and bemused eyes all making her appear younger than seemed possible. The only trait they shared was the raven black hair, hers short and braided in sections around her face.

"You know, you're rather good at playing dumb," Lana said, dropping into a chair at the lone table.

"I...what?"

"With the drunk, I nearly thought it would come to blows myself."

"Ah, yes," Cullen massaged the back of his neck, happy to pretend that he was fully anticipating her interceding. "Why did you let him speak those lies to you?"

"If I'd called him out on it, I'd have blown my cover. What little there is here. I did not anticipate so many Fereldens in Kirkwall," she frowned.

"But to treat the blight as if it were a lie. Why would anyone fake the destruction of the darkspawn?"

"People'd rather chase ghosts than admit to evil in the world. It does not bother me, I know the truth. I lived the..." she shook her head to blot away a frown and continued, "there are greater beasts to slay. Have you come to hear me out, or...?" she gestured to the chair opposite her, but Cullen continued to stand.

"I need to know, this favor you ask of me, will it go against the order or the vows I have taken?" He feared just how far he'd go for her if she but asked, but turning his back on the templars, on his duty, and spitting in the eye of what he swore upon would go against everything inside of him.

She smiled, "I'm afraid I'm not current on all the vows a templar takes, but on the surface this is a rather simple request. So no, I would not ask more of you than what you are willing to give."

"What is it, then? Why do you need a templar?"

Reaching into her pocket, she unearthed a bottle. Red liquid pulsed at the bottom of the crystal glass, stoppered in the seal of the Templars. It was a phylactery. Cullen turned from the bottle back to her and she said, "I need you to help me track down a blood mage."

"I..." now he sagged into the chair, his fingers reaching towards the phylactery. She dropped her own hand away, letting him touch it. He hadn't done the hunting aspect of being a templar often; most of his commanders keeping him back at the tower to watch over their charges, but there were some things one never forgot. Closing his eyes, Cullen ensnared his hand around the vial of blood and concentrated. The hair along his arm stood on end, and he felt a tug towards the west, the phylactery guiding him towards the original supplier of the blood.

"Why not bring this to Meredith or Gregoir?" he asked.

She frowned, "Gregoir is...getting on in years. We speak, but I heard he has plans to move to Denerim." She paused and stared through him. They both knew what that meant, moving a templar away from the circle back to the chantry meant he was no longer of sound mind to serve. Lyrium took its toll. "Regardless, the mage I'm chasing is in the Free Marches, and I...the fact is, the matter is delicate."

"Yes, you said as much in my room."

"I do not know Meredith." She chose her words carefully. She was the Hero of Ferelden, defeater of the blight, and Arlessa of Amaranthine. But she was also a mage, under more scrutiny than an average person of nobility. Someone of that background who openly questioned the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall could find herself in a dangerous situation. "But," Lana reached over, her fingers skimming across the tops of his. Her touch radiated a warmth into him, causing the phylactery to pulse harder, tugging him even more into the west. "I trust you."

"You..." Cullen swallowed, "you do?" He only saw her once after the archdemon fell and the blight ended, when she was being paraded up and down the street along with the other heroes of the day. Cullen stood with the revelers, ordered to watch the mages that fought in the war. Were they some of the ones who survived the slaughter of his friends by luck or by siding with Uldred then switching sides? He had no time for the festivities flooding Denerim, he didn't want to celebrate anyway. The world might have been spared yet he cared not one whit. But when she passed, he couldn't help but watch her pinned up on the back of a horse, decorated as their hero. She wore a smile and waved, but it looked pinned on, her eyes blinking rapidly to maintain the illusion.

Lana slid the phylactery out of his hands and twisted it around, watching the blood convalesce in the glass, "This is no simple blood mage, as I am certain you guessed. He is a grey warden who...summoned a demon and nearly destroyed his entire order. There were bodies...I need not tell you what destruction blood mages can cause. I've been tasked with finding and stopping him." Her fingers closed around the phylactery, and she bore into his eyes, "I trust you, because I know you despise malifecarum, your reasons to hate them. I do not need a soft heart for this, I need a strong arm."

A voice screaming in the distance. His friend? He couldn't tell anymore. All the voices sounded the same. Sounds of teeth shredding apart muscle, a crunch of bone, more screams, then silence. Blood dripped down his face, but he didn't look up, couldn't watch the demon finish off what had once been a person.

Cullen shook off the memory, and nodded his head at her, "Then you shall have it."

## Chapter Two

**The Bronto**

He'd never been so close to a bronto before, and he'd have died a grateful old man if he never had to know the experience. The beast snorted at the impotent human clinging limply to his bridle, and sprayed thick mucus across Cullen's back. Yellow as curd, most of it slopped off to the ground. His fingers tried to wipe the rest off, giving him an up close view of the snot as well as the revolting smell. Visions of slicing the creature from neck to navel flashed through his mind. How easy it would be to unearth his sword and send the clearly miserable animal back to where it belonged -- serving demons in the void.

"Ha! I think ol' George here likes ya," the woman sitting primly in the driver seat called out.

"Quite," Cullen muttered. George's eel-like tongue lolled out of his gaping mouth and slurped up the remaining mucus. It seemed an innocuous move save the lone beady eye that stared through Cullen. He caught the message 'I despise you and will do all in my power to make your life hell.' Unfortunately, Cullen was stuck in the same position as the creature, but with the added bonus of bronto snot dribbling down the back of his pants.

Lana walked further ahead of their miniature trade caravan. Using her staff as a walking stick, she'd break ahead to spy on potential dangers, then return to report to him. Or, seeing as the only eventful moment of their day long march involved bronto sneezes, she'd check in, politely sympathize, then ask about the phylactery. She trusted him to carry it wrapped in his pocket, but every half hour she'd slip back and want to see it to make sure the templar didn't accidentally sit on it or something. He'd find it annoying if it didn't also give him an excuse to speak with her.

"Know that I find you insufferable and would rather suffer a meal of gristly bronto stew than drag your carcass across thedas," Cullen whispered to George. The bronto snorted a fresh round, but the crafty human dodged out of the way this time.

"You findin' yourself a friend too there?" the driver asked. Mentally, he changed her name to 'the sitter' seeing as how he was doing all the driving of the beast while she vaguely pointed in a direction from her prim spot atop the wagon. Lana hired them from some small hamlet on the outskirts of Kirkwall. He'd hoped they'd find their own horses, but she thought traveling with company would be better advised.

"Yes, it's delightful," Cullen tried to lie, his face stone. One could hew a quarry with the sneer.

He heard a snicker from further ahead, and turned to catch Lana standing on the hill. Her hand shielded her eyes as she watched him try and play nice with their unexpected companions. A burn inched up his legs from her attention, aiming for his cheeks. Maker, he was better than this. He was no longer some flippant young man reduced to babbling tears from the approving glance of a...no, no he was still that bad. The steel in his spine melted like wax at her innocuous smile. Twisting around to face the sitter, Cullen patted the bronto's nose hoping Lana missed the red burning up his cheeks.

"Gettin' too much sun there, boy? Not surprising, yer as white as one of them undead types. You ever go outside?" the sitter shouted in her amplified brogue to anyone within a five mile radius.

"I, uh..." His work kept him in the shadows of the statues looming over all who passed through the gallows. At least he didn't wear the helmet. Most templars suffered a familiar strip of darkened flesh across their eyes from the helmet's slit. It made them instantly recognizable anywhere outside the gallows.

"It's not often we have Grey Wardens traveling with us," one of the other wanders pipped up. This one was young, in that not quite a man nor a boy stage. His eyes drifted down Cullen's armor. No, it was her armor, he was just the one wearing it. Not that he was wearing the armor she wore, that would be, uh...not a prudent thought to have. It was some warden set Lana unearthed from her belongings in the damned tavern. "Templars would draw too much attention on the back paths. I don't want to alert White early. And people tend to offer assistance to Grey Wardens."

"Then why do you wear none?"

"Grey Warden mages are the exception. If anyone asks, I'm a scribe of yours moving with you to Adament."

So while the real Grey Warden slipped in and out of the periphery, Cullen played the part and did a Maker-awful job of it. It did not help that the chest plate pinched his sides, and the hem of the pants cut off at his lower calf, exposing most of his shins to the switch grass. _Who was this armor designed for, an emaciated dwarf?_

The sitter squared up, twisting the limp reins in her hands, "Nice to have a bit of protection on this run, especially from the Grey Wardens."

"When they're around, so are darkspawn," the third traveller spoke. He wore more leather than seemed wise given the heat, and kept a hat tugged so far over his eyes he was doomed to walk blindly into bronto dung. Dipping in and out of the shadows when possible, the man put Cullen in mind of the apprentice mages who learned just enough of a fire spell when attempting to show off to set their bed clothes aflame.

"Hold yer tongue, Martin," the sitter chided, "don't you go invoking those horrible creatures name here."

"At least our esteemed Grey Warden will warn us if we're in any danger. That is how it works, right?" Martin turned his snake grin on Cullen and eyed him up and down. Cullen tried to not turn back to the real Grey Warden skipping over the dunes, so he patted the damn bronto instead.

"Who was the last one we traveled with, Ser...Something?" the sitter continued.

"Ser Branaugh," Martin said, while picking at a strap haphazardly thrown over the wagon full of --probably illegal -- goods bound for Orlais.

"Aye, that was it. Nice chap. Did those bandits up a treat."

"He had no troubles steering the bronto, either," Martin continued, his gaze cutting deeper into Cullen's skin, "and he was handsomer, too."

"Oh no, no...well," the sitter attempted to come to Cullen's rescue, then backed down instantly. "He did have that thick rugged hair, and those sparkling blue eyes. Like crystal ponds they were."

His fingers tugged on the bridle, almost dragging the beast's head with him while the sitter rhapsodized about Ser Branaugh - the most dashing Grey Warden in all of thedas. The chantry needed to rewrite some of their history seeing as how the sun itself rose and fell from Ser Branaugh's backside. It was a wonder he did not defeat the blight with just his radiant smile.

"Getting along?" Lana's sweet voice caused Cullen to jump clean out of his borrowed boots. _Sweet Andraste, did she hear all that?_ It burned his heart to wonder where her opinion stood in the 'how did Cullen's looks rank amongst traveling Grey Wardens' discussion. The mages would have them often, debating the attractive merits of each templar, some going so far as to draw up charts and lists. It did nothing to the ego to stumble across one and find you fell somewhere in the middle.

"Yes, it's...we're fine," his voice jumped an octave before settling back down. Martin glared a bit more before sliding towards the end of the cart. _That's right, disappear back into your hole_. Cullen thought, sneering in the unimpressed man's wake.

If Lana noticed it, she paid it no heed. With one hand she patted the bronto's nose, trifling her fingers through a strip of white hair. With the other she reached close to Cullen's pocket. "Are we still on the right path?"

He dipped in for the phylactery, not that he needed to bother. That close to his skin he could feel the pull of the blood without needing to concentrate. It was a difficult sensation to describe to non-templars, a bit like a book needing to return to its proper place. You could set it down on a different shelf or another table entirely, but the world felt wrong until it was returned home. Lightly thumbing his finger across the glass, he nodded his head, "Yes, it still feels west, but..."

"What is it?"

"No matter how far we move, the distance never decreases."

She puckered her full lips together in thought before speaking, "He could be keeping pace with us."

"Then we should move quicker than him, and abandon this...caravan of horrors."

Lana giggled at his shudder, and it was so sweet Cullen's bad mood broke - at least for a breath. "They provide excellent cover, and..." she leaned closer into him, placed her hand upon the blue linen stretched over his upper arm, and whispered, "someone in the caravan likes you."

"What?"

She didn't explain, only lifted her eyebrow in conspiracy and smiled brighter. _How did she seem to be enjoying this? Was it a fresh delight in traveling incognito as an average Ferelden and not the conquerer of the blight, or did she find a perverse joy in his discomfort?_ Maker knew plenty of other mages got their jollies from trying to make his life miserable and mages had more ample means than the average person. Even the word prank made his teeth grind. All he wanted was to find this blood mage, finish the job, and return to the Gallows. Meredith was less than pleased with his request for a sabbatical, and suspicious of his need for no other templars to accompany him. But Cullen had proven himself for five years in her stead. If she could not trust him, who could she? The city was quiet, surprisingly, having fallen into a summer stupor silencing the eternal templar versus mage debates. Plus, it now had a Champion to look over it. One measly templar missing for a week would not go noticed.

"Wait a moment," Cullen stumbled in his steps. He reached deeper into his pocket, trying to unearth the phylactery. Upon skin contact he knew with certainty what he'd felt in his gut; the direction had changed. "It's moved," he whispered to Lana.

"Where?"

Cullen closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the vague feelings crawling up his skin, but the message was muddled. He whipped his head around, trying to scour the landscape of little more than farmland followed by untamed thickets of trees. "This makes no sense. He should be here, right here. The direction keeps altering from east to west, even north or south. I don't understand."

He'd expected her to look as concerned as he felt, but she only rolled her eyes and sighed, "I feared as such. Well, you have your wish. We'll need to be leaving the caravan."

"What? I don't understand."

She smiled, and patted George again, "Don't look a gift bronto in the mouth." Then, raising her voice to the sitter, she said, "I'm afraid the Grey Warden has sensed a darkspawn nest that must be destroyed for the sake of the local populace and his duty to the order. You'll have to carry on alone. We thank you for your hospitality."

"Oh, that's a real shame," the sitter said. "But we understand. Don't want those filthy creatures chasin' after us and givin' us all the blight. Your time and company was much appreciated!"

Lana slipped her hand around Cullen's arm and guided him away from the wagon. He tried to rein in his slack jaw, but the relief was tempered by confusion. As the travelers pulled away, it was Martin of all people who looked back at him with a strange sorrow and then winked. Returning to the Gallows had never sounded more enticing.

"I do not understand..." he began, expecting Lana to remain watching the caravan rattle off. But she tossed off her own facade of bumbling scribe, strength shoring up her bones as she strode towards the north.

"The reason the phylactery keeps changing position is because our blood mage is below us," she explained over her shoulder.

Cullen jogged to keep up, trying to close the gap between them. He had no idea she could move so quickly. "Are you saying that..."

"Yes," she stopped and turned around, "he's in the Deep Roads." Lana frowned, and placed both hands on her hips. "Cullen, I can't ask you to follow me. The Deep Roads are not safe to travel, they barely are during a blight much less so many years after."

"And you expect me to let you walk through it alone." He couldn't believe what she was saying. After all that time she took collecting him, to abandon him now a days walk outside of Kirkwall.

Lana only shrugged, "I've done it before."

"Maker!"

"I prefer to have someone watching my back, but you will not be able to sense the darkspawn the way I can, and you will not be..." she reached over and caught his hand. Her eyes pleaded through a pain he couldn't read. With her thumb, she massaged the back of his hand -- the intimacy throwing Cullen off guard, "the blight could kill you."

"This blood mage, he is dangerous?"

"Very much so," she said, still clinging to him.

"Then it is my duty as a templar to stop him, blight or no."

Lana's bittersweet smile plucked upon a dangerous string in his heart, but she didn't fight him on his decision. Releasing his hand, she nodded her head and said, "As you wish. Now we just have to find an entrance into the Deep Roads."

"That should not be too difficult, follow the darkspawn?"

Lana frowned, her nose crinkling in disgust, "I'd prefer to avoid them if at all possible. Luckily, I set out with maps of the area. We should establish a camp and rest up, there will be little sleeping once we're in the deep."

## Chapter Three

**Rabbit**

At least she didn't laugh at him. That was Cullen's only saving grace as he struggled to skin the rabbit he'd more blundered into than snared. They had stores, but Lana thought the coney might serve them better for the night while the rest was preserved for the deep roads. He wondered how long she thought this chase would last.

"Do you need help?" she asked, her voice airy even as she watched him like a hawk that would have made a cleaner job of disemboweling the rabbit.

"No," Cullen knee jerked, then regretted it instantly as his knife skidded across fatty tissue and bit deep into muscle. Blood welled across the rabbit's fur, marking another failure on his part. "You already gathered water and started the fire. This seems the least I could do."

"Well," she twisted her fingers around the jumbled wood pile. From her machinations, the metallic twang of the fade danced upon Cullen's tongue. Flames licked higher off the kindling, twisting not with the wind but her whims. "This part was a bit of cheating. It was about all I could add to traveling for...a depressingly long time. Have you ever dressed a rabbit before?" She turned from the fire to watch him, her eyes burning a hole through every poor cut he made.

"Yes...though not since I was young." And even then most people would chase him away from any butchering, terrified of what remained to work with after he hacked away at it. There was a good reason he never planned on the farming life. "What of you? Not many opportunities to learn how to skin your own game in the tower."

She smiled, "I am uncertain of that. Have you seen the size some of the spiders could reach? You could hollow a few out and make a nice rowboat." Cullen laughed with her from the memory. Neither mage nor templar found the source of the giant arachnids swarming through the crawlspaces of Kinnloch. It was a rare coming together moment for both sides as they decided to wall up the area and never speak of it again. "But, aside from pest control, the tower did not prepare me much for life outside it. Imagine. So, I picked up what I could here and there. It's better you're doing it, actually. I'd have sliced my thumb open by now."

"Oh, well, that's..." he giggled at her admittance, and tried to bite down the blush crawling up the back of his neck. A spider would have been preferable. Lana must have missed his discomfort as she returned to the fire, weaving it through her fingers like a strip of grass. "Here," he lifted the gutted and skinned carcass off the stump and held it out by a still attached foreleg. That felt wrong for some reason. "Um...where do you want it?"

"We'll have to stew it, unless you brought a frying pan with you."

"I'm afraid I left it in my other skirt," he said, lowering the rabbit into the simmering water. While she tended to their dinner, lifting the pot away from any rising flames, Cullen wiped his knife clean of rabbit blood, then his hands. It took him so long to finish the job, the gore began to clot. Crimson globules wobbled in the grass beside his boots, which he tried to not trod through. He sheathed his knife across his chest and turned around to watch Lana sprinkle something green into the pot, her delicate fingers hovering just above the water. She shouldn't look so achingly beautiful in the tempering glow of firelight, her lips pursed in concentration with her lower jaw jutted out. A thick cloak wrapped around her body rendering it shapeless, but it didn't matter. He feared his tongue would trip away even if she were covered in dung and dressed in a burlap sack. A small part of his brain tried to remind him that she was a mage, and he a templar, but the extenuating circumstances about that arrangement sat beside her. When he wasn't wrestling with the rabbit, she pored over the maps, that same enchanting pout upon her lips.

"Perhaps now is a good time to go into more detail about this blood mage we're chasing," he said, clinging to the first distraction he could find.

She twisted around to him and planted a hand upon her knee to see up to his height, "That is fair. Forgive me for the secrecy, this is not easy and Wardens do not go for help lightly." Cullen crossed to his bedroll and sat down on her right. It was a good six feet away, but he still shifted upon his hip to maintain a proper distance. "He is an elven mage. Slight frame, slight even for an elf. He calls himself White, though that is not his given name."

"Why White?"

Lana smiled, a sentimental one that softened her face. Cullen felt a stir of something primal through his gut. _What was this White to her?_ "When he was twenty something, he entered the fade and the experience turned his hair stark white. He's called himself nothing but since."

"Twenty? How old is he now?"

"Forty, I think three. That would be useful, I suppose."

A small smile turned up Cullen's heart. Forty three was far too old...and, he caught himself. What right did he have to speculate on what she found old? "What circle was he with?"

Lana frowned and pursed her lips, "He was not with a circle, he was a Grey Warden."

"I understand that, but you must have some connection with a circle. Templars to watch the mages even within the wardens." She stared through him and he continued to explain her own order to her, "For protection from abominations."

"I'm aware what templars are for," Lana cut in, the first whiff of frost between them. "White was in the circle in Nevarra. I forget which, precisely. Then he was recruited into the Grey Wardens. Mages who take the...join, fight darkspawn, but White showed skills in study and manipulating the fade beyond any of our scribes. So he was moved to the order's outpost in Ostwick to research the blight for the First Warden."

"And that was where he became a blood mage? Where he attacked his fellow wardens?"

Lana stared at the rabbit's mutilated muscle bobbing below the waterline. Without breaking from it, she said, "Yes, it was Ostwick. It was--"

"You were there?"

She lifted one shoulder, "I was not present at the time of the attack, but I had to see for myself, to...aid in tracking him. I'd prefer to not speak of it, if it's all the same."

"I..." Cullen slunk back. The pain was fresh in her voice, the wound still weeping. He knew the same need burning inside her. People often asked him about Ferelden, especially after he first transferred to Kirkwall. They wanted fun stories about the blight -- heroics, bravery -- and all he had to tell them were horrors that kept him up at night wearing a hole through his floorboards. Rain was the worst. Not a torrent, but the slow drip as the last of the storm passed. Each plop sounded so very like blood dribbling through gaps in the floor.

"I'm afraid dinner won't be for another hour at best," she sighed, prodding her finger into the rabbit and watching the flesh bounce back. "What shall we do 'til then?"

"Please not charades," Cullen groaned.

She chuckled, then wiped her hand down her face to straighten her features, "I promise no charades, no guessing games, and no miming."

"Sweet Andraste, I forgot about that cursed invisible box that...what was his name?"

"Rothchild."

"Yes! Rothchild would climb into near on every meal."

"People seemed to enjoy it," she said, always quick to defend the defenseless. But there was no excusing the man's antics. He was a senior enchanter near on fifty, yet he preferred to spend his time pretending to be caught in an unexpected windstorm, or moving down a nonexistent set of stairs much to everyone's chagrin.

"That was the worst part, the encouragement," Cullen shuddered.

Lana's laugh broke through the falling night, and she shook her head. Through a smile stretching her cheeks, she asked, "Was there nothing you liked about the tower?"

Panic struck Cullen. He whipped his head away as if he spotted some animal rustling in the bushes, even sticking a hand out to follow the imaginary thing. She had to know the answer to her question. No matter how much he tried to walk it back in his mind, confessing the truth of his infatuation to her face burned through his memory like a torch. The shame and the immorality of it stung him still, a stain no amount of prayer could blot away. He'd never wished someone was actually a demon so badly before, or for the ground to open up and consume him. That didn't seem such a terrible possibility now either. But no darkspawn horde erupted from the grass, and she'd probably warn him if it was about to.

"It seems to have gone," he said at first, sticking to his cover, before smoothly sliding to, "What did you? Oh, um, I rather enjoyed the desserts."

"Yes, the butter cookies," she jumped up, her face ripe with enthusiasm, "with that sugar on top, not a glaze or a frosting, but I could never figure it out. The cooks at the Keep can't seem to get it right."

Right, she wasn't just a Grey Warden but _the_ Grey Warden placed in charge of a keep in Ferelden. An entire arling, in fact. "I admit, I am surprised that you travel alone. I've never known nobility to move from one room to another without five people trailing them."

Lana snorted at that image, then sighed. "Yes, I've been to court a few times as well, against my better judgement. One man, I think it was only a bann no less, had a servant carrying around a footstool during a dance. For hours. He never even sat down. I don't understand any of it."

"So no servants in the wings to clean your shoes off with their lips?" Cullen asked, dragging his teasing on.

Her pulled face told him all, but she still shook her head and volunteered a, "Maker, no."

"There must be someone who watches out for you, to -- you know -- keep you safe for the wardens?"

"Grey Wardens tend to be their own bodyguards, and I think I've finally gotten off the Crow's list. If Zevran is to be believed."

He should have stopped after that. They were on polite but distant terms. No reason to go and... "You left no one behind?" his tongue wagged freely, as if loosened from drink. He wished he could blame it on intoxication.

But Lana used the chance to make a small joke, "Only a keep full of soldiers, and wardens who can't find their own bottoms without my pointing out they sat upon them." Cullen decided it best to drop his inquiry before the awkwardness consumed him entirely when she sat higher and offered up, "but, no one else of importance. Wardens, we do not...fraternize." She managed to twist the last word from a spit to a regretful sigh. Prodding the rabbit anew, she turned her attention upon him, "What of you?"

"Me?" Cullen pointed at his chest, roughing up the griffin across the sternum, as if someone else were present.

"You must have enchanted some pretty thing in the echelons of Kirkwall society," her voice was genuine, but a smirk sparkled in her eyes.

Cullen snorted at the insinuation, as if he had any time for the few nobles who thought it sport to prod into templar business. It was Meredith who dealt best with them; when they were passed off to her second-in-command she wanted a curt and tactless response.

"Fair enough," Lana bobbed her head, "and I do not blame you for it. My seneschal has perfected the 'No, the Arlessa is not available for marriage at this time' response." She chuckled at the foolish idea of her settling down, then turned her eyes upon him, "The Templar Order's not against marriage, I thought. You're free to couple."

"True," Cullen spoke before his mind could scamper away to form anything of a passing excuse. If any of his fellow templars had shown an interest in him, he did not see it. He did not want to see it. His life was busy enough with his devotion to the order and maintaining a balance in always precarious Kirkwall. It was also beyond the pale for him to take up with a woman underneath his command, the nobility bored him, and...there was no one else. "I would rather protect and guide the knights below me than...uh, bed them."

He felt an idiot for saying as such, but she nodded her head as if he spun sage advice instead of terrified dribbles. She caressed her forehead, her fingers cupping her face, "I understand. They're your...children sounds dangerously patronizing, doesn't it?"

Cullen shrugged, he'd felt the urge to call the other knights that and much worse at times. Especially given the recent crops proclivity for pranks. "It is lonely at the top," he said, then shook his head. No, that wasn't right. He wasn't lonely. He was determined, quiet, introspective, but not lonely. Sadness or grief had no place in the order, not when there was duty.

Lana did not call him out, she only sighed again and slipped her eyes closed. A thousand emotions played across her gentle features, each a story he could only read a sentence of before it disappeared behind her commander mask. It tugged at his heart to see the steeled eyes deny her internal pain. They mimicked the same that stared out at him through the mirror each morning.

"Ah!" she cried, her finger bouncing the correct depth into the rabbit, "dinner is done." Stabbing into the carcass with her own knife, she lifted the rabbit out of the pot, yellowed water dribbling off the pale skin. Dropping it onto the cutting log, she sawed into it. Without any hint of jocularity, Lana asked, "Are you a chest or thigh man?"

## Chapter Four

**Dreams**

Cullen picked at the ashes now barely warm hours after they'd been doused. He could sleep, she assured him it was safe of darkspawn, and bandits would find a rather unfortunate end if they tried. After a few hours of twisting upon the ground, never missing his creaky bed more, he gave up on the fruitless effort and sat beside the dead fire. Maybe it was being in an unknown location for dubious reasons, perhaps it was the incessant crying of the wild animals echoing through the trees. Or, most likely, it was due to the woman curled up on her bedroll. She had her knees almost tucked up to her chin, her cloak stretched out across her body like a blanket. It must not have been as warm as he suspected. On occasion, her arms would tremble deep in sleep, shaking the cloak like a flag in the wind. She'd grip tighter to her knees, pressing them deeper into her chest until the tremors passed.

It was idiotic to even entertain the notion. Cullen was more certain of that fact than almost any other in his life. He'd watched countless mages sleep, or feign sleep, during night shifts counting beds. A few would glare back at him, their sullen eyes sullen daring him to say a word against them. They were technically in bed, and there were no orders they needed to be asleep in said bed. For a brief moment he was powerless against them. Those were far from the worst. It was discovering a mage missing not because he tried to escape but was in anothers bed that ratcheted up his anxiety.

At twenty and as inexperienced as a hermit with a fascinating pin collection, stumbling upon two people becoming very well acquainted all but drew the breath from his lungs. Something of an order had tumbled from his throat, though to his ears it sounded like a goose cry. The activities froze and both heads sheepishly dug out from under the blanket. Uncertain of what to say, Cullen -- with a face as bright as a strawberry -- suggested they go to sleep. He did not let them rise from the bed or even disentangle, just sleep like that for the whole night.

Knight-Commander Gregoir found the report humorous and gave a 'people will be people' response, but there was an announcement to the apprentices to try and contain their affections as best they could. There was no mention of Cullen's idiotic order to the pair, but somehow the mages found out, because there was nothing they loved more than gossip. It spread faster than a misplaced fire spell. They would whisper "Finish quick or you'll have to sleep like that," every time he passed. Apprentices thought they were oh so hilarious.

Lana stirred in her sleep and she rolled to face him. Slips of dawn barely breaking up the horizon lanced across her face. She was beautiful, you'd have to be an idiot not to see that. He thought time would temper that, reveal his idolization as little more than youthful folly. She could not be as heart racing as he remembered. This trip had done nothing to shatter his fantasies, even a hard day of traveling and finding rest upon the dirt did nothing to mar her temperament or beauty. Of course, she could not care for him, he was...not good enough, for her or anyone he'd wish to spend time with. It was an oddly comforting thought to know where he stood, a shield against the traitorous parts of him that dreamed of dangerous things. Though, he could not stop watching her slumber.

The cares of the world were erased from her brow while she traipsed through the fade in her dreams. It was her smile that shifted her from a beautiful woman into someone that knotted his tongue every time he stood near her. It took almost three weeks upon first meeting her before he could even bark out a "move along." Before that, he'd made squeaking noises and wave with his hands, which only made her smile wider and -- on occasion -- laugh. Andraste's breath, he was finished when she'd laugh.

But that was a lifetime ago, another man, a foolish and naive man who thought mages were good people at heart. Now he knew the truth, bore their scars on his body and...elsewhere. And yet, Lana was different. Even becoming a Grey Warden, those fearsome slayers of darkspawn, she maintained her gentleness. She was one of the good ones.

Lana stirred again, but this wasn't a soft tremble from dawn's chill. Her shoulders pivoted back and forth, slamming her sides into the ground. Whimpers vibrated up her throat.

"Lana," Cullen whispered in the air.

If she heard him, she gave no sign, her eyelids undulating in pain. Her calm face shattered, dragging her lips into a rictus of horror. She screamed something that sounded like a chant, the words foreign to him. Her voice hissed and snapped, giving the strange tongue a demonic turn.

"Lana," Cullen tried again, leaping to his feet. "Solana!"

Still she would not respond, her fingers clawing at the cloak around her neck while more of the unholy chanting broke from her throat. He dropped to a knee beside her bedroll, ignoring dawn's frost chewing upon his shin.

"Lady Amell," Cullen reached out to her, prepared to catch her hand and yank her awake from whatever ensnared her. "Warden Commander!" he shouted.

Lana's eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright. Her fists both flared, blue light warping around her hands as magic gushed out of the fade. Ice shards erupted from the ground spearing through the sky nearly twenty feet in all directions around them. She blinked thrice, then stared at her hands. Shaking away the buildup of magic, Lana finally turned to him. It was only her that peered out through her eyes.

"That was all the wards, wasn't it?" she asked, tapping her fingertips together "Ouch! Yep, all of them. The blowback's the worst part."

"Are you..." Cullen's hands froze, one inches from her, the other inside his armor.

Her fingers raked across her forehead, leaving furloughs of red flesh in their wake. "I, sorry. It's a Grey Warden thing."

"A Grey Warden thing?" Cullen repeated, his body rigid.

"We, uh," Lana's eyes slipped closed for a moment as she continued to claw across her skin. "On top of sensing darkspawn sometimes we hear them as part of...part of what makes us Grey Wardens. It's most prevalent in dreams."

"You have nightmares about darkspawn?" It should not be surprising, few came back from war unchanged, but he couldn't stop the shock upon his face. She was the Hero of Ferelden, surely she was strong enough to resist the horrors of war. Somehow, despite knowing her before she became that mythic warrior, he'd bought into the hype around her. Perhaps it was because he knew her before he wanted so much to believe it, to think she was untouchable.

Lana pursed her lips and nodded, finally pulling her fingers away from her forehead. The scratches were deeper than he expected, more reminiscent of a cat attacking than her chewed down nails. "I should have warned you."

"Do they happen often?"

"It's worse the closer I draw to the deep roads. Some remnant of my joining during the blight." Her eyes didn't water, but her gaze drifted past Cullen and towards the lightening horizon. For a time neither said a word, they only shared in the silence of the early morning broken by the chirp of birds. "I should probably get up, anyway."

It wasn't until she struggled to rise to her feet that Cullen noticed how close he was to her. He staggered back to let her up, and turned his back to her. Certain that she was Lana and nothing else, Cullen released his hold on the knife hidden inside his armor. His fingers trembled and he held them close to his chest, trying to will away the rapid beating of his heart. If she noticed how close he nearly came to killing her out of fear of possession, she did not voice it, only scooped up her water skin and headed towards the creek. _Any mage was vulnerable_ , Cullen repeated, watching her unsteady steps. _Any mage was dangerous._

## Chapter Five

**Stairs**

Lana kept a close eye on the maps while Cullen was supposed to keep an eye on the trail. The fact he could not find this imaginary path only aided in him smashing his boot through every tree, puddle, and rabbit burrow along the way. "You have no idea where you're going," he chided himself as he plunged calf deep into a hole. Mud suckered up while he sneered at his bad luck.

But it was Solana who answered, "No, I've got a fairly good handle. That pile of rocks there, the white ones. I think they were part of the old temple from before the second blight. One of those pagan ones later altered into an Andrastian pre-chantry, then burnt down during an exalted march years after."

Cullen only saw vines and moss sprawled across a lumpy hill, but he had no reason to doubt her, she was the grey warden. "Do you do this often?"

"Chase down blood mages?" she asked, her face buried in the map. After a moment, she pointed towards the east and nodded her head. "I'm not a templar."

"No, I know. You couldn't be a..." he tried to rise up from his stuck boot and sighed. His leg refused to budge. "Hunting for entrances to the deep roads long lost. I wondered if this is part of the average grey warden duties."

"Ah," she smiled and rolled up the precious maps into the pack slung across her back. "A grey warden's job is to stop blights. Which means I peaked rather early in my career, I suppose." She stepped close to Cullen, her body so near the wind ruffled the hem of her robe onto him. His heartbeat picked up from the heat of her inches away.

"That's a shame," Cullen squeaked out. He snapped his teeth to try and hide the ecstatic terror building at the back of his brain. _What was she doing?_

"Truly. So, some of my sunset years involves traveling across the land, finding darkspawn, following them to their filthy holes, and destroying them." Her tone was stark and dry, but her eyes sparkled in a dangerous mischief. Lifting half her smile, Lana dropped to her knees. His hands reached for her shoulders to raise her out of the mud and to stop her from... Maker, whatever she was doing, it could not be _that_. Cullen swallowed a squeak when her fingers grasped around his calf and she began to yank upwards. _Andraste's tears, of course._ If the blood mage or the darkspawn didn't end him on this trip, his runaway mind would. Together they worked to unstick him from the mud.

"You don't send some of your underlings to do that?" he gritted through his teeth, trying to distract from the awkwardness blooming up his cheeks. To even think that, no, it was only a passing... _Maker, when did it get so warm?_ His boot erupted from the sinkhole, the ground popping in rage from losing its toy.

Lana held out her hand and Cullen took it, helping her rise. Her robes were filthy, the knees down to her feet coated in mud and moss. She paid it no mind as she grabbed up her staff. "Sinkholes are a good sign."

"To predators looking for an easy meal," Cullen grumbled.

"It means the ground is weak, and where the ground is weak an entrance to the deep roads is near. Come on, should be just past that hill."

Lana strode ahead of him as she always did. On occasion she'd bang the end of her staff into the ground, listening to the noise. After a few steps and bangs, she resumed their earlier conversation. "I don't like the idea of sitting on a throne. I made a lot of sacrifices to be what I am, and I don't want to waste them."

"I never--" Cullen began, but Lana gasped and ran up the hill away from him, her lighter steps making the climb much easier than his. He gritted his teeth and, not as excited about the fragile ground, took each step with more caution. The last thing he wanted was to force her to have to fish him out of a sinkhole by the waist. As he rounded up the hill, Lana waved her hands over a cavity dug so deep into the earth to render it essentially bottomless. Packed mud around the entrance gave way to rock chiseled away from the earth after five feet down into the pit. Further than that was inky blackness, an ominous fog drifting atop the impenetrable bottom. The hole was a good twenty feet in diameter, more where the rock cleaved away from the mountain like a cracked bone. Rotted boards were nailed up by a blind man working off the instructions of a deaf man to create a staircase for giants. The staircase circled around the edges of the pit, down into the depths beyond sight -- at least what parts of the stairs that hadn't fully succumb to time and their poor craftsmanship. Cullen tried to see to the bottom but could only spot a hint of a wood pile hundreds of feet below them. That must be where the stairs went to die.

"Here we are," she said, waving her hands at it.

"We'll never survive that." Cullen tried to sound optimistic, but it always turned into pessimism when possible death was involved. "Is there another entrance closer? One nearer to the ground part of the deep roads?"

Lana shook her head, "Not for miles, and in the opposite direction. If we take it, we could lose White forever." Above the squawks of carrion birds was an eternal creaking from the staircase shifting to its inevitable doom. He leaned over the edge, trying to see if enough the stairs remained in place all the way to the bottom to insure their survival, but shadows either hid vital sections or they did not exist. He couldn't tell.

"Cullen," she spoke so close to him, he jumped from her whisper, "you can still turn back. Once we take this, it's the deep roads and I don't think there will be any getting out."

He nodded and reached for the sword upon his hip, the same blade he'd carried since landing upon the shores of Kirkwall. Pulling it tighter to him, he said, "I am willing to enter the deep roads, though I'd prefer to do it one piece."

"Oh, that," Lana waved his concerns away as if they were little more than a child's insistence that the bogeyman lived in the wardrobe, "I can help with that. Come on." She stepped to the edge of the stairs and, without pausing to test it, slid two down. The entire structure groaned in pain from her addition but did not collapse.

Her eyes bore into him and she waved for him to get a move on. After composing himself, Cullen stepped forward, "I should go first."

Lana sighed, "No, I'll test it. With your, um, greater weight, it's more likely you'd break the stairs and leave me stranded."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he asked even as he eased onto the rickey case. Amazingly, it continued to hold him upright, even with his "greater weight."

"Grey wardens don't work in hugs and comforting lies. Though we've got a smashing pie recipe for some reason," Lana chuckled, her lighter steps twisting her deeper and deeper down the staircase. She vanished below Cullen and he increased his careful steps downward.

"You're telling me you don't hug darkspawn to death?"

"Not particularly," her voice carried from below. It was a strange comfort to speak to the voice. Even if he couldn't see her, at least he could still hear her. It also covered up the mournful wail of the structure supposed to be supporting him. "Do templars kiss demons?"

"Some of them," Cullen dead panned. He didn't even notice the joke until she began to laugh below him, light as air. _How was she not bothered by this?_ Digging his fingers deep into the wall, Cullen increased his gait while gravel scattered from his handholds. It also drew forth even more groans from the stairs. "Why Lana?" he asked, needing anything to cover over the sound.

"Huh?" her voice was even more distant now. _How far did she get below him?_

"Why do you call yourself Lana? I thought your name was..."

"Solona," she spoke the name as if a curse. "I never liked it. No idea what my parents were thinking, sounds like an estate by the sea for addled Orlesians."

Cullen chuckled at her rather apt description. It was days before he learned the name of the apprentice that caught his eye, and that was only from inspecting a class roster he wasn't supposed to see. Amell was good, but the given name did not fit her in the least. While the senior enchanters called her Solona, her friends all had some version of Lana or Lanny. She seemed content with either, but frowned when anyone used her proper name. Templars were supposed to call the mages their rank followed by family name but he almost called her Lana once on accident. After the tower mages and templars took the rare trip outside to stretch in the sun, she and a few other apprentices wandered off to a blueberry bush. Cullen wished to follow, but he clung to his duty and remained watching over the others tending to a haphazard garden. When thunder broke above them, the mages scurried inside all save Lana and her friends. When he ran over to them, they were gorging on the berries, their laughing faces blotted in purple juice. That was when the familiar name almost broke from him, "La...Solo...mage, there is a storm beginning!" He thought for certain he twisted his words quick enough to hide his blunder, but she didn't look him through that day. It was the first time she looked at him.

And now she was somewhere in the depths of a certain-to-break-their-necks staircase, dragging him into the pit of a darkspawn lair. Cullen twisted around another turn of the hole and spotted Lana's back. Her hand clung to the wall to steady herself as she leaned over, peering down through the depths. He must have huffed harder than he meant to from the climb, because she twisted away from the long fall.

"We've hit our first rough patch."

He followed from the edge of the staircase, broken like a jagged tooth, down towards where it picked back up again. It was a neck breaking jump, no way anyone could make it. Cullen stopped five stairs above her and tried to crane down to see the bottom. Only darkness glittered back despite their moving deeper into the earth. "What do you propose we do now? Head back up?" he asked, pointing towards the climb that might hold them.

Lana chuckled, "No, I have a better idea, but you need to get closer to me."

"I...is this all right?" he asked, hopping down a stair. At her hand wave, he moved down another, then two more until he stood both feet on the one stair above her. It complained greatly from his weight.

"Here, hold this..." she twisted around to pass him her staff.

Even as he took it, he asked, "Why?" An unearthly power radiated from what looked little more than a shed branch, stripped and polished.

"Because, I need both hands free for this next part," Lana smiled, then turned back to face the drop off. Magic twisted around her fingers as she drew them across her body. The sound of wood splintering and cracking apart echoed through the pit. Cullen reached for the wall, bracing himself for a fall, but the stairs they stood upon remained stationary. Something moved out of his field of vision and he turned to watch a small section of the staircase yank off the wall above him. Barely showing any strain, Lana guided the section of stairs lower into the pit. It drifted so close he could have reached out to run his fingers across the stripped bolts that she ripped clean out of rock.

Carefully lining it up below her, she stepped onto the stolen stairs and nodded her head. Lana kept her hands extended, magic crackling around her fingers. He'd seen mages throw things before, a chair here, a book there, mostly out of boredom or to make some point. Even when it was little more than a cup, the tendrils of whatever fade energy they corrupted into the world would hiss and spit around the mage. But it circled Lana's fingers like a loyal dog would its mistress. She stepped down her floating stairs, increasing her light steps again.

"Come on, Cullen," she called, already halfway down her levitating steps.

Gripping tight to the staff, as if that would somehow protect him from falling, he eased onto the floating stairs and was surprised to find the ground as steady as any other. He expected it to bob like a ship on the sea, or pitch to the side. With a greater care, he eased downward, his eyes level with the ground and trying to not think of how they'd get back up if this part of her plan failed. A gap of three stairs hung between Lana's yanked out chunk and the continuation of the original. She paused at the drop off and turned towards him.

"You'll have to take it first."

"Why?"

To demonstrate, she dipped her hands an inch and the world shifted below Cullen. His hands flailed to try and catch himself upon nothing, but before he could fall she realigned the stairs. "If I jump first, the stairs will tip," she still explained as if he wasn't very aware how much his life rested in her steady hands.

"All right, I understand," he said. Lana tried to flatten against the crumbling railing some safety conscious person took the time to put up. It was a kind effort on her part, but the stairs were only built wide enough for one person. Cullen slid to his side, easing down the stairs while staring at her instead of the ground below him. His boot searched for a landing, hovering through empty space before moving his weight downward. He attempted to lean back to give her room, but a warning from the edge of the stairs pinned in him place. There was no avoiding crushing her fingers into his armored chest.

"I am sorry," he said and plowed forward as quickly as possible to minimize the pain. Lana crinkled her nose and sneered as her fingers banged across the metal griffin. Cullen kept silently apologizing, but he never felt the platform dip. She hung on until he stood at the precipice.

"Do not fall," she instructed, as if he had any other plan in mind. Eyeing up the destination, he leapt. It was not agile, his ankle fumbling in the landing, but the stairs did not collapse. Holding tight to the staff stretched across his arms, he turned back and shouted, "All right!"

Before he finished speaking, Lana hopped from her position and smacked full on into his back. Instinctively, she cushioned the blow with her hands, breaking contact with the floating stairs. Without magic to suspend it, the structure plummeted to the depths of the pit. Lana spun around and waved her fingers just enough to slow the descent so it softly landed on the pile instead of splintering into wood and nail shrapnel.

"Well, that was fun," she smiled.

"Your idea of fun would send hardened generals scampering under their beds," Cullen said, peering through the cracked railing at the stairs he occupied only a moment earlier. It wasn't until he leaned back that he realized she had her hands gently splayed across his back. "I should probably continue downward."

"That would be advisable," Lana said.

"Right, I'll just do that then..." he took two steps down and felt her hands slip away from his body. A shudder twisted up through the spine of the staircase. "Oh, Maker," Cullen's body paused, his foot hanging above the next stair. He tried to turn his head to look up at Lana. Her face was screwed up in concentration as she stared down at still deadly fall. "What do we do now?" he whispered through a held breath.

The staircase screamed like a forest ripped apart by turbulent winds. He reached for the railing to steady himself, but that final bit of weight started a chain reaction. Boards rattled away from their support beams, popping off the nails. Stairs rained down below them, shattering into the ground.

"RUN!" Lana shouted, shoving her shoulder into his back. Cullen did just that, leaping two or three stairs at a time, as the ground raced away from them. It was like trying to run up a hill of sliding sand, the entire structure collapsing beneath him while he tried ti use it. If he ever stopped moving he'd fall dead and Lana would tumble behind him. He jumped forward just as a board vanished below his foot. Twisting to warn Lana, his eyes widened as a piece of wood rose from the wreckage to slot into place.

"I've got it. Go, go, go," she ordered. Her arms flew like she was conducting a symphony, slapping every broken board and section of splintered staircase below them. Even as he picked up speed, the staircase gave up on its fight and the remaining boards below them smashed to the ground. There were no more stairs to ease them downward but Lana was resourceful. Debris, planks, anything she could find she lifted from the bottom of the cavern and slapped it all just below Cullen's feet. He didn't slow, having to trust that she'd put something below him just as he stepped onto it. His shoes stomped through the wood, splintering at each step. The planks were packed with mud from the old rains sloshing up the ravine. His heel cracked through something and he glanced down at a shattered skull grinning up at the boot through its head.

"Don't mind the corpses," Lana called, lifting everything she could find.

Cullen nodded and used her staff to balance his body as the decline steepened. Lana was running out of corpses to trod on. He was about to shout something when he spotted the ground below. It was the pile of broken stairs, not the softest landing, but Andraste knew how much longer the one mage could maintain their ramshackle descent. Bunching up his knees, Cullen launched himself off the final plank and crashed onto the pile. Splintered boards and rusted nails tried to pierce through his armor, most missing except for a chunk of stair digging into his exposed shin. He flipped around to watch Lana follow after his leap. Tossing her staff to the side, he caught her around the waist, the momentum shoving him deeper into the pile of splinters.

"That could have gone better," she struggled through gritted teeth. Cullen could only bob his head, which almost smacked into hers. He released his grip and she rolled off him, her hands still raised as if she didn't want to touch anything. Not that he blamed her. The smell was atrocious -- fetid meat during the height of summer couldn't compare to what wafted through the exposed ravine.

Lana nodded at her staff, "Could you pick it up for me?"

After yanking the splinter that felt much larger than it was from his shin, Cullen nodded and procured it from the rest of its dead brethren. Without the fear of falling to his death, Cullen noticed that what he thought were notches carved into the wood were actually names, dozens and dozens of them chiseled deep into the rosewood. He tried to hand it back to Lana, but she was turned away from him, her focus on the gaping hole carved into the bowels of the earth. A solitary dwarven statue stood guard before it. Its primitive head lay at its feet, the eyeless face gazing back at its feet. Cullen's own stature came up to where the nose should be.

"Welcome to the deep roads," Lana said.

More of that fetid smell oozed through the gaps in the rock. Sweet Andraste, if that was what it smelled like this far from the source, what was he about to find deeper in? But Cullen agreed to this, he wasn't about to turn back now. He twisted around to glance at the ramshackle stairs hundred of feet above him and sighed. It was not as if he had any means to escape it. Nodding at the grey warden, he crossed the threshold and stepped onto the ancient roads of the dwarves. Lana followed behind him. After a few steps in, she reached out for her staff. As Cullen turned to hand it back, he watched every stair, every plank, and every corpse plummet to the ground. The sound was deafening from forests of lumber cracking into itself, and a dust cloud billowed in all directions. Most of the debris shattered into the walls of the entrance, the pair protected by the broken statue.

Lana watched it with a cool eye, unsurprised at the damage, but Cullen couldn't stop from leaning out. The entire staircase was gone, there wasn't even a sign it ever existed. _Maker's Breath, had she been holding the entire thing up while they climbed down? How was that even possible?_ Cullen turned back to her and a chill crawled up his spine from a power he'd never thought any mage capable of.

She smiled at him and tipped her head into the deep roads, "Shall we?"

## Chapter Six

**White**

There was a darkspawn tale his family favored telling while Cullen was growing up. It involved a pair of siblings who chased after a wounded deer/pet dog/demon that promised them gold. The object of their pursuit changed based upon who was telling it. Mia would often shift it to the last to cause her brothers to squeal in terror, taking time to mimic the rings of razor sharp teeth in the demon's three mouths. In the story, the siblings stumble across a gap in the earth. Not a hole filled with dirt and worms, but an eternal cavity cleaved into the heart of the world with no end in sight. No light could penetrate the endless black because it wasn't shadows but evil itself that blanketed the realm of the ancient dwarves. Cullen considered it little more than childhood nonsense until he stood inside the deep roads. He'd faced mage fire bursting against his shield, watched malifecarum carve up their own arms for one more inch of power, suffered demon's claws swiping across his skin, but he'd never felt evil like this. The hair on his neck stood on end the moment they crossed past the last of the faceless dwarven statues, and it hadn't settled down since.

Lana did not seem to notice the pervading aura as she drizzled oil across her makeshift torch and lit it with a touch of her finger. She passed it to Cullen. The heat scalded his face and fingers, but it was a welcome relief to chase away the shadows pricking about the edges of his eyes. The grey warden laid her staff to the side and ran a hand along the walls of caverns. They'd shifted so quickly from the lain stones of the ancient dwarves into the unfinished bones of the earth, Cullen missed the transition.

"Hm," Lana inspected her fingers, "no sign of blight here."

"I hope that's a good thing," Cullen said, gripping tighter to the torch with his left hand and keeping his blade close with the other.

She nodded, then cranked her head to the side. It looked as if she was trying to hear a whisper far in the distance. "Nothing so far, we may be in better luck than I hoped," Lana smiled. He was overreacting, amplifying things to a greater danger than they really were. Cullen tried to return the smile, but the smoke of the torch bit into his eyes.

"Will it be safe to travel with this?" he asked, trying to waft away the smoke curling around them like an overeager puppy. The walls pressed into them, the cavern perhaps large enough to fit three people at a time, while the ceiling dipped and bowed, nearly skimming across Cullen's head. He was grateful in the long line of things that clawed across his brain, claustrophobia wasn't one of them.

Lana picked up her staff and turned away, not answering him. She no longer used it as a walking stick, her feet as silent as she could make them while crossing the ground. Cullen tried to mimic her, aware of every jangle and clang the armor made. For being what grey wardens regularly wore into the deep roads, it was poorly muffled. Even his breathing expanded the chest enough to draw forth a metallic bang that amplified through the echoes in the tight cavern. _And grey wardens suffered this for days or weeks down here? How was he going to last?_

As sure footed as a cat stalking its prey, Lana slipped ahead of him down the dark corridor. The occasional prick of blue light from the mushrooms sprouting along the rocks gave just enough light to keep one from fearing blindness, but nowhere near enough to guide by. Yet, Lana moved with an almost terrifying certainty, as if she'd done this a thousand times before. Cullen closed his eyes against the smoke inhalation, tried to silence his ears from his own deafening echoes, and chased after her. He kept a count of his steps, as if it would be important in returning to the surface. It was probably foolish seeing as how he wasn't about to climb the pile of debris, but it kept the memories at bay.

He didn't fight darkspawn during the blight. He wanted to, to have anything to do beyond sit in that room and watch helpless as the people who tortured and murdered his friends returned to their lives. Gregoir insisted there were no more blood mages remaining, that they'd all been killed, but that was impossible. To have found so many mage survivors when so few templars, who were trained to fight demons, made it out... And the mages cared not a whit about what happened. Three days after she rescued them, the mages were back in their rooms, still splattered in blood joking with each other. One made some quip about how if the templars were such pushovers, maybe they should put the mages in charge of protecting them. Cullen glared impotently at the betrayers chuckling, his hands metaphorically leashed. Every laugh was a fresh insult to his fallen brethren. Why should they feel joy when so many others suffered? The anger threatened to overwhelm him to a breaking point, where he couldn't hold himself back, when all the mages marched to Denerim. He remained behind, never seeing a darkspawn or the horrors of the blight itself. Cullen still wondered if in the end that was a blessing or a curse.

"Hey!" Hands wrapped around his arm, silencing his step. His eyes snapped open and he stared slack jawed across a magnificent sight. A cavern split open through the earth. Blanketed in veins of lyrium, the walls towering above and below lit up like the stars of a moonless night. The blue glow bathed the cavern into an almost serene experience. It was beautiful. Cullen blinked, grateful to no longer have smoke piling in his eyes, and turned to the woman holding him.

Lana's eyebrows raised and she pointed to his feet. "You almost fell," she said. His boot hung an inch off the edge, prepared to take him even deeper down the crevice into whatever void waited beyond.

Cullen shuffled back a bit while Lana clung to him. He nodded a thanks, then returned to staring upward, "This is not what I expected. The color and emptiness. It's magnificent."

"You're lucky," she said, "my first trip into the deep roads involved dwarven politics. It was far less magical."

He turned to her, her face lit up with the lyrium glow, her eyes transcendent from the awe inspiring view. Even for being a jaded grey warden she still relished in the beauty of the Maker's hand. After a time she must have felt him staring at her, as she caught his eyes. But Lana didn't glower or break away, instead she held his gaze for a beat and smiled. More than the heat of the torch blasted his face. A creeping terror rose up from the depths of his mind. W _hat if he couldn't break away from her? What if he didn't want to?_

Lana shook her head and lifted her hand off him. "We should continue this way," she pointed towards the left. An outcropping of rock offered support above the long fall, but they'd have to travel one at a time. While Cullen tried to pound back half a thought into his brain, Lana took up the lead again. Her path twisted in and out of rock dissolved away by time and water, the lyrium providing a better light source than the torch. Cullen still held it high, clinging to the last bits of the outside world as they drifted deeper into the infested lairs of the darkspawn.

At some imaginary node, Lana turned to the left. It was one of a dozen other possible twists they passed and did not take, but they all looked the same to Cullen. He tried to not imagine how easily they'd become twisted around in the dark labyrinth, making a mental picture of every turn. Yet, deep in his gut he knew that if he lost his grey warden guide, he'd most likely die at the end of a darkspawn sword before finding his own way out. The caves narrowed again, nowhere near as pressing as the entrance, but Lana slowed and waited for Cullen to catch up. Her hand lifted and she pressed the back of it against his chest.

"What is it?" Cullen whispered.

Her eyes slipped closed as she mashed her lips together like sucking on a candy. It was strangely hypnotic, drawing Cullen closer. He almost jumped when her eyes snapped open, certainty burning in the light of the torch. "There's a nest of darkspawn to the left of us."

"How many?"

She shook her head, "It doesn't work that well, I'm afraid. But I'm getting the sense there are enough I'd not want to challenge them. Luckily, I think the phylactery should be pointing us to the right?"

Cullen fumbled to reach for the glass, her gaze unnerving him. His fingers only managed to skim the surface when he felt a rush of the beacon across his skin. The prey was close, and in the exact direction she felt. "How did you...?"

Lana shrugged, "Grey Warden secret." The right path dipped down, the ceiling pinching them low to the ground. They both had to slip along the rocky wall, one at time to make it past little more than a keyhole. The rock bulged out of the wall, as if a fist tried to reach into the cavern and froze. Cullen was fairly certain he could make it through. After Lana dipped past, he handed her the torch and tried to make himself as small as possible.

The rock bowed outward at the top, providing more room at the bottom, but he wasn't about to go crawling on the ground. Pulling in a breath, Cullen twisted to the side and eased into the hole. A squeal of scraping metal thundered against his ears as he dragged himself against the rocky wall. His armor was just large enough to catch.

"Hurry," Lana whispered at him, holding the torch closer than seemed wise.

"I am trying," he huffed, each shift pulling forth more of the squealing.

"Or be quieter," she added, her peeved voice drawing the same ire from him. _Did she think he planned this?_

"I would be if it weren't for this Maker blighted armor," Cullen cursed, inching his body along. He made it nearly halfway through the gap when the griffin on his chest bulged with a breath he didn't mean to take. "Oh no. No, no, no," he cried softly, struggling to unstick himself.

"What is it?" Lana asked, as if she couldn't see the fool he turned himself into. It was one thing to die in the deep roads from darkspawn or blight, or even the deep stalkers she mentioned, but wedging oneself in the rocks and starving to death earned nothing more than the Maker's scorn.

"I am...I cannot move," Cullen collapsed, wishing he had more to give. He was about to tell her to move on, find White and do what she could without him, when Lana dropped her staff and shifted the torch to her other hand.

"Ah," she said, and wiggled her fingers up through the gap of his collarbone.

_What was she doing?_ You couldn't remove the armor while was was pinned in place. Lana didn't reach for a strap or buckle, instead her finger touched against the back of the breastplate. She didn't slip her eyes closed or even appear to concentrate, but Cullen tasted the fade drifting into their world. A chill crept off her skin like fog across a graveyard at dusk. It bloomed down his chest, the ice skimming across the metal griffin. It grew from an uncomfortable frost to a stinging pain biting through the linens and into his bones.

"What are you..." he began to ask when the armor popped, the seal against the rock broken.

Lana snaked her arm away from his armor and grabbed onto his arm. Thankfully, her hand was warm as she yanked upon him. Without the rock in place, Cullen was able to squeeze out into the cavern beside her. As he tried to check himself for damage he spotted a sheen of frost clinging across the griffin relief now slightly dented inward and scuffed. He looked up at her, and Lana shrugged.

"Cold metal constricts."

"You could have warned me."

"I suppose, but 'I'm going to freeze your armor, don't move,' seemed pointless when you already couldn't move. Here," she passed back his torch and lifted up her staff. "White's near. I'm certain of it now."

He nodded his head and reached for the hilt of his sword. Lana placed her hand over his, the same one that he now suspected could shatter his armor if given cause. _How powerful did she grow in the intervening years?_ "Not yet," she said, her fingers digging into his.

"This is a dangerous blood mage. I should be armed," Cullen said, meeting her gaze. For a moment she looked about to argue, but Lana dipped back, her heat breaking from him.

"Of course, you're right. I...come, he's around this bend."

Unsheathing the sword that'd seen the end of far too many of Kirkwall's renegade mages, Cullen followed behind Lana as she moved through the dark like a deep stalker. The lyrium veins drifted away here, only a few patches of the blue lighting up the stones around them. But Lana didn't need it, it was almost as if she could smell the other grey warden. Perhaps she could. Or...

Cullen shook the idea off. She came to him, came to the templars to hunt a blood mage. There was no way she could be...no, he refused to even entertain the thought. It was madness. Lana paused at the end of another turn in the rock. Mercifully, this was large enough to fit him. Even with his lyrium ration nearly drained from his system, the mage was close enough Cullen could feel it through the phylactery. He gripped tighter to his sword, the leather crackling.

Lana watched his hand dig into the longsword, her stare a hundred miles away. She seemed to be contemplating something, or perhaps remembering another moment. Cullen was about to shake her out of it, when she whipped her head up towards him. Closing her eyes once, she nodded her head. Magic crackled around her entire body as she jumped around the rock to face down White. Cullen was inches behind her, his blade extended out.

_Oh shit!_

He nearly sliced into her elbow as he wrapped his sword arm around Lana's waist, pinning her close to him. Cullen dug his heels in, anchoring them both from the gigantic gap in the floor only inches away from their feet. She pressed back into him, her feet scrabbling to find purchase as she gazed downward.

A neck breaking fall below, the ground burst in an unnatural red fire. What drew them both to it wasn't the churning lava but the tentacles whipping in and out of the platform suspended above it.

"Broodmothers," Lana sneered, a hate twisting her face into something macabre.

Even from the vast distance, the creatures appeared massive. Their mottled, hairless flesh undulated off their upright chests as their tentacles slapped into the ground. An old memory of catching an ancient sow on her last litter stirred in Cullen's mind and he looked at the monsters anew. Oh, that wasn't just sagging skin dangling off their chests. Vileness radiated off the horrific things, pinging a primal disgust inside of him. These things weren't just unnatural, they were atrocities. He watched the two of the broodmothers tug upon something like a dog with a sock. It wasn't until the legs ripped apart, blood splattering in the wake, that he realized it was the bottom half of a corpse - which both creatures happily devoured. Bile rose through the back of Cullen's throat, and he had to lean back before he vomited all over the back of Lana's robes.

"Yes, Lady Mage," a voice spoke in the darkness, "the mothers of...I believe hurlocks. So, you know what that means."

Lana snapped her fingers and kicked out a ball of light. It arced above their heads and highlighted a man standing on the other side the pit. His hair was stark white, whiter than the snows of the Frostbacks, which appeared even more striking against the fine features. If they were aged, he wore them well. She wasn't kidding about him being svelte, even for an elf. He wore the blue and silver grey warden armor, though with less metal than of Cullen's, but his body was so slight he all but disappeared inside of it. His head bobbed upon a sea of fabrics and chainmail.

"White!" Lana shouted just as her ball of light faded away, blanketing him back in shadow.

But the mage lit up his own light source, a blue turning his patrician face gaunt and horrifying. "You're hunting for me. Of course you would. You always would. But do you know why?"

"White, listen to me. Please. You don't want to do this," Lana pleaded, trying to shout without drawing the attention of the horrible creatures below.

For a moment the elf sagged, his shoulders crumpling fully and he stared down at the broodmothers. "They wouldn't exist if it weren't for us, you know? That's how they make us. We made them, then they made us."

"What is he talking about?" Cullen tried to interrupt, but Lana waved him off, her bony shoulder burrowing into him.

"I understand, you're scared. But what you're planning to do won't fix anything. You know that. Please, let me help you," Lana's normally stern voice cracked, a gurgle of a cry breaking up her words.

White shook his head, then under great strain climbed up his staff to raise his head higher until he could look over at them. "You brought a templar with you. Wise. Best way to stop a blood mage is with a templar."

Lana stiffened in Cullen's grasp, her entire body tightening like a rope about to snap. Did she hope to pass him off as another grey warden? Cullen tried to bring up his sword, but he was mostly useless at this distance. He couldn't even drain the mage's mana without leaving Lana vulnerable.

But White didn't outright attack them, only twisted his head, and sighed, "Templar, forgive me for not knowing your name. But I suspect it's Templar in your mind. Templar all the way down. Templar in the blood." He tapped his head and twisted his lips into the cruelest grin. Cullen squirmed, steeling himself for a mental invasion by the blood mage, but nothing came. Not even a whisper skimmed over his thoughts. "No, it is good you are here. You should know too. Know the truth, know everything. It's in you, too, you chose it, some didn't. It's in all of us, or should be. The truth, we keep getting it almost right, but even more wrong."

"What truth, White? Why are you doing this?"

"Lady Mage, so young. Too young to be in this. That's what they do. They need them young, to feed to it. Everything we were told, it's all a lie."

"Wonderful," Cullen sighed. When anyone said the phrase "everything we've been told was a lie" it was best to lock up the sharp objects and keep them from swallowing their own tongue.

Lana didn't roll her eyes at White, but tried to inch closer to him despite the gap full of whatever the broodmothers were. "White, I'm sorry about whatever you've seen, but I need you to come with me. Please."

For a moment the elf looked about to cross to them as he extended a foot. He'd slip down into the cavern and break his neck, true, at least it'd solve the problem one way or another. But then his self preservation instincts kicked in and he slid back, "I wish I could, Lady Mage. You were better than most, we found some amazing answers together. But it didn't matter. None of it does. This is all wrong, everything, even this!" He flicked his fingers and the air above him flickered, revealing a thread of green light peeking out from the Fade itself. Somehow, he tore right through the veil! Cullen gripped tighter to his sword, the threat of demons now on the table. He'd never seen any mage rip apart the veil so easily before, most requiring enough lyrium to light up a cavern.

White slipped his fingers back, closing up the veil without a second thought.

"How did you do that?" Lana shouted, her eyes white in terror. That oddly comforted Cullen, knowing she was just as frightened of this unseen and unknown power.

"The same way I do anything, the same way you do...could do, will do. Nothing lasts forever, Lady Mage. I have to do this, for all of us. I am sorry if I hurt you in the process," White shouted. Then he drew forth a silver blade, the edge a ghostly blue in the light of the lyrium.

"Sweet Maker, he's going to..." Cullen shouted, but there was nothing they could do. White slit across his arm drawing forth the power of the blood. Cullen gripped tighter to Lana, extending his sword before them both. His hair stood on end as she snapped up some kind of protection spell, the energy wrapping around their bodies.

"White!" Lana screamed even while lifting up a bolt of lightning, prepared to throw it at him. "Do not kill the First Warden!" The blood mage looked up at her, his eyes drifting down in regret. Then he lifted his hands and the blood rose up around him. Thick and black, it clotted in the air around White. Lana tensed up, her shield thickening around them.

Rocks shattered off the walls, hissing in rage, but White did not throw the pile at them. Instead, he blasted the cavern above the pit. Boulders and chunks of the ceiling broke off and careened down towards the broodmothers. Their bulbous heads twisted up, the tentacles slapping in terror but there was nothing they could do to stop the incoming bombardment. The first struck one in the head, killing it instantly. Blood splattered into the lava below. The second screamed in rage as rocks slammed into the torso and tentacles. It wasn't until the final roof spanning boulder dislodged from the ceiling and splattered across both of their bodies that the screaming stopped.

"White!" Lana shouted, shaking off the horror of the broodmother's deaths quicker than Cullen. She gripped onto his arm while leaning as far out as possible. But the elf had drifted back into a tunnel and blasted the ceiling again, sealing himself off from them. "Damn it!" Lana screamed, kicking her boot into thin air. Cullen clung tighter to her, his eyes bulging from the effort while she raged over how close they came.

After her rain of curses dropped down to sacrilege under her breath, he said, "Do as before, with the stairs. Raise the debris up and form a bridge."

She sighed, her head lolling forward, "It wouldn't matter. He's too powerful, he can just collapse more in front of us. We'd be digging for ages before we'd get through." Her entire body leaned back into his, pressing the armor even tighter to his body. "He killed them, the broodmothers. No reason, they didn't even see us, but he didn't hesitate."

"Was that..." With the danger passed Cullen realized he'd been holding his arm just below her chest for what now felt an eternity. Struggling to not croak, he continued, "What does that mean?"

"That he's still a grey warden. I thought he was possessed, surely only someone that...but to put an end to those things." Lana's body shuddered in his grasp, a fact that wasn't helping his realization that he was still holding her.

"What are they?" Cullen asked.

"They are what create darkspawn. This one would give birth to hurlocks. But it's not what they are now, it's what they were." She struggled through a breath and patted his arm, "They were women once. Humans the darkspawn corrupted into those."

"Sweet Maker!" Cullen cursed, sobering up instantly. He tried to peer back down again, to find a hint of humanity in those horrifying creatures, but only a few limp tentacles were visible beneath the carnage.

"The Maker had nothing to do with it," Lana spat. " _'They looked on what pride had wrought, and despaired.'_ "

" _'The work of man and woman, by hubris of their making. The sorrow a blight unbearable,'_ " Cullen finished the canticle, both of them staring into the hissing pit as the last of the rock dust burned up on the lava's surface.

"I know a way we can catch up to White, cut him off before he gets through the thaig," Lana spoke, her voice a whisper.

"Why do I have a sinking feeling about this plan?"

She snorted, and began to slide away from him. Cullen released his grip as she drifted to the side of the crevice. Staring into his eyes, Lana delivered her death sentence, "Because it takes us straight through the darkspawn nest."

## Chapter Seven

**Darkspawn**

"Do you have any advice?" Cullen whispered above her ear. He was grateful Lana took the lead so she didn't watch his measly color drain from the horrors below them. Creatures not of the Maker numbered in the multitudes, their malformed skin slick with ichor as they all dug bare handed into the rock below them. There was no cohesive movement, no planning on the darkspawn's part. It was a twitching mass of terror, like a dead druffalo bursting with maggots.

"Advice?" She glanced around the caverns, knots of paths winding up and down throughout the area, most seeming to end in the pit below. On occasion, a cry or blood curdling shriek would echo up as one darkspawn threw a chunk of dislodged rock at another. Anywhere else it would cause a fight between soldiers, but the darkspawn shook it off and continued working. That froze Cullen's veins more than the broodmother's tentacles.

"For how to handle that many darkspawn in one area."

"Yes. Don't," Lana pivoted from their vantage point and stared up into his eyes. Terror skirted through her face, and it soothed him to know that despite her years walking through the deep roads even she found this madness.

"What now? We could still attempt to dislodge the rocks," Cullen said. It was a struggle getting through the cramped space for a second time, and while he did not relish the thought of a third, it was preferable to diving headlong into a hundred plus darkspawn horde.

"No, I believe I have something better," Lana said.

"Return to the surface and intercept White where there are no darkspawn hordes, as any sane person would," Cullen spoke aloud the words floating in his brain. He whipped around, a blush rising from his flippant tongue.

But Lana smiled, "I'm the hero of Ferelden, sane was never in the job description." She pointed towards one of a dozen holes carved into the cavern, the entire area dotted with them like a wasp's nest. "According to the map, if we follow that one it should twist around and drop us onto the road between two thaigs, which will intercept with White."

"And here comes the problem..." Cullen said even while calculating how they could drop down to reach it.

She softly elbowed him, "You're getting the hang of this grey warden thing."

"It seems to amount to run head long into danger, then -- at the last moment -- devise a brilliant way to survive."

That drew a chuckle from her, the sound so foreign in this demonic pit he felt himself smile. Lana slid around her pack and opened it. He couldn't fully see what she was inspecting, only the tops of something clay colored wrapped in wads of cushioning cotton. "When I get closer to the darkspawn they will sense me. It's part of the deal, we sense them but then they can sense us."

"Can they sense you now?"

"If they did, they'd be climbing over top each other to kill us. So, gonna guess not." She snorted and shook her head, "A rare time when a non grey warden would do better in the deep roads. Which is why you'll have to go first."

"And trust you can slaughter all the darkspawn alone?" Cullen tried to not sound indignant given what he'd seen of her powers, but even that seemed to be reaching into the realm of fantasy.

"No, I'm going to have trust that you can clear all the darkspawn in the way to create a path while I carry this," she hefted up one of the clay pots from her pack. It was nearly too large for her smaller hand, the pot sealed fully save for three holes drilled into the top.

"What is it?" Cullen asked, leaning closer.

Lana tucked it tight to her stomach like it was a fragile egg and breathed, "You'll see, but trust me. It'll do the job. If not, I have three more. First, we have to get down and without, um, exploding."

"Exploding?" Through sheer willpower, he kept his voice from cracking.

Lana ignored him, her neck craned so she could peer down at the ledge below. He watched calculations pucker the folds along her nose, the kind that seemed to be ending in more running than he anticipated. After a time, she turned to him and asked, "Do you think you could hold me?"

"Uh..."

"I can bend time to slow our descent, but we'd have to do it together and I'll only be able to use one hand." She indicated the supposedly more terrifying clay pot still snuggled to her midsection.

"Oh," Cullen gulped a few times, willing saliva down his raw throat, "yes, I am sure I could if...why don't I hold the pot thing while you cast spells with both hands?"

Lana's eyes widened as she glanced towards whatever it was, then she chattered her teeth, "That would be unwise. Very, very unwise. We only found a balance if a pressure is applied to...Just, you'll have to trust me."

"I do," he said so quickly she blinked from the confession.

"All right, good, that's...good. Grab me and we'll get started."

He'd already thrown his arms around her to stop her from falling once before. This was no different. There was no reason to treat it like an insurmountable task, just grip onto her body and think about darkspawn. Winds shifted, casting the smell of fetid sulfuric air through his nose and Cullen glanced down at the mass of creatures unaware of them. He pressed his fingers into Lana's hips, surprised to find less give than he expected. Something other than the typical corset protected her midsection.

"Ready?" she asked. Cullen nodded, then remembered she couldn't very well see him and whispered in her ear. It must be his imagination that she trembled from his breath, or he could unnerve her. Mages tended to skitter away from templars, and that's what she was a mage. And he was a templar, holding onto a mage, trying to find any canticle to recite that would get him through this.

Light sputtered up around the ground directly below them, the air refracting into frosted edges around them. It looked like water droplets splattered across a glass. "Jump!" Lana shouted. Together they both stepped off the outcropping and plummeted towards the rock a leg breaking distance below. The forces of the world tugged at Cullen, as strong as normal, and he tried to hiss in her ear when something yanked him upward. It was soft, and delicate, like gloved hands carefully plucking him up. They couldn't compete against the power of his jump, but each one slowed them a bit more until the pair landed flat footed.

The light melted away, and Lana sighed, "There, not so bad. I knew I could still do it."

"Still do it?"

"It's been a few years since I tried that one. I don't make a habit out of jumping off cliffs," she shrugged her shoulders and Cullen realized he still held her tight. Breaking away, she stepped forward, but didn't rush off to the supposed path out of the darkspawn. Instead, Lana turned to him and nodded, "Now's the time for swords."

"Right." He unsheathed his sword, the edge far too notched than was regulation. It'd seen an excess of use as of late. Cullen rotated his wrist, settling the blade into a comfortable stance. "This is when I take the lead."

Lana nodded her head and stepped back, her face vanishing into the shadows. Almost no lyrium chewed through the rocks here and they had to abandon the torch. At least he could unearth his shield with his free hand. The symbol of the order faded into the dank along with everything else in the deep roads. Cullen stepped forward, his eyes glaring down at the mass of darkspawn, then snapping back up ahead of them. So far so good, the monsters were too enraptured in their digging to bother with a couple of humans crawling above their heads. Even by the barest light of only a few deep mushrooms, he could see the path's entrance ahead. This was going rather well, all things considered.

"Ah," Lana cried behind him, her voice at a whisper.

Cullen stopped, but didn't turn to face her, his eyes hunting down at the unobservant darkspawn mass. "What is it?"

"The cavern is not empty," she said, a malice shredding her voice. She gestured the end of her staff at their only hope for an exit as two of the human sized darkspawn stepped into view. _What were they called? Hurlocks?_ The last was lankier, its head extended like a wolfs. It struck Cullen how they milled about the same way a human soldier would, their weapons tipped across their backs as they slowly slid along the path. If he didn't know better, he'd swear somewhere there was a darkspawn lieutenant who screamed their names every day for insubordination.

"What now?" he asked. Three blood red eyes snapped at him and an unholy scream echoed from one. _Well, that answered it._ The first hurlock untethered its own axe and came at Cullen jabbering in their tongue. Swinging fast, Cullen caught the edge of the blade with his shield. He threw all his back muscles into knocking it away. The hurlock twisted to the side, giving Cullen the opportunity to attack with his own sword. The blade sliced up the creature's side, splitting through rib and offal that scattered in his wake. Still shrieking, the hurlock tumbled to the ground, black blood dribbling across the dirt. Cullen spun away from the dying creature to stare into the cold eyes of the second one. He tried to roll his shoulders back to bring the shield up, but the creature was too close. Its hammer swung high for a bone breaking blow.

Lightning crashed up the creature's armor, it's skin charring from the heat as its limbs convulsed. Unable to maintain its hold, the hammer slipped out of the dead hurlock's hands and its body crumpled backwards. The smell of burnt flesh twisted Cullen's stomach, but he still turned back to Lana. Her eyes glowed with the power of the fade. She didn't see him, her focus was on the last of the group. The final creature tipped its head back and cried, the sound drilling through Cullen's marrow and strangling his brain. He dipped down, summoning every mental exercise he'd used fighting against blood mages to will his arm up. The shrieking darkspawn lopped towards them like a gangly dog, its claws extended towards the prey.

It leapt into the air, teeth baring to bite down on Cullen, when the templar rose up and bashed the edge of his shield into the creature's jaw. It flew up from the force and Lana shot another bolt of lightning at it, knocking the body off their platform.

"What was that shrieking horror?" Cullen gasped, trying to shake his ears back to life.

"A shriek, actually."

"A creative endeavor naming that one, the grey warden's were really stretching their limits." He continued to rant until he could finally hear his own words, the shriek's spell having broken. Something brushed against the back of his arm, and he turned to see Lana prodding him gently with her staff. She still held the clay pot close, but her attention was on the landing below.

The shriek's body skipped through the darkspawn horde like a stone across a still pond. Ripples of creatures rose up from their digging to glare at the invaders who dared to kill one of their own. His early estimate of their numbers was far off. The darkspawn horde wasn't in the hundreds. The hundreds stood upon more hundreds, who were now trying to climb over them to see what disturbed their work. Thousands of red eyes hunted through the dark, sniffing for the grey warden.

"Oh Maker," Cullen cried, waving his impotent sword.

"To the path! Now!" Lana screamed, waving her hand towards it.

Cullen picked up his legs, the muscles groaning from all this sprinting. He ignored the pain and faced their only hope, which was quickly filling with more darkspawn. The horde may be mindless, but they caught on fast to what the invaders were up to. While some scurried up the rock face to climb to them, others ran along the paths, their blackened corrupted armor jangling like the peel of a death bell.

Fifteen of the creatures stood as a wall blocking off their path. Each snarled and snapped while waving their blades in fury. They didn't have to form a proper blockade, only one needed to get lucky. Cullen extended his sword and he tried to burrow under his shield. This was suicide now, but he wasn't about to back down. The air thickened and pulled from his lungs. He gasped for more and found himself swallowing icicles. Before he could turn to Lana to warn her, a blast of ice shot just over his shoulder. It struck two darkspawn in the chest, then linked to ones standing beside it, then another and another, until the wall was a fractal snowflake, each creature frozen solid.

"Bash through them!" Lana shouted, her words whipping against unnatural winter winds.

Cullen threw his might behind his shield and did as she said. When his body met darkspawn, there was no pushback from the creatures. They cracked in place, their cleaved bodies shattering into pieces strewn across the ground. He hacked a path through them with his sword, trying to carve it away and not think about the horrors of what it would look like upon thaw.

"Don't drink any blood!" Lana shouted, a dangerous exhaustion curling in her voice. _How much more did she have in her?_

"I wasn't intending to, rather doubtful the darkspawn have clean glassware," Cullen answered back, finishing off the last of their wall. His sword stuck into the meat, the body not shattering into pieces. The ice spell was wearing off quickly, even though it managed to kill fifteen creatures in one throw. He'd ever seen anything so destructive before. _Maker, if the mages of Kirkwall learned how to do something like that..._

His thought trailed away as the first wave of darkspawn crawled their way up to their level. "Lana! Behind you!" he screamed, waving his sword at her.

She spun and with one hand, smashed the bladed edge of her staff through the darkspawn's chest. Shoving it off with her foot, the creature tumbled back into its own, blood curdling on the ground.

"It's not dead!" Cullen shouted. Despite her best efforts, the blade only bit a few inches into the creature's skin.

Lana sneered and she raised the crystal end of her staff at the bloodied but not beaten darkspawn. The smell of decay and waste wafted off her as she cast something at the creature. For a moment it blinked, waiting for the spell to take effect, but nothing happened. _She must already be out of mana._ Cullen tried to shove her aside, but she stood her ground and with a flick of her wrist brought the staff blade through the darkspawn's skull.

Its entire body erupted, coating the walls and darkspawn behind it in blood and gore. Cullen ducked down, but Lana threw up a barrier, the ichor sizzling in the air before harmlessly falling to the ground. The other darkspawn, now coated in their compatriots life blood, twitched and writhed until one by one they all exploded in the same gore. The mage turned away from the scene and checked on the pot cupped tight to her breast. She must have sensed Cullen staring up at her, as she explained, "Virulent walking bomb combined with a little something I picked up in the Anderfells."

"That's..." The ground twisted below them, a massive quake vibrating up his legs and rattling every rivet in his borrowed armor.

Lana's face drained, the whites of her eyes almost visible in terror, "Oh shit, ogre!"

He'd heard of the horned creatures, ten feet tall with mouths wide enough to rip a man in half. The stories did not do them justice. Cullen gripped tighter to his sword as he turned to face the ogre rising up towards them, its feet smashing through the path. Each step rattled the cavern knocking rock off the ceiling. "How do we defeat it?"

"We don't, we run, now! To the exit!" she pointed towards the pitch black cavern that the giant was slowly climbing to cut them off of. Cullen whispered a prayer to Andraste as he willed his thighs to obey him one last time. That was all he needed, just one more burst of energy to make it through. More darkspawn climbed from behind, but the pair ran away from them. Lana was quick on his heels, her staff zapping out a bolt here and there, but if anything hit it was by luck. He swung both sword and shield with all the skill of a recruit, neither of them caring if they took anything down. All that mattered was survival.

A massive hand, as grey as the grave, reached for Cullen. He tried to swing to slice into it, but Lana snapped a more powerful lightning bolt at the ogre's leg. Its horned head shook and the hand moved for the mage attacking it. Cullen jumped high, straining his reach to try and slice into the ogre's arm. His blade bit at best a few inches into the thick flesh, but it was enough for the ogre to rear back. Lana dashed to the side, and both slipped into the cavern.

Pitch black, only the sound of their heartbeats and pounding feet echoed through the passageway. Cullen tried to ask if there were anymore darkspawn ahead, but his breath rattled in his chest, unwilling to part with a single word. The ogre tried to follow after them, but its gigantic size couldn't fit. Instead, it beat its fists against the outside of the passageway, shaking rocks off the ceiling. And through that, the horde continued to follow behind them.

"Lana?" Cullen managed to gasp out.

"Get to the exit!" she screamed, her breath steadier. _Maker, how often did she do this?_ His elbows slammed into the walls and his feet rolled across uneven ground, but he didn't falter in his steps. Twisting through the black earth before them, Cullen felt a breeze fresher than anything from behind.

"I think I can feel it ahead," he said. Either it was his mind playing tricks or the area before them was a softer shade of grey in the field of black.

"Ah!" Lana cried, the sound of her scrabbling against the twisting landscape echoed behind. Cullen twisted and reached for her without knowing where she was. Somehow he caught her elbow, and heard the sounds of her staff clattering to the floor.

"Sod this," she said, shaking off his grip. Rising up, she lit her fingers with a flame. The burst of light bleached his eyes until he blinked and could see her face. People spoke of her duel against Loghain Mac Tir in the palace's throne room. How she bore a face out of ancient myth, the terrifying hero emerged from an unknowable land that steps out of it to save the world with a certainty unavailable to mortals. He thought it nonsense of course, but in this moment her face twisted into a controlled assurance so cold there was no arguing with her power.

Lana touched her fingertip to the clay pot. The end caught in fire, and she hurled it as far from herself as possible. The darkspawn watched the fire arc into their midst, the front ones twisting back from it. As it shattered into the wall, light and a powerful force burst free, shaking the walls of the cavern like ten ogre fists. Grabbing up her staff, Lana shoved into Cullen and the two of them rolled into the exit. The sounds of rocks smashing into earth and splattering bodies echoed in their wake. Even still, Lana yanked open her bag, unearthed another pot, lit it and tossed it in. This time the darkspawn screamed as they were aware of death shattering through the air. The few surviving ones scrabbled as the grenade caught and exploded into the walls of the cavern. There was no one to crawl out in the end, not that they could. The entire path collapsed into a wall of rock.

The humans held their breath, counting to hear if anything would try and crawl out through the debris, but it seemed to be impenetrable. Only their heartbeats echoed down the chiseled stones of the road they stood upon, dwarven runes lighting a red glow around them. Lana tipped her head, listening to that internal grey warden sense. After a moment, she smiled wide, "There are none near us. We did it!"

She jumped up and threw her arms around Cullen's neck. His fingers knotted behind the small of her back, lifting her higher as they gave in to the jubilation of walking through an army of darkspawn and coming out alive. Her cheek pressed into the side of his neck, and he felt it widening, the smile even infecting his dour face. They stood like that, bodies entangled in a celebratory hug for what felt both like hours and a heartbeat. He was well aware of the dangers that could be lurking in any of the multitude of shadows, but he also did not want to let go.

Lana's hands broke from his neck, her retreating heat chilling his skin as she slipped down off her raised toes. She stared up at him, only the ghost of a smile twisting up her lips while an enigmatic thought dove in the depths of her eyes. Whatever she was thinking, he knew he'd never fully know it, her mind always shrouded in mystery. Cullen bent his knees and, against all common sense, softly pressed his lips to hers. It was the barest of touches, a terror crawling up his spine at daring to try. His hands limply draped against her back if she needed to flee.

Her lips slipped away, and Cullen let her go, prepared to accept his mistake. He began to pull back when Lana hopped up onto her toes. Threading her fingers through his curls, she pulled his head down to hers. This wasn't the almost chaste kiss of before, she drunk from him like a woman walking the wastes. She tasted of the twang of magic but there was a sweet spice below, her tongue encouraging his, leading his. Cullen's fingers gripped into the small of her back, pulling her body tighter to him. A moan rolled in her throat and her fingers drifted out of his hair and down the armor. Her eyes flew open as she circled the griffin relief and she dropped off her toes breaking contact.

Cullen opened his arms, and Lana stepped out of them, her two fingers patting her lips. Shock threaded across her face and her eyes stared through him. "You should probably rest," she said, still sliding back as if afraid he might lunge for her. "After the fight, we'll have time to catch up to White, you'd want to be at your best." Lana continued to start and restart new sentences while she scooped up her staff and clutched it tight to her chest.

"I," Cullen began, his arms still outstretched. He felt too foolish to even lower them, "I did not intend to..."

She skirted around him, dashing deeper into the shadows of the roads. "Darkspawn could still be, I'll go and, go..." her voice carried, as if she needed to come up with an excuse to get far away from him.

Cullen lowered his arms, watching her vanish into the darkness. He could chase after her, try and explain that it was all a misunderstanding. He hadn't meant to, there'd been, it was just that...

"Maker's breath!" he chided aloud. Bunching his hands into fists, he glared at the ground and silently screamed in his head. _Out of all the things you could try, you had to do_ _that_ _! You were here for a purpose, a purpose you just jeopardized for your own selfish wants! For the love of the Maker she's a, she's..._

Knowing Lana was a mage used to chill his lust, or at least temper it until he could extract himself from the situation. Then she left, became a grey warden, saved the whole world, and he took ship to Kirkwall. He knew in his heart he'd never see her again. Certainly never speak with her again, or be so near to her his heart skipped in a delightful pain.

But she came to him, searched him out, needed him. _And you went and destroyed all of that for a kiss._ Cullen touched his lips in the same move as Lana did before she skittered away. He could still taste her on him, the lingering undertones reminiscent of lyrium. _Did all mages have that same spark against their skin or was it just her?_ Why was he even wondering it? It'd never affect him again. Shaking his shoulders as if it could remove the memories of the past hour, he unknotted the bedroll off his pack. Little more than a celebrated blanket, Cullen snapped it a few times against the air hoping that assaulting it would make him feel better.

He didn't want her to need him. Many people needed him, needed him to hold that line between chaos and order in Kirkwall. Needed him to make the choices they couldn't, that they wouldn't, so blood didn't run through the streets. He wanted her to want him, and that thought made him feel even more worthless than before.

"Cullen..."

Twisting away from the beaten bedroll, he watched Lana step out of the shadows towards him. A determination roared in her eyes, which only made him shy away from her. He glared at the broken nub of an etching carved against the wall and spoke, "I should apologize for what I --"

She picked up his dangling hand and threaded her fingers through his. "Don't." Her thumb rubbed the back of his hand, the same way when she didn't seem to want him to follow her into the deep roads.

"But it was my unwanted affections that--"

Lana slipped her body in front of him until she was only a breath away. She tossed her staff to the ground without a care and cupped his cheek. Cullen turned his gaze even lower, embarrassed by the burn inching below her fingers. "You have nothing to apologize for," she said.

His eyes snapped up to hers, and he almost snorted in shock from a smile curling up her lips. "I don't understand," Cullen gasped, paddling to find some sense left in the world. "You, and I, it was...you left."

Lana's smile fanned out, and her finger circled across the stubble of his chin, "I needed a moment, to steady myself. To think. It's been..." her eyes dipped down and she shook her head, "I'm afraid I'm not very good at this."

"You're not alone," Cullen admitted, getting a chuckle from her. She raised her head and claimed his lips as her own, claimed his body, claimed his heart. He'd offered it up to her long ago without even realizing it. Now it struck in his soul how much of himself he'd abandon for her. All she had to do was ask.

The kiss was much gentler than their first, like two young lovers struggling to see if this other person could possibly care as much. He scooped her up and lifted her body to him. Their lips softly pressed and cupped against each other, trying to find the perfect spot to meld into one. He felt Lana break into a smile below him, which broke his own concentration. Slipping away from her, he brought his forehead to hers. His eyes slipped closed and he whispered, "This is not wise."

Lana chuckled again, "It's the deep roads, nothing here is ever wise. But, would you rather do something unwise now or regret never attempting it later?"

"I..." Cullen's life was staying in line, minding himself as best he could, and keeping others from shattering the rules. Wrapping Lana in his arms, he lifted her up and placed her on his bedroll. It was the least romantic spot he could imagine but Maker he did not care, and she didn't seem to either. Her fingers curled up behind his jaw, pulling him in for more kisses. Lana sighed as she leaned back, her hands exploring across his body. For the first time in an age, Cullen wanted to do something stupid.

## Chapter Eight

**Pillow Talk**

If he was going to the void for that, it was worth it.

Lana propped herself up on her side and stretched across the bedroll until her toes clipped against the cold rock. His one hand rested against her naked hip, gently massaging the curve of it. He was too terrified to touch any other part of her, even after...

_Andraste's grace, did they really do that? Did he do that?_ She caught his eyes and ran her fingers against his increasing scruff, knotting it against the grain. A warmth radiated off her body keeping the chill away between them, but a cool breeze still wafted against his backside. Knowing his luck, this would be when the darkspawn finally broke through their cave in - while he was bare-assed and unarmed. Cullen shook off the dour thoughts invading his mind and let his eyes drift down across Lana's body.

He'd expected her to dress quickly after...no, he hadn't expected any of that, truth be told. But it all happened so fast, his head buzzing with a thousand different thoughts -- all of them traipsing about in an ecstatic panic -- he could only sample parts of her. Now he felt he had all the time in thedas to savor what didn't seem possible.

Her graceful neck sported a birthmark shaped like a melting flower that bloomed down into her collarbone. He only saw the barest hints of it peeking out below her robes before. The mark of hers fevered his imagination since the days when she was an apprentice and he wished to kiss it endlessly. She'd laughed at his attempts during, almost taking the top of his head to her chin when he tried, but he loved it. Loved the scoop of her shoulders, the muscle chiseled below her skin from years carrying her staff across thedas. And...a blush burned up his nude neck as his eyes drifted down to her breasts. Each handful cup rested atop themselves, the depths of her cleavage inviting him. Freckles dashed up the side of her breast and under highlighting the part that was called...

"What is it?" She spoke for the first time since they'd disentangled.

"Hm?" he snapped his head up trying to wipe away any guilt across his face, but Lana had to see it. He was a horrible liar.

She chuckled, her finger twisting through the knotted curls above his ear while her other arm propped her head higher. "You were thinking something so profound your lower lip jutted out in concentration. I have to know what drew it from you."

"Oh, that, it was..." Cullen tried to scrounge for anything deep or philosophical from the depths of his brain. Unfortunately, that organ was still short on blood and refused to offer assistance. "It's not important, I was only...it is trivial, foolish, and. I was tying to think of the word people use for the part of your, um, body that..." he mumbled his sentence to death, terrified to continue on.

But Lana rose up, curiosity burning a sparkling focus in her eyes. She broke her hand away from his hair and pointed at her nose, "Is it this?"

"No," Cullen sighed, aware of how this would go. He wished for once a poet would inhabit his skull instead of his usual fumbling.

"Oh," Lana gestured to her collar bone, her fingers rolling across the birthmark. "How about this?"

"No."

"This part?" she patted her stomach, her fingers prodding against an old scar bisecting up her hip. Cullen shook his head, chuckling from the game, when her hand slipped in between her thighs, "It cannot be this bit. You seemed to be well acquainted with that one."

An unmanly squeak erupted from his throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight. "It's the breast," he cried, cutting off her game before he embarrassed himself into a puddle, "there's a term for the part of it that's...I was thinking of it, trying to think of it. The word I mean. And I don't know why I'm still talking."

Lana laughed with such strength her in question anatomy bounced, the hypnotic jiggle drawing his attention like a moth to a flame. "Swell!" the word dawned in his jumbled brain as if by magic.

"You're not so bad yourself," she responded, still chuckling.

"They call it a swell, the swell of the breast."

"Who's they?" she shook her head, knocking around her knotted braids.

"I don't remember where I read it," Cullen exasperated, not wanting to be on trial. "People who describe breasts often, I suppose," he grumbled. Someone was taking the piss from him and he feared it was himself.

Lana ran her fingers down his shoulder and onto his bicep. Her own attention into his interrogation waned for a moment as she squeezed his muscle. Cullen thought he might be free before she shook her head and asked, "Do templars often describe breasts?"

The blush charred up his cheeks and moved towards the forehead. He remembered where he'd first read it, and there was no way he would confess it to her. The chantry could be strict about what it expected from future templars, but even the patrician sisters knew that a pile of adolescents trapped together with rampaging hormones needed a guiding hand once in awhile, and a feigned ignorance the rest. The book was terrible and trite, but every recruit passed it from one to the other, often emphasizing the dirtier parts.

"We, I..." He floundered, gritting his teeth to will away the guilt and shame when Lana pressed her lips against his. It took a moment before he thought to kiss her back.

She settled back onto her hand and said, "I'm sorry, you're rather adorable when you're stewing. I couldn't help myself."

Cullen's head dipped down but the shame evaporated in a breath leaving a goofy smile in its wake. _How did she manage to calm him with a single kiss?_ He gazed down at those swell of breasts or however one classified them in groups. Despite decorating the deep roads in scattered clothing, Lana kept on her long necklace. The pendant dangled above her pressed cleavage, a quartz cylinder with a dark thick liquid lapping inside.

He blinked at it and lifted his hand off her hip to reach for it. "Is that your phylactery?"

Lana frowned and picked up the vial in her palm. He stopped short of touching it, watching the liquid in the haunting light of the dwarven ruins. "My phylactery?" she sighed, shaking the bottle back and forth, "This tiny?"

She was right, the mage's blood was preserved in bottles at least seven centimeters tall. The bottle itself would change with time and tower but they would all fit comfortably in the hand. The templars wanted them to be easy to carry, but not something small and misplaced.

"What is it then? That is blood, isn't it?" Cullen asked.

And with that, a wintry draft wafted between them. Her frown etched deeper as she cupped the pendant in her hand. "It is, but it's not what you think. It's from the joining, my joining into the wardens. It's the blood of the darkspawn I killed, the blood I...how I became what I am. I wear it to remember."

"Remember what?"

She stared into the liquid he now realized was black as ink and bore no resemblance to the pulsing glow of a phylactery. And he'd jumped right to the most deadly conclusion, unable to imagine a mage would have any other reason to wear a pendant of blood outside of being a malifecarum. Lana's eyes snapped up to his and she dropped the vial to her breasts, "That there's no going back."

He expected her to shy away from him after he all but accused her of consorting with demons, but Lana slid over to him. Burying her head into his chest, she dipped a hand across his hip, her fingers drifting towards his bare ass. Cullen wrapped his free hand around the small of her back and pulled himself tighter to her. Days traveling, even in the depths of the darkspawn horde, and her skin somehow smelled of rose water and a sweet musk. Maker only knew what he reeked of after struggling through the depths of the world in the grey armor. He planted a kiss against the top of her head and she sighed.

"You probably have your phylactery stored somewhere else, of course," he spoke his internal thoughts aloud. "If the chantry has no control over grey wardens they have no reason to keep it."

"I...they did gift it to me, but I didn't keep it. It's in the hands of someone else. So he can find me if I should ever vanish or know if I fall." Her warm breath ruffled the downy hair across his chest, but the words were cold and aloof.

"Only a templar can track a phylactery," Cullen continued, unable to leave the thread alone.

Lana snorted, "Despite his years sitting on the...out of the game, I don't think he'll forget how to do that."

There were rumors that placed the Hero of Ferelden in damn near everyone's bed, even some tracing her as Empress Celene's arcane lover. They all grew increasingly outlandish with each new romance, to the point it was a wonder she had any time to stop the blight in between all the snogging. One even suggested Lana seduced Loghain and then his daughter to end the civil war in Ferelden. Through the were-dragons and demon lovers there was one that repeatedly bubbled up, the new King of Ferelden. It fit; he a grey warden, she the newest recruit, alone together in the world turned against them fighting to save it from impenetrable odds. Only a true idiot would not notice Lana, and despite the rumors about king Alistair it was doubtful he was that brainless. It was a few years after the blight that Cullen remembered he met the man who would be king during the lowest stage of his life. Maker, he'd even confessed his affections for Lana while her possible new lover stood there. That churned up his guts for a few months no matter how hard he tried to shake it off.

His jealousy was unfounded regardless if the rumors were true or not. He'd had no right to act as if he had any claim to her. The fact it bothered him burnt his shame brighter for too many years. And now she was here with him, all of her. She pressed her body against his, her hip bones knocking into his own. Cullen curled his leg up around her hip, enveloping her deeper. It was hard to say who sighed from the move, perhaps both. The warmth of their bodies yanked them deeper into the fade. Maker, he never dreamed he'd sleep with her wrapped up in his arms.

"I should let you sleep," she murmured, but didn't break away from his hold.

"What of you?" he asked, struggling through the fog of exhaustion. The smart thing to do would be to rise and re-dress, but his body cried for him to give in to the uncomfortable bedroll.

"I told you, I don't sleep in the deep roads."

"I thought you couldn't hear the darkspawn anymore," he continued, struggling to understand what drove the grey wardens.

"That's not how it works, I..." She burrowed deeper into him, her words so muffled by his own skin he couldn't understand her.

"I'm sorry, I missed that," he said. Lana slid away, and Cullen started from tears brimming in her eyes.

"I lied to you earlier. It isn't a grey warden thing that keeps me awake here. We hear them, sense them, but I can sleep if I...It's...there was an attack. I was struggling to cast a spell, low mana on uneven footing - bad luck all around," Lana explained, as if the templar knew anything about the rigors of spell casting. "When a genlock pops out of the ground and sticks a sword right through my shoulder," she pointed to a jagged white mark raised off her skin.

"Maker," Cullen cried in sympathy and ran his thumb against the fading scar.

Lana shrugged but watched him tend to it as if the wound was still fresh. "It wasn't the worst I've had. It didn't even stop me from casting. At the time I thought little of it. I'd been injured so many other times before and after, seen things...the arch demon, for the love of the Maker. But, I close my eyes, I lay my head down in the deep roads and it's as if someone's sat upon my chest. I feel the blade sawing through my flesh all over again."

Lana turned down, unable to face him, "It's pathetic."

"You're not alone," Cullen blurted out.

She sighed into her own chest, "I know, the _shock of war_. I've heard it before from the old soldiers walking the battlements talking of their days on the fields."

"Lana," he curled the back of his fingers against her cheek and felt the tears streaking down them. She hadn't made a noise to cry them. "I get them too. From the," Cullen steadied himself, "the blood mages, in the tower. And..."

He never talked about it, not to anyone. Speaking of it could lead to lesser commands, or even a forced retirement - as much as templars retired. He didn't want to face either possibility. What he wanted was to serve, to protect others so they didn't have to suffer the same fate as he did. Save them so they wouldn't wake screaming in the night from a blood mage shredding apart their mind, slicing open every buried pain inside their head, and dangling their greatest fear before them. It wasn't noble anymore, not some great calling from the Maker like he dreamed when he was younger. He needed it, needed to be fighting against the always wearing line to protect the innocent. Some days, thinking he made a difference was the only reason he could keep going.

Lana slid up higher so her eyes could stare into his. He blinked, feeling the sting of smoke in them despite the torch being long doused. "Once, while asleep, I encased an entire campfire in ice from the nightmare," she said. "I have to sleep with my hands under me or I might accidentally hurt someone." Her pupils danced back and forth while she stared into him, waiting for him to condemn her.

"The sound of rain, any water dripping, it...it's like a vice upon my heart. I, I'm back in the tower, in the cage with the blood and..." Cullen fell silent, unaware he was trembling until he felt her hand slide down the entirety of his side. She lifted it back up and continued to stroke him like he was a mabari, but it soothed him. It took some time before his shaking stopped, Lana's petting never slowing as her eyes held his.

"Orange," she said. "It's orange for me."

"The fruit or the color?" Cullen asked.

For a moment she smiled, then leaned forward for a kiss. Cullen accepted it gladly, her touch grounding him. Lana leaned back so she could continue to stare into his eyes, "The smell, actually. It wasn't darkspawn but a demon. The things it did...I doubt I need to tell you, but when it reached out and gutted a man, it must have pierced an orange in his satchel. The smell wafted on the wind while it littered his intestines across the ground."

Her voice paused and she shuddered, "I despise the things now. The smell of oranges turns my stomach and I have to get away lest I vomit all over some noble's shoes. It's rather sad to think the Hero of Ferelden can be defeated by fruit."

She pouted after her final proclamation and Cullen giggled at the insanity of it all. The Lady Amell, Hero of Ferelden, conqueror of the Blight, laying beside him in the deep roads, both of them naked as the day they were born, confessing she could be stopped by an orange. Her lips curled into a frown, but for once Cullen didn't stumble. He cupped her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers.

"You are the most awe inspiring person I've ever known." Despite years of denying it, he ripped back the edge of what he buried deep in his thoughts. "The things you can do even with the horrors of war in your mind, you saved the world. It gives so many hope, the Ferelden refugees in Kirkwall, the way they speak of you...you're so much more than a hero to them. You're a...they care for you," He blathered on, but not into the depths of his heart. He'd learned how to seal it off after Kinnloch.

Lana sighed, "That's sweet. I never, well, no, I did sort of know after, but...But it doesn't change anything. I still feel broken."

"So do I," Cullen admitted, his eyes slipping shut. "Not much changes it, certainly not platitudes."

"Then why..."

He shrugged, a hint of a smile twisting up his lips, "I wanted to tell you the truth either way."

Lana kissed him, a lustful heat burning through it as she lapped up his lips with her tongue. He rose to the challenge, matching her new dance. His fingers drifted down her side to cup that swell of her breast and then take in the rest of it. Never one to be passive, Lana kneaded into his ass cheek.

Despite how much he wanted her again, Cullen pulled back to ask, "I thought you intended to leave me to sleep?"

An ornery smile twisted up her flushed cheeks. She pounced upon him, twisting him flat onto his back. Straddling across his stomach, her thighs clenched against him. She leaned down and whispered, "Sweet dreams."

## Chapter Nine

**Spires**

Fire crackled across the creature's skin while smoke and the smell of blackened fat buffeted around it. The deepstalker yipped and screeched as it dashed for cover straight through the rest of its brood. Every one caught alight. Lana carelessly blew her fingers off while watching them scurry back into their holes, flames trailing their departure. The deepstalkers only attacked them a few times, but with every fresh assault their ranks grew bolder and greater in number. Cullen rolled his arm around to glare at the blood slicking up his sword. The darkspawn gore was the worst, Lana insisting she wipe it off and then burning her rag when finished, but the deeptstalker ichor clotted in blobs across the metal. It appeared as if his own blade scabbed up.

"How much further until we find this thaig?" he asked.

"How many times are you going to ask that?"

"Until we're there." He struggled to scrape off the deepstalker's blood, his fingernails straining below the scabs trying to pop them off. Pain lanced up his finger as the nail bent inward, the blood not about to give in. Lana laid a hand across his shoulder drawing his attention up to her eyes. She smiled and wiped her fiery magic down his sword, the metal heating to a flaming red without reaching below the hilt. Cullen stared a question at her but kept his hand above his own blade as she poured enough power to ignite three deepstalker nests into it. She cut off her mana and her cooled hand gripped onto his. Together, they swung his sword in an arc splattering the walls in deepstalker blood and leaving his blade nearly pristine.

Cullen stared in awe at the simple move, he'd never even thought to try such a thing. There were perks to traveling with a mage. Lana seemed to sense his thoughts and she curled her fingers behind his jaw to pull him into a kiss. Definite perks to traveling with a mag. A grey warden mage.

After breaking away, she smiled, "Were you always this surly or did you stumble into it in old age?"

"I'm not surly," he cut back, unable to bite back a grumble. Stumbling to find his mental balance after the kiss, Cullen swiped his sword through the air to cool it.

"Right, not surly at all." Her fingers trailed across his forehead and down the bridge of his nose, "You got these glower lines from smiling too much."

Cullen grabbed her fingers in his. Her light hearted smiled faded until he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. A brazen heat still burned off her skin leaving behind a flush trailing from his mouth up to his cheeks. "I'm new to smiling," he said intending it to be jovial, but the truth warped his tone. He'd never had much reason before.

Dragging her fingers through his scruff, Lana twisted her head to the side. Her voice drifted away as she spoke, "We do what we must so others won't."

"Hm...?"

"Just something I heard once. Anyway, the thaig is close. Which is lucky seeing as how this road ends in an inescapable pile of rubble," she gestured to the end of the road they'd been following for what felt like days now. How Cullen managed even a few hours of sleep he was uncertain with every horror the deep roads could throw at them only a thin rock collapse away. Lana kept guard over him and he woke to find her crouching over the first of a growing pile of deepstalker corpses. She'd licked the magic flame off the end of her fingers and inquired if he was hungry. There was none like her in all of thedas, he was certain.

He voiced many pointed concerns about the deepstalkers at first, but the worm-like creatures seemed easy enough to kill if they kept focused. While he kept an eye on the chittering holes lining the walls, Lana led them through the roads of the dwarves. Lava gurgled down grooves running the lengths of the road, the fiery light highlighting runes carved across the sunken walls. Cullen never put thought into the dwarven kingdom, their people having no fear of mages, but as he stood in awe of their ancient wonders he felt remiss. Pitched pillars collapsed into the vast space, the rubble causing them to have to scrabble around, but just as many remained upright after thousands of years and darkspawn calling it home.

As he first walked down the stone floors, he felt an awe replaced by alertness from the deepstalkers renewing their attack. The awe shifted to exhaustion as they continued to pass the same architecture; broken stone pillar, faceless statue, runic warding carved into the wall now silent. The relentless repetition made him yearn for the lyrium caverns - at least the blue light didn't sear his retinas the way a lava burp would.

Lana gestured at the wall long ago smashed into a thousand pieces and fully blocking off any hope of an exit. It would have required a battering ram to take something that structurally sound down. She couldn't have had anything to do with its collapse. Cullen paused, remembering the grenades she chucked at the darkspawn tunnels. The power at the disposal of the unchecked grey wardens rattled him. _How many others knew the strengths the wardens could reach if the need arose?_

"I hope you know of a way through." He picked up a broken brick scattered away from the rest; a symbol was etched into the cracked end. It was hard to make out, but the edge of the triangle looked a bit like a blade's tip.

Lana shook her head, "Don't need a way through it, I've got something better." She hopped over the lava streams and flattened against the wall. Not expecting her to leap, Cullen subconsciously reached forward as if he could keep her from teetering back into the scalding lava. But Lana was more than capable as she crept along the wall and reached her arm into a crevice carved in the rock. Her free arm flailed for balance while she dipped down and yanked back upon something buried in the rock. Gears roared to life from deep within the walls and along the ceiling. No one had cracked into whatever this was in awhile as dust rained down like a snowstorm. Or perhaps it was debris remaining from when the back wall collapsed.

The section beside Lana cracked in half, and both sides of what'd seemed impenetrable rock folded in on itself. Despite being created by dwarves, the doors were large enough to let an ogre through. Lana extracted her hand and smiled, "Ta da. This is thaig...well, I doubt you care what it's called."

Carefully extending his leg over the lava pit, Cullen stepped to stand beside her and tried to pierce into the darkness of this once closed off world. "I should light the torch," he said and tried to fumble with his own mediocre pack.

"That won't be necessary," Lana said. She flared up her fingers to a brilliant green and placed them against the door. The light caught as if placed in pools of oil. Green sparks raced across the walls, blooming like her fractal snowflake until every arc of magic circling and amplifying through the thaig met at the ceiling. An orb hung above the thaig, a chill circling along its surface. The metal seemed iron in appearance but from the way her magic lit up inside of it Cullen knew it had to be something else. The green light folded around it, arcing off the ceiling like hands cupping around the ball until they lanced together to bring it alive.

He'd heard of the underground cities of the dwarves but pictured them more like, well, the domain of gophers. Dirt, hole, and dwarf, perhaps with some rock thrown in. But this was grander than any splendor he'd ever seen on the surface. The ceiling reached so distant, Cullen had to crane his neck up to make out the retreating specks of green light dotting through the crags like stars. Ten spires of white brick stood at attention throughout the thaig, each top skimming across the stone ceiling. The pillars, easily a hundred feet in diameter, were carved with small doorways. Paths twisted up and down through the cavern connecting all the doors like an undulating maze. Woven through the bottom of all the pillars rested a lake still as a mirror. Cullen feared he'd fall into the eternity of the reflection if he stared at it too long.

"Rather impressive, eh?" Lana said, lightly nudging him in the ribs.

"Impressive? The White Spire is impressive. This is...I have no words," he choked.

Lana snorted, "You've been to the White Spire? Even I haven't seen it."

"There's still time," Cullen said, his eye drawn to a glimmer of jewels still embedded at the top of a spire. Time or scavengers hadn't reached them yet.

"Perhaps," Lana said before shaking her head, "We need to head this way." She took off, even more sure footed than before, crossing a narrow bridge over the lake. A bone brittle frost crested above the black water, the chill chewing up Cullen's still exposed shins. Lana didn't say he should not touch the water, but every instinct in his body warned him against it. More than likely a finger breaking the surface would draw forth legions of undead from below the briny depths. That was just his luck.

Lana twisted off the bridge to stand before a wall branching off one of the spires. Her fingers skimmed across the runes carved along it, lighting each tile up in a pattern. They barely deserved her attention, her hand guiding them into place by memory while she watched the metal orb above them. A soft chime echoed through the rock and the floor just before them lifted upward forming a ramp into the sky.

"I'm beginning to suspect you've been here before," Cullen said.

She chuckled and strode confidently up the incline. Cracked gold was poured into the edges of the ramp still lifting below her feet. The rock itself hummed from the glow of the magic in the air. "Yes, though the last time it was under a pile of darkspawn."

"Rather glad I missed that one," he mumbled following behind her.

"It took an unending amount of time to clean them out. They'd dug in deep for centuries." Now a good fifteen feet above the ground, Lana pointed towards an area beyond the crystal lake where a dark spire was shadowed amongst the white ones. None of her magic light touched the blackness, though not for want of trying as it circled around the edges snapping in anger. "That was their main nest. Unsalvageable, of course. Everything they touch rots into nothing."

They dipped through the first of the doorways, Cullen having to bend to keep from smacking his head. He was surprised to find the room wasn't empty save for a few statues or other shattered decor. A stone bed big enough for a family rested in the corner. Beside it was an end table baring a mug still tipped over from the last owner. Perhaps he, in running to raise the alarm from the encroaching darkspawn, knocked the cup over in haste then never returned to right it centuries upon centuries ago. He shuddered at the enormity of history encapsulated in a spilt glass. "Why did you clear this place? Is that what grey wardens do, empty thaigs of darkspawn?"

Lana shrugged, her fingers plowing through another magical lock, this one up to four colors. "Sometimes. I seem to often, though it's more a detour of my mission than the main objective. I..." She paused in her machinations and frowned. Snapping her teeth in thought she turned to Cullen and sighed, "I came here with White. There were other wardens with, it's not wise to go through the deep roads alone."

"She says now."

That broke the regretful frown for a moment, but it slotted back into place as she continued to talk. "We weren't trying to clear the thaig. We didn't even know it was here. It began as a research mission."

"Research? Into what?" All Cullen could see were the marks of the darkspawn and the rotted bones of a long abandoned dwarven empire. Anything of value was long picked clean.

Lana twisted to him, and a spark burned in her eyes, "I have a theory that at some point before the darkspawn and the blights began, the elves lived with the dwarves. I'd found mentions in an old thaig of elven refugees but refugees from what? My best guess is that they were fleeing the destruction of Arlathan itself. Of course, any translation of ancient elvhen or dwarven is suspect due to the languages having been forged and reforged over the years from scraps of memories. For all I know, the scrolls referred to a word for an elven pie that could also represent refugee, slave, and/or frilly hat. Though my theory would explain the dwarven use of enchantments despite their lack of access to mages. Was it the elves of old who taught them? Or perhaps they were once on more equal footing. Of course neither the dwarven Shaperate nor the dalish would ever admit such a thing was possible. The implications alone...what?" Her musings slipped away as she caught sight of him. Folding her arms across her chest Lana glared back.

"I..." Cullen shook his head, trying to wipe away the idiotic grin that made it appear he was laughing at her, "you're so, it's nice to see you excited about something that isn't killing darkspawn."

"Oh," she unfolded her arms and a blush crawled up her cheeks, "well, there was plenty of killing darkspawn here too. Grey warden priorities and all."

"Of course," Cullen nodded. Lana returned to the panel and, with her full focus, unlocked the next platform. This one extended horizontally above the lake towards a pillar on the far edge of the thaig. Blackness charred up the side of the structure, reaching just below where their newly formed bridge ended. "How come no one's living here now?"

"Darkspawn make for impolite neighbors," Lana chuckled while stepping out onto the bridge. There were no railings to keep a person from falling the hundred or so feet into the bottomless lake below, but she didn't flinch.

"Wouldn't dwarves want to take back their own thaigs?" Cullen continued following after her.

"Before they can attempt it someone will have to cough up the coin to warrant sending an expedition, everything is about coin for the dwarves. And on top of funding they'd also require dispensation from a descher. People can't simply gather a bunch of friends together to take back the deep roads. Dwarven politics, I will never understand it." Lana's rant faded away as Cullen paused at the middle of their bridge.

In the long stretch of terrors that clawed across his brain, for whatever reason heights wasn't one of them. Still, he couldn't help himself from staring off the bridge into the depths of the lake. The reflection was so perfect he could see the wisps of a blonde man dressed like the fearsome slayers of darkspawn staring up at him from far below. For a foolish moment he wanted to wave at the drowning man.

He heard an "a hem" and glanced up to find Lana on the other side. She didn't tap her foot in impatience, but she might as well have. They had a job to do and it didn't involve sightseeing. Apologizing, Cullen picked up his feet to join her.

Lana continued her thread about the dwarves as he joined her, "And while they bicker over who finances such a trip, the darkspawn return. It leaves me to wonder if they have any real interest in gaining back their empire."

This second pillar was sharper than the others with metal spikes wedged into every corner. Where curves formed the doorways before, this one had the rock chiseled away so it appeared as if the frame was a set of jagged teeth about to bite down. The pillar wasn't meant to be a friendly bedroom or even a neutral foyer. Like the gallows, this place was designed to set a person on edge. Cullen's fingers notched around his sword hilt as he eyed up the doorway. A pair of statues guarded the entrance. Far less stylized than the typical dwarven ones these were primitive as if the sculpture saw no reason to finish beyond cracking away rock in a vaguely human shape. But there was a disturbing fluidity to the movement. One had its arms extended high as if about to pound a fist into an invisible foe while the second held something crushed in its arms.

"Those statues look as if they're about to come to life," he commented as an aside, but Lana's eyes flared and she spun around. Ice crackled around her fist while she watched both statues remain perfectly still. Eventually, when the statues continued to not move, she shook the ice off pushing the fade energy away.

"What is it?"

"I take it you've never seen a golem before," she took a breath to steady her voice. "We had to fight through them to reach the top spire."

"Fight? But they're made out of rock." Cullen knocked his fist against the stomach of one and only the thud of solid stone echoed back.

Lana pointed to a pathway winding below them, "See that stain on the ground?" It was hard to view at the distance, but something dark blotted across the stone just below a statue crashed to its knees. "That was my blood before I blew its head off. Golems. Not fun."

"Maker," Cullen hissed. He flipped back to the two guardians and eyed them up anew. How long would it take his sword to hack even an inch off their hide? Would even that stop them? A memory tugged on his mind and he voiced it, "Funny enough, I remember a statue that looked a bit like these. It was in Honnleath, in the square."

Lana whistled softly under her breath, "Oh, you don't say?" She stepped into the doorway, her fingers raising the light runes as she passed.

Running one hand down the golem's still frozen form, Cullen mused, "It was smaller though." Trusting that the statue wasn't about to come to life and snap his neck, Cullen slipped through the doorway after Lana. His mage was nowhere to be seen. A few stone tables nestled along the wall covered by dust and scraps of broken metal, but no other furniture filled the area. Neither did the grey warden who was his only hope out of the deep roads and away from murderous masonry.

"Um, Lana? Hello?" he asked the thin air.

"What?" her voice exasperated what sounded inches from his ear. Cullen jumped, twisting his heel across the slick stone while searching for the source.

"Where are you?"

"Where am...oh for the, did the illusion snap back into place? Hang on."

He didn't have much to add to the bodiless voice, so Cullen gripped tighter to his sword and stared at the air. She cursed a few times under her breath and then, as if she'd always been standing there, Lana appeared inside what had been solid rock.

"Old magic, elven I suspect, not that the college would ever listen to me," she muttered and pulled her hand away from a device. As she broke contact, the wall reformed around her.

Cullen cried, reaching out to save her from a stone suffocation, but Lana touched the panel again and she snapped back into sight. "It should be maintaining but the spell's breaking down. Here, take my hand." She grabbed onto his fingers and pulled him close to her. Perhaps she expected him to put up more of a fight, or the mage didn't know her own strength, but Cullen slid across the floor. His body plowed into hers. By the Maker's grace, the true wall kept her upright and not sprawled out below him. Cullen threw his hands flat against the wall beside her head to try and keep himself balanced as he glared down at his traitorous feet.

"Sorry about that, I, uh..." all semblance of thought vanished as he fell adrift into those bemused eyes.

"You're not one for subtlety, I see." Lana broke her hands from the panel and wrapped them around Cullen's back. The stone wall shimmered into place, but he was too lost in the heat of her body to notice they were trapped in a false tomb.

"I did not intend to, that is...you know."

"Not really, no," she smiled, peering into him. He tried to form a response but the lithe body clinging to him pulverized all his words into a gooey mush of ums and uhs.

In almost crushing her beneath him, her hair had slipped across her right eye. Cullen pushed the strands back behind her ear, her warm skin beckoning him to explore further but he flattened his hand to the wall beside her instead. _Why do you unnerve me so?_

"People grow twitchy when they learn I killed an arch demon," Lana said.

The color drained from Cullen's cheeks and he whipped his eyes at the mage pinned beneath him. "Did I speak that aloud?" Her eyes narrowed and she nodded her head.

"Oh," a combination of relief that she hadn't skimmed his thoughts and mortification that he spoke without realizing stampeded across his face. "I, it's not your combat skills that..." he swallowed a sigh and stared down at her shoulder. It was the only part of her body he suspected wouldn't cause him to blush. "Even before you became a warden, I found myself, um, that is to say- Maker, I'm making a fool out of myself."

Her fingers dusted along his jaw and chin, pulling his face to her. "It's a very handsome fool, if that helps." She had to feel the burn bright under her fingers as he tried to shrug away her compliment. It didn't matter what mages thought of his appearance. It shouldn't matter for his duty, but he secreted her words deep into his heart to listen to again later.

"I've been bumbling around you ever since the first time we met," Cullen admitted, daring to let his memory drift back to Ferelden.

Lana screwed her eyes up, "I don't remember that."

"The blueberry bushes outside the tower during the storm when I almost called you by your preferred name, not that I should have used any name." The confession burned on his tongue. He feared he needed to recite a few canticles afterwards to appease Andraste for his sin.

Lana shook her head, "We met long before that. I remember it. The mousey templar with the Orlesian name was giving a new knight the tour around the tower. He always took a perverse joy in stomping unannounced into the bathing area."

"Oh Maker," Cullen squeaked, his own memory jogging in line with hers. _How did he forget that?_

"Ah," Lana smiled, "I take it you also remember a rather impertinent apprentice who covered the entire room in watery suds."

"You had good reason," he said. He'd never told the then nameless woman how grateful he was to have her blanket the area in opaque foam. It was obviously some sort of hazing ritual, Charnell chuckling at the new knight about to melt into the floor from their bursting upon where they should not have been. The mages hustled for towels and robes while Cullen wished he could spin his helmet around and walk out of the room. And then, a smile plastered across her face, one of them obliterated a block of soap. Water and suds erupted through the room shielding every naked surface and soaking into both of the templar uniforms. Charnell grumbled for days about the mess while Cullen was ecstatic to have escaped. The Knight-Commander had a few half-hearted words with the templars about minding their manners, not that it amounted to much officially. But the templars who didn't wish to stand around for a day with their smallclothes sopping wet gave the apprentices their rightful space.

"How did you know it was me?" Cullen asked. "I was wearing the helmet at the time."

Lana chuckled, "You really think we didn't know who was who under all that metal? We lived with you, same as you knew us. I could spot your amber eyes from a hundred feet away. Plus," her hands slipped around the back of his neck and she lifted on her toes to meet him eye to eye, "you kept stuttering when I asked a question. That made it easier to find you."

"I'd assumed that you, you wouldn't have even, that is..."

"See, that stutter." She curled into him and gently kissed his lips. Her tongue dipped into his mouth leaving behind a cooling sensation from her frost spell that melted inside him. Cullen froze for a beat, his own mind trapped back in the circle. Every touch from her still drew forth the same question _'Could this really be happening?' Did he deserve this?_ Lana broke away and pecked once more against his lips. She brought her forehead against his, and her fingers twisted around one of his short curls trying to draw it forth from the mass. _This shouldn't be happening, he had no right to impose himself into her life like this._ _Whatever this was. What could truly come of it after, anyway?_ He may be on unsteady ground in matters of the heart but he wasn't naive. That finger twirling in his hair could burn deepstalkers alive. Those hands that caressed his skin could freeze darkspawn solid. She was a mage, she could become corrupted, she could fall. And the only way to rid herself of the curse of magic would be to give up everything that made him love her, everything that made her Lana.

"Charnell was the reason I was at your harrowing," Cullen spoke trying to douse his enflamed body. "He drew up the list, selected me specially. At the time, I did not realize why he chose me. I'd thought it an unlucky draw of the Maker, not that he'd try to punish us both."

Lana's fingers slipped out of his hair and down his sides. She didn't push him away, but that barrier flared up between them, that reminder that they were forever opposed like water to oil. "Funny how the harrowing was the least worst thing to happen to me that day. Not all mages are so _lucky_."

"I'm sorry," he said, uncertain what to say.

"Never mind." Her cheeks sunk down and her smile lines folded away, leaving her face as stark as frozen snow. For the first time Cullen saw the Amell resemblance. "We should stop White before he hurts anyone else. I never imagined he'd be capable of so much..."

Cullen nodded his head. "Blood mages are vicious and unpredictable. Once a mage dabbles in the forbidden, it's only a matter of time before they kill."

She twisted her head towards him, her eyes narrowing. "I know that blood mages can come from anywhere. It took a friend, ex-friend to teach me that." Lana slipped out from under him and pointed to a staircase hidden on their side of the illusion. After adjusting her robes, she started up the stairs.

The pillar was not a friend to people of the long legged variety, the stairs being just close enough together to make climbing one at a time difficult, but far enough apart to render two a test of flexibility. Lana handled it well for awhile, twisting higher away from Cullen, but even she seemed to slow. Her labored breath echoed through the stairs above him. He knew he was making even more death rattling noises, but something in her struggle pulled at him.

"Are you all right?" he called out. Rounding up the stairs he found her leaning against the tight wall, her head tipped down in thought.

Lana nodded and pursed her lips. She rose from her lean and forced a smile, "Waiting for you to catch up."

"I've felt woefully out of practice for this trip," Cullen admitted. He wasn't prideful enough to feel an ego sting from following her commands -- she knew the deep roads and the darkspawn, but he wished he could add more beyond slicing up a few monsters and waving his blade at the blood mage from across a ravine.

Her fingers skimmed across his gauntlet, "You will be of great use soon enough, we've almost reached the top."

"I suppose now's a good time to ask what makes this spire so special."

Lana continued to trudge higher up the stairs and Cullen noticed she was using her staff as a walking stick again. The blade bulged from where she strapped it to her back, ready to be knotted back on the end in the event of a fight. "As you probably determined already, this spire was once part of the defenses for this thaig. We think there were four in total just like it, along with a fifth one that housed the golems and other ancient dwarven traps that'd spring at the most unexpected of times. Two of the pillars collapsed, most of their treasures submerged into the lake."

"The third one?" Cullen asked. He paused in his steps as an unexplained dread settled in his gut. His skin hummed the way his armor would when mages practiced their lightning spells. The smell of the air during a summer storm hung thick through the staircase. He licked his lips and a spark shot off his tongue.

Lana sighed, "Darkspawn," then turned around to watch more sparks erupting from his mouth. "Ah, that's a good sign, sort off." She drew her hand so close across his face her palm glanced upon his lips, but no energy chased out to sting her skin. The humming across his body fell silent. "It's the reason we were drawn here. One of the reasons. Come on, it's easier to show than explain. Probably because I'm still not certain how it works."

Finally, they emerged at the top of the spire. Another iron ball sat in the middle of the room, turbulent green light circling its surface. It sunk to chest height into the floor, only the top half visible while the rest was submerged into the tower. Someone took the time to try and set up a short ring of boxes around it as if to keep anyone from accidentally knocking or falling into it. "What is it?"

"We have no idea, even any mention in the memories is more hearsay than record." Lana placed her staff on the floor and turned to gaze out through the windows. The spire overlooked the rest of the thaig and was so close to the ceiling they could reach out and touch it. They were also now eye level with the ball that first erupted with the green magic across the entire thaig. So close, in fact, Cullen realized that while the one at their feet could crush a battalion, the one overlooking the cavern could kill an army.

"White called it the node because it was better than big green metal ball thingie. Each smaller one located in the security spires is, or was, connected to the main node located above us," Lana pointed to the massive thing screwed into the ceiling above their heads.

Cullen watched closer and realized that the light didn't burn off the metal as he'd thought but drifted across it like a verdant fog. Hazy shapes formed upon the surface of the giant node, leaving behind glimpses of things that burned his eyes. "What does it do?"

"This should impress the templar. It negates nearly all magic in the area. Watch." Lana spun on her heels and raised both hands. Her eyes glittered as she moved through the familiar motions of casting a fireball, now aimed directly at Cullen. He threw his shield up, instincts twisting his body into place, when she shoved her hands forward. Fire should have pounded into him and scattered off the edges of his shield, but only a whiff of smoke trailed off her fingers. "See."

He stared at the unmarred metal of his shield and then back to her, "I've never heard of anything like this. And the dwarves have it? Had it? But why?"

"That was my thought too, why would they need to protect themselves from magic if they cannot cast it? Were they in conflict with someone who could, or did dwarves once have a connection to the fade that was then lost? Imagine the possibilities if that were true?" Her eyes lit up even more than when she cast her fire smoke. Cullen felt an overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her after each ecstatic sentence as she explained every theory in her mind. Instead, he massaged his neck, the hiss of whatever was blanketing magic coating his body anew.

"What were you and White actually looking for here?" he asked.

Lana's smile faded as reality snapped back, "It wasn't this, we stumbled upon it purely by accident. I wish we could send a real team down here to study it, but it's not safe for circles to attempt through the horde and wardens don't have time for such frivolities." Her wistful gaze turned away from the node and she faced Cullen. Lana squared her shoulders as if to present herself before an assembly, "We'd been trying to unravel the secrets of the blight. Our hope is, was to one day find the exact location where the darkspawn began and believed that knowledge would lead us to the how."

"We know how. Tevinter magisters breached the golden city turning it black. The Maker turned his gaze away from us and blighted the world."

"So says the chantry," Lana said diplomatically.

Cullen rounded upon her, "Are you saying you don't believe in the chantry?"

"I'm a mage, the chantry doesn't particularly believe in me."

That wasn't true. Magic should serve man not rule over him, yes, but the chantry didn't call for a purge of mages. Just to watch over them, keep them safe from themselves. Any mage could be a danger so they had to be watched, but... "What of Andraste or the Maker?"

"Oh, for the love of...I found the ashes of Andraste." Lana threw her arms wide and glared at him, "This isn't about my beliefs! I...grey wardens have a reason, a personal reason to want to find the truth, to bring light to the darkness about the blight. Whatever the chantry does and does not claim to have happened is no concern of mine. I want answers, not comforting songs."

"I, I shouldn't have pushed it. I'm sorry. I'd just, given all you seem to suffer through traveling in this desolate abyss had hoped you..."

"Had someone to confess my sins to after?" Lana snarled.

"Had someone to find comfort in," Cullen shrunk down, uncertain why he kept picking at this. All mages in the circle were raised Andrastian by chantry law, but he knew plenty who turned from it. Some of the elves picked up the creator gods of the dalish, but just as many turned from any gods. The latter took a perverse joy in taunting the ones who stayed within the embrace of Andraste. It made for loud discussions and louder explosions when matters of religion arose in the eating hall. Cullen kept himself away from all the old arguments, the question of free will versus sin, the Maker's plan, but he trusted in Andraste. In his darkest days, when he feared each breath would only bring a fresh pain through his body and soul, when everyone turned from him, all he had to cling to was his faith. It kept him buoyant before he could find a purpose to guide him.

"Cullen..." Lana gripped onto his forearm, drawing him out of his sulk, "I'm not alone." She tried to smile in reassurance but he knew that lie well, told it to himself often enough. He was never more alone than when he was surrounded by his own knights. They needed orders, not a friend. His own hand covered hers and he wrapped his fingers tight as if to shield her. For a world's heartbeat they stared into each other, waiting to see who would break away first. It stung Cullen to realize how often he kept finding pieces of himself reflected back in her as if they were two sides of the same coin, bundled together in a never ending flip of fate.

"We should prepare for White," Lana spoke. She slipped her fingers out of his grasp and wound them around her staff.

Cullen nodded, "Of course, but don't we have to find him first?"

Lana sneered, "He will come to us."

"Why?"

"Because when I lit up the node the defenses awoke. A barrier's locked off the entire thaig. The only way out is by destroying the node. And the only way to destroy the node is by getting through us."

## Chapter Ten

**Confrontation**

**  
**

Her plan was -- he wished he could call it sound but he barely understood the intricacies of it beyond stopping White. The green node continued to cast its magical interfering qualities through the air. Lana stood beside the window, gazing down at the lake below. She'd only break away from her vigil to inspect the node, clucking her tongue at some impenetrable change in the magic, or anti-magic, or however it worked. The device unnerved him. With each passing minute, Cullen found it increasingly difficult to stare at the node. He tried to keep his back turned and guard the staircase that White would have to take, but movement kept drawing him back to the shifting light across the mottled iron. At first it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the buzzing upon his skin increasing. But as he continued to stare at it, he found himself able to peer inside the solid ball. The inner working pulsed with an unexplainable heartbeat, slower than a living person's but far more powerful - as if pulsing with the world. He wanted to reach out and touch it, merge his fingers into the inner-workings.

Lana grabbed onto his extended fingers, pulling Cullen back to the real world. Pain stung his watery eyes from the lack of blinking while he fell into whatever compulsion the node produced. She tried to catch his sight while Cullen scrunched his eyes up, "Are you all right?"

"It's difficult to look at," he said.

Her forehead wrinkled, and she whipped back to the node, "What do you see?"

"Ah," he wiped at his eyes with the back of his glove and stared back at the clearly solid ball. Whatever vision it produced was just that, an illusion probably brought on from exhaustion and ancient magic hissing in the air. "It was like seeing a mana clash instead of feeling it"

"Hm..."

"Or, I could be mistaken. It...Ah!" Cullen jumped as another spark shot across his nose and arced into the gauntlet. "At this rate we shall electrocute ourselves before the blood mage has the opportunity."

Lana smiled in sympathy and cupped her hands upon his face. Once again the twitching across his skin died down. Cullen caught her hands in his and held them at the side of his neck. He wanted to ask what she kept doing to alleviate it, but his words knotted together at the concern in her face. It'd been a long time since anyone looked at him as if they wished to take his pain away. Still clinging to her fingers, Cullen dipped his head towards her. A spark zapped from his lips into hers causing Lana to yelp.

"Andraste's flames, I'm so sorry!" Cullen cried as her hands slipped from his grasp. Lana massaged her lips with her fingers. He opened his mouth to apologize again, when Lana threw her arms around his neck and plunged into a kiss. As her lips sucked upon his, a metallic bite rolled off her tongue into his. His body stretched thin; he felt as if he could wrap his arms twice around her if he wanted. His legs slipped away from him, the toes elongating past his boots.

She pulled away and smiled. The thinness snapped away leaving Cullen rapidly aware of where his fingers, toes, and the rest of his limbs were. Right where they'd always been. Lana said, "I overloaded you with enough mana you should be glowing. It ought to at least keep the sparks away for a few hours."

"That was...I've never felt anything like that," he admitted. Cullen tapped the ends of his fingers together to make certain they were still entombed in the gloves.

Lana smirked, "You should make out with more mages. Wait until you see what we can do when we're really creative."

Whether it was from the mana coursing through his system or the proximity of the node, Cullen caught the blush blundering up his neck and willed it back. "I will take that under advisement," he managed to cough out, blanketing his imagination before he had to make adjustments in an already tight spot.

Horns blared through the entire thaig rattling stones and shaking the ground below them. Cullen shielded his ears from the assault, but Lana dashed off to the window.

"It's as I suspected," she said, yanking up her staff, "he's here."

With one hand Cullen unsheathed his sword, and with the other he pulled the lyrium bottle from his pocket. He'd only set out with the one in his kit, assuming this trip wouldn't take more than a day or two at most. It also seemed unlikely the chantry would willingly let him leave their grasp with more than a ration or two at best. They kept a tighter lock on their lyrium than they did the tranquil's enchantments.

Popping off the lid with his thumb, Cullen tipped back the vial and downed it. Far too much time had passed since his last draught as a sharp stinging rattled through his veins. He kept pushing it lately, against even Meredith's watchful eye. As the stinging melted away, a calm chill swept through his bones. Certainty followed in its wake, reinforcing his duty to the symbol upon his shield. His grip tightened upon his sword, his muscles snapping to attention from the strength flooding him. He felt whole again.

Something drew his attention, and he turned to see a queer look across the mage's face. Lana sighed in contention while watching him take the lyrium but did not speak a word. Instead, she swung her head back to gaze across the thaig. What could she say? She needed a templar and she got one. The lyrium was necessary for him to fight mages. It was how the world worked, whether they liked it or not.

"White is coming," she said, her voice toneless, "prepare yourself."

With the node activated both she and the blood mage would be on an even playing field but it would not affect the templar waiting to finish him off. It was relying on this ancient dwarven artifact to do something that as far as he knew was impossible that pushed his limits of believability. _How could it cut off the connection to the fade with a wave of a hand?_ Another horn blasted through the air, but Cullen didn't flinch from the sound. His own blood rushed through his ears pounding with the beat of lyrium.

Lana yanked up her staff and Cullen realized she never tied the blade back on. _Was that part of the plan?_ He tried to reach out to ask her when a voice echoed through the stones.

"Lady mage, I knew it would end here. We almost solved the node. Could you imagine? To control, limit magic before it even left the fade. But no, it wouldn't work that way. We were so close to figuring out the what we forgot to add in the why."

"White!" Lana shouted out the window, her hand steadying her as she leaned forward. She ignored his ramblings and jumped straight to the point. "What you've done is reprehensible. You know this. You know I cannot let you live for what you did to those wardens."

The chuckle trembled up Cullen's legs through the stones of the spire. He spun around expecting to see the mage rising up the stairs but only blackness remained behind him. "Oh Lady mage, I wished I had a choice. I tried to explain to them, but they wouldn't see. Refused to admit it. Couldn't. It killed them."

Lana's hand gripped tighter around her staff, frost circling down it even with the node active. "No, you killed them."

"Yes..." his voice drifted away from all around them and landed upon the tower directly across the lake. The one coated in darkspawn blight. Fire burst from White's hand but it was only a torch. He extended it outward from the blackened tower as if he intended to wave to them. White appeared alone and unarmed without even a staff for protection. "Yes, I did kill them. All of them. I shouldn't have, but...if you only knew."

"Come and explain it to me, White. Please. I need to understand," Lana shouted to the man.

He looked about to argue and speak in more cryptic sentences, when he sighed, his entire body slouching, "Yes, one way or another it needs to end." White took a step out of the window into the vastness of air. Instinctively, Cullen dashed forward as if he could reach out to catch the falling man, but White didn't plummet into the lake below. He didn't raise a stone to meet his feet either. Somehow the elf stood upon nothing extended hundreds of feet in the air.

"How is he...?" Cullen asked waving his sword at the mage.

Lana remained unsurprised, her eyes hunting across the scrawny elf walking through thin air towards them. "Dwarven illusion, like the wall. If you look carefully you can see the gaps in the air where cracks have formed over the years." She pointed at one of these invisible cracks but all Cullen saw was an endless fall the blood mage should be taking. "This is nothing, you should have seen the trials at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Bloody puzzles."

"Where are his demons?" Cullen asked. He tried to peer past Lana to the darkness behind White but nothing moved through the shadows. It was impossible to think the blood mage would come truly alone. He had everything to lose from not unleashing a horde upon them.

Lana ignored him as White ground to a halt a few dozen feet away from her. "I shall come no closer," he said waving the torch before his eyes. The smoke had to sting, the blood mage not used to using non-magical fire. "I have not forgotten the templar you brought."

Lana gritted her teeth and sighed, "White, you know why I was able to find you. You gave it to me for that very reason." She must have meant the phylactery pulsing in Cullen's pocket. "I could have sent a battalion of wardens to track you down, but I came alone. Nearly alone. We will not attack you until we hear you out."

"This is typically where some trap is sprung and the obliging villain falls to his doom," White said.

Parting her hands, Lana shifted with exaggerated movements as if she were facing down a feral animal. With White's eyes on her, she snapped her arms forward. Only a light breeze waffled the elf back. "The node is active, I cannot harm you. You cannot harm me."

White tipped his head, "You can harm people without the use of magic, I have seen it often." That caused Lana to grumble, a shadow drifting across her face. "For what little it is worth, Lady mage, I am sorry."

"For murdering your friends?" Lana shouted to the man too far away for either of them to reach. Cullen itched to chase after him, but his brain screamed that it was a certain death. _Could he even be supported by this invisible bridge?_

White slipped his eyes closed and a gentleness smoothed his face. The elf looked as capable of malfeasance as a young child.

"White?" Lana prompted.

Fire tumbled from his hand, racing to splash into the lake below. No longer carrying the torch, his hand unearthed the hidden dagger. Yanking back his sleeve, the mage slit across his scarred arms thrice. "Forgive me," he whispered.

The node shrieked an ear piercing howl as the green light flared to a horrifying red. Lana flipped away from the blood mage drawing power from his own veins to face down the device behind Cullen. Her eyes focused and he could taste the fade pouring from her into the node, green light wrapping across its surface. For a brief second the device skipped, the fade energy overpowering whatever White was doing. But it wasn't enough. _She'd wasted so much mana for no good reason, just to keep him from zapping himself? How could she be so reckless when there was a blood mage about?_

Cullen shouldered past her and aimed what powers he had at the mage, trying to boil all the mana White suckered from his own blood inside his veins. It was foolish, and it rarely worked properly, but it was their best hope before the mage unleashed demons upon them. Dipping deep into his own psyche, Cullen tugged upon the emptiness inside of him. It was the void itself that chewed through magic gobbling it up and rendering it impotent. He touched the emptiness flowing in his veins and drew it towards White, putting every drop of lyrium in his body into it. The power snapped out at the blood mage. It was enough to drag any man to his knees, but the elf waved his hand up and smiled.

Cullen's own spell twisted back at him, the blow burning through his veins. Somehow the mage reflected it back, his own lyrium set aflame inside of him. Pain chewed and clawed up every inch of his skin, the torment snapping against his brain. Cullen screamed, blood scattering from his tongue and out his nose. Blood the mage could scoop up for his own use. The mage the templar couldn't stop. Darkness slipped across Cullen's vision, his own heartbeat staggering as the mage's poison knocked about his veins. He stumbled backwards and a hand landed upon him.

Lana gripped tighter to him and she began to drain every ounce of mana from his body. The pain dissipated along with the power, all of it flowing into her. She'd used him as a storage device, the last place White would think to look. Strength snapped back into his body as the internal flames doused off his skin, but Cullen remained limp in Lana's arms. Her fingers squeezed him once more, then she snapped her hand at White.

Ice that could shatter mountains whipped off her and directly into the blood mage. Somehow he threw up a barrier before she could hit sending the force of winter ricocheting into the walls. Frost blanketed the area, covering even the invisible bridge in the curse of winter. Hissing and popping, the stone caves creaked from the dramatic temperature change. After centuries of standing, this could take them down around them. Lana didn't back down, her insurmountable attack continuing even as she reached the bottom of Cullen's stores. Now all she had left was whatever she could pull from herself.

Still White didn't budge, his own protection spell holding as the ice froze his own pools of blood dripping off the invisible bridge. Lana screamed as she released her hold on Cullen and thrust the last of what she had at White. Her legs gave out, but Cullen rose up to catch her around the waist. Her final attack shattered against the barrier, but one lone icicle pierced through the bubble and embedded into White's shoulder.

He didn't cry out in pain, only stared down at the ice spear melting from his own warm blood dribbling down it. "That was a surprise," the elf said. Then he brought his hands together in a clap. The force threw both Lana and Cullen backwards against the wall. Cullen bore the brunt of it with Lana still in his arms, her body crushing that cursed warden armor into his chest. He slid to his knees, trying to shake off the blow to the back of his head. Nausea knotted through the blurry vision, but he didn't have time to worry about that.

Lana hopped up first, her fingers scrabbling for her staff, while White calmly walked through the window. The elf watched her, a smile upon his lips, then he whipped back at Cullen struggling to get up to a knee through his throbbing hands. "I know your tricks templar, I can counter them all. Do not try again. But you," now he turned to Lana, "what we could have accomplished if you'd simply-"

"No," Lana cut him off while brandishing her staff to try and bash him in the head. It was all they had left now.

"They're wrong, you know, the chantry. Wrong about this, this power," White waved his fingers down his arm and the wound scabbed up instantly, the blood drying in its wake.

"I shouldn't have sent you in alone, I should have been there," Lana shouted. She twisted carefully around the back of the node while keeping an eye on White. Cullen could only see the top of her head as he slipped behind the ball still hissing from whatever blood magic threw it off balance.

"It would not have changed anything, I'm afraid. You weren't of the right blood to see it for what it was, what it will be, what it should be," the crazy mage kept his focus on Lana, his head twisting away from the templar struggling to rise.

"Why do you intend to kill the First Warden?"

White snapped his head back and glared at Cullen and the templar's fingers itching to yank up his fallen blade. Turning back to Lana he answered her, "Because, it is the only way to stop the cycle before it begins. Can't you see it? Can't you hear it? We will bring the end because our hubris blinds us all."

"Tell me what you know, White. Tell me what you saw in the library. Please," her voice shattered as she paused in her walk.

The elf looked about to argue when he placed a hand near the node, power tumbling below his fingers as he readied to destroy it and free himself. But then a tenderness weaved through his face and he eyed up Lana, "I am sometimes sorry you were not my apprentice, the depth of your curiosity is only matched by your tenacity. But even you would not accept the fact. Solona, what we wish, what we hope to accomplish is all for naught."

"What are you talking about?" she continued while rounding the curve of the node and drawing closer to him. White was so enraptured in her he didn't hear Cullen scoop up his sword.

"The Grey Wardens. We're so certain we are the only ones who can stop the blights, who can end the archdemons."

"We are."

"Oh," White twisted his head, "then how do you yet live?" Lana sneered at that, whatever the mage meant passing over Cullen's head. Her eyes darted over White's shoulder and she spotted Cullen rising, his sword at the ready to end this madness. Ever so softly she shook her head no.

"You found something in the blight itself, please, tell me what it is. Tell me so we can help future wardens, save people from this sickness," Lana pleaded, her eyes focused upon White.

"What I found would hurt you."

"It's already hurting me," she said.

"True enough," White said, "Perhaps you should share in the burden." The elf reached his bloody hands towards Lana whether to attack or not, there was no way to know. Cullen sprung forward, his shoulder slamming into the elf while the sword slipped unimpeded through White's ribs and pierced out his chest.

"No!" Lana screamed and she threw a force powerful enough at Cullen his body skittered back against the wall. She wrapped her arms around White's body pulling him into her hands as both sank to their knees. The elf's blood gushed out of the wound splattering down her own chest as she tried to lower him to the ground. "White, please, tell me why. Tell me why you did it."

Color drained from White's face as his own veins spilled across the floor. The blade sliced through his chest but still he didn't scream in pain, as if nothing could hurt him anymore. His hand paddled in the air and landed upon Lana's shoulder. With a rasping voice, he whispered, "In the end, none of it matters."

Her fingers flared as she placed them against White's chest, but the magic sputtered away, yanked from her body by her own trap. Not that even she could cure a blade through the lungs. Lana held White's empty body awkwardly in her arms, trying to keep the end of Cullen's sword from piercing into her own skin. She struggled under the growing weight of it as the soul fled into the fade, but wouldn't put him down.

"It's my fault, I told him to look into it. We found a text, not even that, a piece of writing that was barely legible, but I had such hopes. And I urged him to figure out what it was. It had to be him, only he could..." Lana stared at White's still open eyes, unable to close them with her hands full with his body. "I'm so fucking tired of getting it wrong."

Cullen didn't move from where she threw him. Though the force was far gentler than what White concocted, and he remained on his feet, he was wary of the mage with a seemingly endless power that openly attacked him. He was also unarmed. Holding one palm flat he tried to reason with her, "Lana." She didn't turn away from the dead elf, but her shoulders shuddered from the reminder she wasn't alone. "He was a blood mage."

"I know," her voice whimpered, only a shadow of the powerful woman who hacked through a darkspawn army. "It was why I chose him."

"What?"

Finally, she released her hold on White. The body slipped out of her fingers and crumpled to the ground. Her entire chest was mired in scarlet blood, the same blood dribbling its last onto the floor unable to harm anyone anymore. Lana rose off her knees and gazed down at the body. White curled up on his side, appearing as if in sleep save for the sword still run through him. She leaned over and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of Cullen's sword. His legs tightened, fearing that she would try to destroy his only weapon.

It took a bit of tugging to yank the sword out of White. A groan hissed through the hole left behind, gore slopping down to fill it. She twisted the blade up to her eyes and inspected it. Cullen froze as the now armed mage approached him. _Could he stop her? What if he hurt her?_

_Maker, what if he had to kill her?_

Lana stopped only a hair's breadth from him, her eyes as inscrutable as the moment before he first kissed her. She seemed to stare through time itself while weighing his sword in her hands. Summoning a breath, she extended the sword to him hilt first. Cullen blinked, trying to shake off every horrible thought that stirred in his mind. _Of course she wasn't going to hurt him. She wouldn't do that. She was..._

He gripped onto his blade, glad to have the heft back in his hand. Lana stepped back, her shoes sliding in the gore upon the floor. Her eyes shifted to his and she nodded her head once. "Do it."

"Do what?" Cullen was unmoored, terrified to twist his sword away while Lana stood unshielded just before the tip of it.

Her stone face shattered, tears pooling at the edge of her eyes. The wobbling in her lip warped her words, "I struck a templar. I know what that means."

"No, no, I can't, no. You were..." Cullen stammered stepping back into the wall.

Lana pressed closer, the tip of his sword nipping across her crimson chest, "I lived in the circle for fifteen years. I know what happens to mages who step out of line. I could have injured you, or worse, killed you. In the end, I impeded your duty."

"Lana, no, you were distraught and...he was important to you," his hand shook as his normally solid muscles melted away. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to stare into those eyes facing down death by his hand.

"Important? I did not think templars took much stock in the excuses of mages. You kill for less. You certainly invoke the rite of tranquility for less."

"Against blood mages and abominations," Cullen said.

"Against anything your Knight-Commander deems unacceptable," Lana threw herself forward bypassing the blade to jump into Cullen's face. "You think I don't know the rumors about Kirkwall's circle? That it's breaking chantry law? Or how mages are fleeing for fear that they could be branded because of some imagined misstep? How many live in terror every day that it could be their last regardless if they passed their harrowing?"

"You know nothing of what the mages in Kirkwall are capable of. They're more devious, more dangerous than the ones in Ferelden," Cullen shouted back. "More blood mages move amongst them than you can imagine."

"Any one of us is dangerous, you know that. You've said as much repeatedly. And you saw what I am capable of!" Her venom subsided and she turned away from him. With her eyes boring into his hand gripping to the extended sword she sighed, "I could kill you. I've had six years to whet myself into a force of nature." Her voice overflowed with regret, the smart little mage honed to a sharp edge. She cupped his cheek with her hand and pressed into his skin with her thumb.

"But you won't," Cullen cried out, biting through a pain crawling out of his heart. He'd been so certain that every mage was dangerous, any mage could turn, but not her. Never her. He needed that fact.

Lana sighed, "How do you know that?"

"You're not like them, not like what they do to people; the horrors, the pain they... You, you could have turned to demons at any time to stop the blight, but you didn't. You haven't," he grabbed onto her wrist, pinning her fingers tighter to his cheek, "You won't!"

"White was a blood mage when he joined the grey wardens," she said, derailing him.

"What?" Cullen glared into her eyes, but they danced away. "That's madness. How can anyone trust a blood mage?"

"We take any who are willing to make the sacrifice, any who can fight darkspawn. Pickpockets, murderers," she paused and snorted, "long lost princes, malifecarum. Anyone." Her shoulders sagged in exhaustion and she pulled her hand away from his cheek. Cullen was glad to let her go as she stepped away from his blade and abandoned her certainty that he would strike her down. Pins and needles erupted down his forearm while he lowered the blade, the muscle unhappy from such abuse.

Lana dipped down to White her knees sloshing up the blood. With a shaking hand she slipped his eyes closed. Silence descended between them as she kept watch over his corpse, Cullen watching her. Only the hiss of the once again green node broke through them.

"Do you know why he turned to blood magic?"

"The same reason as any mage would; power," Cullen shook off her plea. He'd heard all the sob stories before, but at the end of them all the same thread - the mage needed to be stronger than someone else, needed to overpower someone else, and blood was the key.

"He did it to save a friend. He was years past his own harrowing when his friend took ill, a disease no healer could find an answer to. So he did it, he did what every circle mage should never do and turned to a demon for help." Lana glanced over her shoulder at Cullen, "All to save a templar's life. Of course they found out what he did, one can't cure the un-curable without raising questions. So White ran. The circle nearly caught up to him before he stumbled into a warden scouting party."

"The templar?" Cullen asked, his voice cracking beneath him.

"She recovered, then they told her what happened, loaded her with lyrium and...and she was the one sent to track down White. They," Lana paused and tipped her head back, "they assumed he wouldn't harm the person he fought so hard to save. As demented as it is, they were right. The wardens had to conscript him against his own will. He would have let himself die by her still living hand if it weren't for them."

"I...I'm sorry," Cullen threw out, unable to think of anything profound.

Lana wiped at her eyes and rose to her feet. "That's what they do," she cursed not at Cullen but the world itself, "pit us against each other. Us versus them. Bound against our will, terrified to step out of line. What choice do we have but to slaughter each other when the time comes, when the breaking point is reached? We never even had a chance."

"What do you propose we do then? Give mages free run of the cities? Turn our backs to abominations? The poor chained mage is a heart wrenching image but what is the solution to freeing them without risking others?" Cullen spat at her, dragging back the same dozen arguments probably being shouted through the streets of Kirkwall at that very moment.

But Lana didn't snap with her own retorts. Her eyes softened and her lips parted with a gasp. "I wasn't speaking only of mages." Pointedly, she turned to look at the empty bottle of lyrium broken across the ground.

"That...I," Cullen dashed away from her pitying look. The lyrium was necessary, everyone knew it, and it helped to squelch the aspects of templar life that haunted his thoughts. He willingly yoked himself to the chantry; to blanch now because the waters turned foul was unfair to those taken in the line of duty. Even if Meredith wielded the brand with an alacrity that by light of day unnerved him. She kept people safe, that was what mattered. A means to justify an end.

"You want answers, everyone does, but I have none," Lana folded in on herself, her head slumping to her stomach. "I've never had any. Kill one person to save a hundred, sacrifice a city to preserve a keep. Send a man to his death for the good of the order. I've been making those choices since I was nineteen. Never even seen the world and they pinned it all on me to stop a civil war and save it. Do you know how pathetic it is for me to order around a fifty year old veteran? I'm not some great hero, a warrior ordained by the Maker to save us all. I'm stumbling through every day hoping that I can live with myself to the next moment..." she stared down at White, "and I keep getting it wrong."

Sacrifice one to save a possible hundred. That was his life, but without the epic songs to accompany his battles. Instead he had to scrutinize every mage that passed him, listen for every whisper of disobedience, hone his blade to strike the most innocent face. And if he failed, if he let one of them slip by unnoticed, countless people suffered. It was a war of attrition, he only had to miss once, sympathize one time, to fail. It gnawed upon him in a way that he thought no one else understood. Cullen wiped his blade clean of White's blood against his rag and carefully sheathed it. He felt Lana watching him as he kept his movements slow and methodical, taking the time to secure his weapons properly.

Now unarmed, he extended a hand to her. Her eyebrows knotted in confusion as she stared at it. He wanted to explain it to her, assure her that she wasn't alone, but his voice sunk into his chest unwilling to lift. Admitting his own defeats aloud gave them a power, a voice he feared he could never face down. All he could do was offer her his hand. Lana slipped her fingers into his, as cautious as a wild animal accepting food. Cullen shuddered at the contact, his heart trying to pour itself out through his hand. It was doubtful Lana understood an inch of it, but she didn't try and pull away. She wrapped her fingers tighter into his, and he shielded her hand with his own. He wished he could do more, but she revived from his unspoken promise, the flush of anger and sorrow upon her cheeks fading.

"We...we can leave, once I shut down the node. I should close up the thaig too so darkspawn don't stumble back in," Lana mumbled while wiping away the tear stains on her cheeks. She still clung to his hand with her other.

Cullen nodded, back to the unequal footing they began on. Then he glanced down and stared at the man he ran through. In death, White looked even more fragile than before, his thin hand stretched upon the ground as if waiting for someone to grab it. "I could carry his body up to the surface for a proper funeral."

Lana smiled from his offer, "No, that won't be necessary."

"Why?"

She slipped her fingers out of his hand. "Dying alone and forgotten in the deep roads is a proper grey warden funeral." Cullen started at her stark response while she dropped to her knees and whispered against White's ear, " _Hahren na melana sahlin emma ir abelas._ In death, sacrifice."

## Chapter Eleven

**Back Where We Began**

**  
**

It would have been more poetic if a sunrise greeted them as they emerged from the depths of the deep roads. Instead, the afternoon sun blazed down through the red cliffs crowded around them. If he'd stepped out an hour earlier or later, the light would have been blocked by the rocky precipices instead of into his eyes. They'd only been in the darkspawn lair for a day and a half but it felt a week passed. Cullen glared at the sun when he should have felt ecstatic at seeing it again.

A hand gently tapped his arm and he turned away from the sky. Lana had remained silent through their climb out of the deep, only gesturing to some danger or drop off and trusting he'd remain close enough without losing her. He had only the drum of his shoes upon the ground to keep him company through a mile of climbing back to the surface. By the summer day light her cheeks appeared wan, her eyes blotted and strained. She thinned her lips in a restrained thought, probably one he didn't want to hear. He'd tried to think of something to say to her as they walked away from the mage's body, but every idea warped in his mind into only renewing their buried argument. After a time, Cullen decided that if she wanted to talk she'd say something and it was best to let sleeping mabari lie.

"We can continue along this dried riverbed," Lana said, her voice rough as the rocky edge. "There's no need to climb the cliffs."

"No?" Cullen rolled his shoulders, trying to waken his strained muscles. At this point, the best his arms could offer was a meager shrug, scaling anything was out of the question.

"No death defying leaps off crumbling stairs this time," she sighed and tapped her fingers against his arm.

"Oh, that's almost. I mean, it wasn't so..." She wanted something, she needed something from him. _For the Maker's sake, say it!_ "Where are we?" _Not that._

Lana didn't catch on to the internal war ravaging behind Cullen's eyes. She slipped ahead of him and waved a finger that he should follow. Silently, she led him down the dead riverbed while limping over the red clay cracked like broken eggshells. It wasn't until they'd stepped out of the tower that Cullen realized she'd been injured in their fight against White. Lana silently tied up her ankle and relied upon her staff to support her. She didn't turn to him once for help.

Pausing at the edge of the riverbed where the land fell away as if a giant snatched it up, Lana pointed a finger below them. Cullen sidled up beside her and a southern wind blasted sea salt into his eyes. Gulls shrieked above the clouds while dipping in and out of masts of ships decorated with the flags of Nevarra, Kirkwall, and Ferelden. Despite over five years in Kirkwall, his knowledge of ships reached somewhere in the 'that's a big one, and that's a little one' range. There were a lot of big ones bobbing along the sea, most glinting in the glare of the sun off the calm waters. A handful of the smaller ones took up near the coast itself, the wooden docks extended like a complicated maze into the sea.

"Cumberland, or near enough to count," Lana said. She peered over the edge down at a dozen dock workers scrabbling against cargo. Two elves held a box between them, the crates marked with the symbols of every port they'd ever landed in, while a qunari of all things stood stone still watching over them. Lana pinched her nose and sighed, "I wonder sometimes if they have any idea how easily all of this could fall. Without the grey wardens maintaining the seals on the deep roads..." Her thoughts trailed off as she watched a box slide off the ramp and bowl through the elves. The qunari tipped her foot up and stopped the box without shifting.

"I..." Cullen understood her message and why she brought him here without her having to say it. He threw his shoulders back to stand in attention in the hope that would blot away the regret blooming in the back of his mind. "I can...shall take a ship back to Kirkwall."

Lana turned from her vigil and that ornery spark of hers twinkled in her eye, "You know I'm going to need that armor back. The wardens get very particular and grumpy when people 'not of the order' wear it."

"Oh, I..." He patted down the steel griffin that'd been horribly abused in the short time he wore it. "I hadn't thought..."

"So, unless you plan on traveling back to Kirkwall naked, I think it's best I stick with you." Her tone was flat, but for a brief second her eyes flickered down his body.

"That would be preferable to...the, uh, sunburn I'd have to explain," Cullen stammered. "And other things too."

Lana didn't laugh at him, her energy seeming to be already spent. Instead, she gestured to a path dug into the cliffside that led right into the heart of the port. "I know where we can rent some horses. Shouldn't be more than a days travel back. And no brontos this time, I promise."

Cullen smiled from her jibe, but the edges stung. Her lighthearted nature was buried under the mask of command, the glint in her eye matted and her sharp smile dulled. She shielded herself and her pain behind the grey warden banner. He wished he could find some way to speak to her, to get her to speak of whatever weighed upon her heart, but he knew he was too incompetent to manage such a feat. And, a dark part of him taunted, he did the same damn thing with the templars as she did the wardens.

Lana was true to her word, seeming to know everyone on the docks of not-quite Cumberland. They procured two of the better horses and rode away from the setting sun towards Kirkwall. She kept far enough ahead perched upon her bay that Cullen was left alone with only his thoughts and the sturdy horse below him. He found himself missing the bronto.

By the time they broke into the outskirts of Kirkwall, the sun was rising. It was mostly farmland, save the occasional stand and ring of houses. She did not offer for them to stop, and he did not challenge the idea of riding through the night. Lana dismounted from her horse and let it slip off to a creek for water.

The city woke below them. Smoke poured out of the foundry in Low Town mutilating the pinks of the sunrise into a foggy grey. He knew the sounds of Kirkwall - peddlers belting their lungs out until it rang in your ears for days - the smells of Kirkwall - there was a delicacy to detecting the scent of various fish rotting on the docks - and the pain of Kirkwall. But here with only untamed grass wafting in the breeze and a few herds of sheep chomping away upon it the city looked deceptively peaceful. Dare he think it, even inviting. To his right was the Waking Sea, more of the biggest ships sliding through the opened locks to drop off that rancid fish. And in between them lay the gallows. He could just make out a few of golden statues, their heads clutched in their chained hands.

"Well," Lana stood alone, her own inscrutable eyes canvasing every inch of Kirkwall. "Back where we began, and the city isn't aflame."

"It's a wonder," Cullen commented. "I'd have assumed at least a dragon attack." Lana scrunched her face up and touched her shoulder as if in a memory. He caught the familiar pain and remarked, "You've fought dragons as well?"

She shrugged her perhaps once dragon mutilated shoulder and continued to gaze across the city. "A couple...dozen."

"Andraste's tears," he exclaimed. Why didn't she rant and rave? Thunder from on high to every man or woman who dared to rise against her the terrors she'd clipped away from Thedas? That her opposition might as well turn around and head home before she turned her wrath on them? If anyone deserved to retire to the quiet life away from the pain and blood it was the hero of Ferelden.

"Well," she said, turning to face him, "you might as well strip."

"Beg pardon?" He tried to not whip his eyes to the gallows and what felt like hundreds of eyes judging him from across the water.

"The armor," Lana said, her hand breaking away from her staff to point at it.

"Oh, right, uh..." He should be able to take it off in his sleep, but his fingers slipped against the buckles yanking the chest piece tighter than it already was. Lana'd been the one to pull it off him in the...Cullen swallowed back that memory trying to stuff it deep into his mind. So deep he could almost trick himself into thinking it never even happened. It was only his imagination playing him the fool.

"You can put it in my bag," she said, only glancing over him as he struggled through undressing himself. She kept a vigil across Kirkwall, her eyes piercing the movement of a waking city the way a distant hawk would.

Cullen stuffed each bit into her pack as it came off until he stood in only the blue under layer, the starched collar tight upon his neck while the deep cut exposed his nearly translucent chest hair. A cool breeze wafted through the thin linen freezing his skin before the summer sun rose. He grabbed onto the hem of the tunic when Lana's fingers wrapped around his.

"No, that's, as much as I'd enjoy watching...you can keep it and the pants," her voice bobbed around and she shook her head. "I'm not so cruel as to send you bare assed back to the templars." A flush rose up her cheeks and she bit down on her tongue. _Tell her now! It's the perfect time!_

"Thank you," Cullen said while flattening the edge of the shirt back against his hips.

"You look good in blue," she mused. Her fingers drifted above the tunic as if she regretted letting him keep it.

"That's, I, uh...will you be able to carry all that?" He pointed to the bag now overflowing with armor and all the necessities of surviving the deep roads she began with.

Lana bowed her head, a smirk twisting up her lips, "I learned a few tricks over the years. I think I can handle it." She didn't grab up her bag, but traced the edge of her fingernails down her staff. "I...I feel as if I should pay you for, uh..."

Cullen paled. He knew what she meant, but the implications rattled him, "No, that's, that's not necessary. I was acting as a...templars do not accept coin."

"Right, forgot about that." She turned away from him until she stood in profile, her haunted eyes gazing across a world that didn't care one whit for what she did. How many other drunks in how many other taverns spoke of the hero of Ferelden as if she were only a conspiracy? How many people dismissed her as nothing more than that little mage who got lucky?

"Lana, I..."

Her eyes blinked against dawn's light and she turned to him. A soft smile turned up her lips. "Yes?"

"I..." _love you. I love you. I've loved you for years. The thought of you feeling hurt, or lonely, or broken rends me apart. I want you to be happy, to love in return._ "I was wondering why White called you Lady Mage?"

She sighed, "A joke on his part. Everyone knows who I am by reputation, so I tend to come with no introduction. Since none was offered he referred to me as 'that lady mage.' It stuck and I found it refreshing in a way. He...he was a good man once."

"He was a blood mage."

"He was that too," she admitted. Her fingers ran down the length of her staff, and Cullen noticed that she wasn't haphazardly flicking at the wood. Each movement traced one of the names carved in it. Lana cocked an eye at him, "You noticed them? It began with those lost in...when I wasn't there at Kinnloch. I keep adding more. I'm uncertain what I'll do when I run out of staff. Every person I failed to save."

Cullen grabbed onto her hand wrapping his fingers around the top of hers and holding it above the names of the dead. "It's not your fault."

He expected her to yank back her hand, but exhausted eyes turned to him and she twisted it in his grasp. Threading her fingers around his, she sighed, "That's not how it works. You of all people know that."

Cullen felt struck from her words. _How did she know him so well? How did she cut to his quick without even trying?_ Lana glanced out at the sea, then slipped her free hand around his back. Their bodies pressed together. With Cullen still holding her hand they looked like two people about to dance together on the hills at dawn. His right hand lay limply at his side, uncertain what to do, when Lana placed her head against his shoulder. Her fingers massaged the small of his back in tender circles. Even aware that one of the other templars could be wandering the outskirts, Cullen enveloped his arms around her.

"Mage and templar," she whispered.

"You should hate me," he said, his breath warming her forehead.

"I would say the same," Lana countered back.

"I could never..." Cullen began when his tongue tripped over itself. Yes, he could have. If she'd been in the tower when Uldred and his army of blood mages began the revolt he knew he'd hate her with the same fury as he did everyone else who survived. Maker, he was so tired of this anger. "You're special to...so many people."

"Cullen, I could be any mage in any circle. I stumbled into a chance opportunity. How many more never even get one?"

"That's specious reasoning, for all you know just as many would falter in your position, or use that power extended to them for their own ends." His arms stiffened around her, the anger rising.

Lana didn't prod him, instead she folded her arms tighter around him, her forehead nestling deeper into his chest. She sighed, "You still see mages as problems, not people."

The starkness tripped him up. "I...I don't see you that way."

She lifted her head and searched through his eyes. Sweet Andraste, he wished he knew what do, what to say. Even to return to the man he was before the circle fell for a few days...Lana rose up on her toes, her eyes slipping tight as she kissed him. She didn't prolong or tease with her tongue, but she put all of herself into what he realized would be their last meeting. Cullen wrapped his arms even tighter, trying to memorize the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips, and the curves of her body before it all fell apart.

Lana slipped down breaking contact, but his lips still buzzed from her presence. "Your heart belongs to the templars," she said patting his cheek.

He found enough presence of mind to stare into her eyes to say, "And yours to the wardens."

"That's..." she snickered, "that's perceptive of you."

"There's not much hope, is there?" he voiced the words that'd followed their every touch, every kiss.

Lana shut her eyes and he watched a few tears dribble down her cheek. "No. I'm afraid not. Doomed before it even began. Perhaps, perhaps there'd be a chance if you left the templars and I the wardens." She knew the finality of her sentence. It would never happen, neither of it. He needed the templars as much as she needed the wardens. While the chantry had him bound through lyrium, something in Lana's words told him she was just as knotted up in the wardens. The chance of their rekindling anything was a dream to survive through an empty night, nothing more.

She broke her hands away and placed them upon his chest. Cullen lowered his own, prepared to let her slip away. Her fingers traced his chest below the thin linen following the curve of his pec. Lana paused and closed her eyes. Fade energy snapped out of the world below her fingers. A warmth spread all through Cullen's body leaving behind a renewed vigor in his bones. He felt as if he could jog the entirety = of the wounded coast now.

"What did you do?" he asked.

"A simple protection spell. In case, I heard there was a lot of criminal activity in Kirkwall and...I didn't want to leave you unprotected."

"Lana, that's not--"

"Please," she blinked away the last of her tears while sliding away from him, "let me do this. It helps." A cold wind whipped between them carrying the stinging sea air and the sound of ships rocking against waves.

"I should return to the gallows," Cullen said aloud to remind himself of where he belonged.

Lana nodded as she dabbed away any regret clinging to her face. What was left behind was the fearsome Commander of the Grey, cold and aloof so she could rise every day. He wondered how many wardens under her knew about her staff of the dead, knew that she carried the burden of them all even if she didn't need to. Extending her hand, she gripped Cullen's for a polite handshake, "Thank you for your services, Knight-Captain. I believe it's best to part ways here."

"But you could take a ship from the gallows." That selfish part of him didn't want to do what was necessary, didn't want to give her up. Just a few more minutes.

Lana smiled as she shook her head, "A mage covered in blood, I wouldn't make it two steps before someone cut me down." His eyes fell away from her, smothered by the truth of it. It was doubtful they'd even let her dock before picking her off from the walls. She hauled up her pack, his lost armor jangling together, and motioned her head towards the city proper.

Unable to watch her leave, Cullen turned to face the sea. A gull drifted in and out of the clouds, unwilling to decide upon a spot to land on the waves. The other clustered birds squawked at it, but that gull chose to remain apart.

"Cullen," her voice cracked above the cry of the lonesome bird. He glanced over his shoulder. Only her silhouette was visible against the rising light of the sun. "Stay safe." And before he could answer, she resumed her walk out of his life.

Securing passage to the Gallows was easy, the dock workers more than happy to move anyone there free of charge. The fact that the only people who traveled to the gallows -- templars, mages, and chantry -- were also ones that could make the sailor's lives hell aided greatly. As his feet stepped upon the stone ground, Cullen heard the rare sound of laugher echoing amongst the statues. In his absence, someone decided a few of the apprentices should have a little run around the landing area. They varied in age and height, the youngest perhaps ten while some of the apprentices closer to their harrowing slowed to let the boy catch up. Kicking about a ball with no true end goal, the real fun seemed to be in stretching their legs away from the cell walls of the circle.

Nodding at his boatman in thanks, Cullen stepped crisply towards the gallows while ignoring the game when the ball skittered across the front of his feet. He stopped in time, but the girl chasing after it didn't. She smacked into him, her elbow digging into his side.

"I'm so sorry for that," she laughed while pulling her wild blonde hair from her face. Her smile froze as she looked past the blue undershirt and into his face. "Knight-Captain, I didn't realize it was you." Terror crept along her eyes and her mouth bobbed with unspoken words. The game was abandoned by the others, the court falling silent as every apprentice turned to look at them. "I...please forgive me."

How did he not notice the way they looked at him? It wasn't respect but fear that shook the girl...the mage. He tried to summon a smile, but it flipped to a broken frown as he spoke, "It is all right. Accidents happen." Leaning over, Cullen snatched up the errant ball and pushed it into her hands, "You may continue."

It wasn't until he stood at the door into the heart of the gallows that he heard a single mage breathe again. Their chatter picked up as a few of their exasperated words carried on the wind. "I thought you were done for!" "Andraste's tits, how are you not shaking to death?" "That was damn lucky, it was." Mage and Templar. Us versus Them.

Leaving the mages behind, Cullen crossed into the gallows. The stationed templars paused for a moment before recognizing their Knight-Captain. He clipped past them, aiming to find the Knight-Commander. Meredith was an early riser and today was no different as she paced about her office from behind the closed door. He thought he heard the barest whisper of her voice speaking alone, but it faded away after he knocked.

"Ah, Knight-Captain," Meredith stood leaning against her desk. No one else was present in the room. She shuffled some parchment scattered upon her desk and turned her full gaze upon him, "you have returned to us. I trust your mission went well."

"The blood mage is dead, ser," Cullen said, his shoulders straightening into formation. He wrapped his hands behind his back for balance.

"Excellent work. And your little accomplice, I assume she's skipped back across the waters to Ferelden?"

Cullen blanched. He hadn't told anyone about Lana. "Ma'am?"

Meredith's unyielding sight cut through him, "The chantry turns a blind eye to the dangers of the grey wardens but I trusted you'd keep a watch on her. Maker only knows the damage she could do if unleashed."

He could only bob his head along as if that'd been his plan the entire time. "I am ready to return to my duties."

"We've had a few interesting developments in your absence. Three suspected blood mages escaped the gallows."

"I will change and track them down immediately," Cullen said raising his hand for a salute.

But Meredith held a hand out to stop him while she glanced across a letter upon her desk, "That is not your orders. I've decided that it should be the Champion's duty to track down these dangerous mages and bring them in."

"The Champion? She's not a templar," Cullen stated the obvious in case Meredith somehow forgot.

"Ha," Meredith snorted, "that much is clear. But if she is to be the guardian of this city then she should be made well aware of all the dangers lurking within, no matter what she bleats on the steps of the chantry."

Cullen twisted his head trying to shake logic out of Meredith's words. It was the templars job to protect the people from magic. They ignored the Qunari threat looming over the city for far too long because of politics and so many suffered because of it. To drag the Champion into their work would only muddy the waters more, as if Kirkwall wasn't enough of a heaving mess without a Viscount. What game was Meredith playing at and why? "I don't understand," he said, watching his Knight-Commander continue to pace again. She seemed unable to sit still for more than a few seconds as of late.

"I have it under control, it will work to our advantage I'm certain," she blinked and turned as if seeing him for the first time, "Knight-Captain, you're out of uniform."

"I..." Cullen patted down the warden tunic, "did not stop to dress."

"You should do that, then return to your vigil outside. Let the people know we are protecting them...even as their Champion forgets," Meredith lapsed into her dark mood, the conversation over. Her Knight-Captain turned on his heel and left her to her own devices.

When Cullen opened the door to his room, for a heartbreaking moment he thought he spotted a silhouette of a woman standing before his window - but it was merely a trick of the light and his exhausted eyes. He yanked off the last of the warden attire, taking a special glee in removing the shortened pants and bunching them up for the launders. Something bulged in the pocket and Cullen yanked out the crystal vial that began this whole quest. White's phylactery was black now, as dead as the mage it was connected to. He could return it to the tranquil; they'd clean it out, polish it up, and fill it with some other apprentice's blood. That was the smart thing to do, the proper rules of the order to follow.

It was also the only thing he had left that connected him to Lana. Folding up the grey warden tunic, Cullen placed the linen deep in his sparse chest. Below that he secreted away White's phylactery.

Dressing quickly in his templar armor, Cullen returned to his duties. The apprentices had already gone, leaving the gallows empty save the few shops and the other knights pacing about. Whatever may come of Lana, whatever may come of the grey wardens or the future itself, at least he knew where his place in the world lay. The templars were his home and that would never change

## Chapter Twelve

**Epilogue**

An axe was still embedded deep in the Knight-Commander's desk. Three years since that apostate destroyed the chantry, cast the circle into ruin, and Meredith lost whatever grip on sanity she managed, and Cullen couldn't be bothered to remove it. He hated being in her office, hated the constant reminder of his failure wrapped around him, but it was where the Knight-Commander - even if he was only acting - held meetings. So, it was where he had to stay.

Things had been getting better. The first year was...Maker, even now it was still a blur. So many people crushed under rubble. Fires rampaged through the streets. Starvation set in followed by disease and all anyone cared about was finding the mage that started it all and dragging him to justice. After screaming himself raw in front of a makeshift tribunal of nobles, Cullen would have stretched his own neck on the gibbet if it'd gotten him bread for the hungry and shelter for the cold. Every moment was only measured by how to survive to the next. He never thought they'd see the light again, but somehow, each day they managed to solve little fires which in turn put out larger ones. With the mages scattered across thedas, the remaining templars focused on aiding Kirkwall as best they could. He pitched in with the Guard Captain. Both avoided any mention of the Champion and her mage consort, though Cullen suspected Aveline would be more likely to pummel something than he. And it was working, templars and the city guards for once worked together, until the Grand Enchanter and the whole college voted to disband all the circles.

One by one his templars began to vanish to chase the apostates fleeing their own towers as part of their sacred vows. Every day the ranks collapsed, leaving the rest of his remaining people forced to stretch themselves to nearly the breaking point to manage. Twelve hour days became the norm a month ago. Cullen hadn't slept in a bed for nearly a week, finding it more efficient to pass out from exhaustion in a chair near the office. It also kept the dreams at bay.

"Knight-Commander!" Ser Addley saluted skidding to a halt outside the doorframe. A mage had burned the door itself off in the fight and he saw no reason to replace it.

Cullen shuddered from the rank and look up at the templar knight. She still wore the armor despite many forgoing it after the chantry abandoned them, though her skirt was covered in flour prints. _Was Addley even assigned to baking bread today or did they lose someone else from the makeshift kitchens?_ _Maker, what day was it? They all ran together._

"I'd prefer you not call me that," Cullen said even while accepting his losing battle. They needed a leader and he was the only one left to slot into place. "What's the status on the excavation of the chantry?"

"Slow, but..."

"And the report off of Sundermount. Unexplained lights and eerie sounds off the mountain? Could be demons or blood mages..."

"Turned out to be a pair of chipmunks that tripped into a campfire."

That caused Cullen to pause and focus anew on Addley, "Really?"

Addley shrugged, "Stranger things, Ser."

"Right." He struggled to swallow while shaking off a pounding behind his temples. It began a week ago; the pain intermittent, but the dry mouth endless no matter how much water he drank. "I still need to hear about--"

"Ser!" Addley interrupted, snapping his full attention to her. She gestured her head to the side of the door in a rhythmic fashion that made Cullen's neck ache. "There's something you should know about that's not reports and other...reports."

Cullen slid next Meredith's desk for support and crossed his arms. "What is it?"

"It's the Seekers, Ser," Addley said, still bobbing her head and dragging it out.

"What of them?"

"A Seeker is here," a new voice spoke as a woman strode in through the open frame. She bore a chiseled look that put Cullen in mind of a dragon surveying her horde and about to snap off anyone that dared to cross her. He couldn't quite place the accent twisting up her vowels, but it wasn't Orlesian and that surprised him. She eyed up Addley, and with a dismissive snort said, "Leave us."

Addley glanced at Cullen and threw her head back. She was prepared to disobey an order from the Seeker for him. He tipped his head to her to tell her it was all right. The Seeker wasn't going to cut him down in the office, probably. Sliding out the door, Addley kept an eye on the two of them before she more than likely slipped to the storage closet on the other side of the wall that overheard everything.

"I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of the Divine."

Cullen blanched at the final part. No templar wanted to see a Seeker, that was a given, but the Right Hand of Divine Justinia and in Kirkwall. _Andraste's tears, they weren't sending an Exalted March, were they?_ "Knight-Captain Cullen," he said while trying to bury the weariness in his voice and rise to attention.

"Not Knight-Commander?" the Seeker asked, her sharp eyes cutting through him.

"I was never officially granted that title." _Not that I'd want it._ "If the Divine was sending a Seeker to put the templars back in line, you're a few years too late." Cullen pointed out the door towards the west, "But you might be able to catch some before they begin their foolish endeavor to destroy thedas."

Cassandra snorted at that and it threw him. He'd never seen a Seeker before, but every templar knew of them. The guards of the guards, when they were sent for something had gone or was about to go horribly wrong. He anticipated their arrival for months after the disaster, but no one came to drag the only remaining authority figure - namely himself - before the pyre. The Divine sent some aid for the refugees and a few of her own elite guards to assist. They were the most useless swordsmen he'd ever had to deal with. They wanted action and glory, but it wasn't monsters that needed killing in the aftermath. No one becomes a hero by moving stones to clear a path for wagons to carry supplies, but it had to be done.

"I have not come to enact a tribunal for what occurred in Kirkwall," Cassandra said.

Cullen snapped out of his reverie and nodded, "Good. It's doubtful we could find enough people to try the remaining templars, much less punish them."

"Knight-Captain, you must agree that this madness has to end. Templars and mages are fighting in the streets all across southern thedas and innocent people are suffering for it."

A flinch tore up his face from her words. Innocents. It was always the innocents caught in the middle. Innocents that drove them. Innocents that were the backbone of the order. But who was truly innocent? Could he even tell anymore? "And you need my templars to go wage your war, is that it Seeker? I'm afraid I don't technically command them what with the circles disbanding and the order dissolving into madness."

"Yet they listen to you," Cassandra glanced down the hall in Addley's wake, "they rise up to shield you."

Cullen shrugged, "They want guidance, as most do. I suggest what needs to be done and they do it."

"That is what brought me to speak with you. In spite of all the chaos sewn in the wake of a tragedy of unheard of proportions you have maintained order. Not just order, you are repairing what was lost. That is impressive," the Seeker praised him, but it only strung deeper. No, he was doing what he had to, what he needed to. Not for those supposed innocents but to pay for his mistakes. Meredith wiped out the Circle, pulverized chantry law due to her own vengeful delusions, and she did it right under his nose. It was as much his fault as that rebel mage's.

"I'm doing what I need to," he said.

"You are out of uniform," the Seeker unexpectedly exclaimed, her eyes drifting across his faded blue tunic. One morning he woke, his back sore from shifting stones off a house crumpled by the head of Andraste, and he couldn't put on the templar armor anymore. He'd worn it day in and day out since he was eighteen years old, but now the thought of it touching him turned his stomach. He only saw his own broken promises glinting across every piece. So he slipped on the only shirt in his possession that hurt him in a different way. No one recognized it as being of warden make, but everyone came to know the once crisp blue meant the Knight-Captain was around. Wear and dust off the rubble faded the vibrant color to a softer almost grey hue.

"I am no longer a templar," Cullen said, folding his arms across the tunic. "Last I heard there is no order to be a member of."

"This is why I have come to Kirkwall, with a writ from Divine Justinia," Cassandra hauled out a book thicker than most mage tomes and bound in a rich leather. She waved it around as if it gave her power, but didn't pass the book to Cullen. "The Divine is hosting a conclave between the mage and templar leaders."

"So I heard. I pray it succeeds but plan on it not," Cullen cut back but the Seeker didn't frown.

"The Divine hopes the conclave will succeed, but if it fails she intends to bring back the Inquisition of old to put back together the tattered pieces and end this rebellion without destroying thedas in the process."

"The Inquisition..." He'd heard the stories, all templars did. It was what birthed their order, but it was also bloody and, in the end, shattered under its own weight.

"We've watched your progress with a close eye repairing what you can in Kirkwall and think you could offer much to assist the Divine. I came to ask you to lead our forces," the Seeker pressed. "To help bring order and security back to thedas."

Cullen snorted and turned away from her. He'd spent the past six years blindly serving the forces of a mad woman. Her own anger led her to a madness, an anger he thought they shared for the greater good. That anger drove her to condemn Kirkwall and push them along this path of rebellion. And he never spotted it, never stopped it before it boiled over into every circle. He had that forever dangling off his neck. "And who would lead this Inquisition? Divine Justinia?"

"No. She does not wish it to be seen as an arm of the chantry," the Seeker answered.

"You then? Or some other Knight-Commander you've sworn to your cause?" Cullen continued. He couldn't do it, he couldn't put his blind faith in someone knowing how easily they'd twist the power to their own means.

"We hope the Hero of Ferleden will be our Inquisitor."

_Lana?_ Cullen's fingers gripped tight to his chest. He'd tried to seal her away with the rest of his handful of sweet memories but she always found a way to bubble back to his attention. A few months after the chantry explosion a solitary letter appeared upon his desk addressed not to the Knight-Commander or even the Knight-Captain. It was meant only for Cullen. There was no signature indicating who sent it or from where, but he didn't need it. He knew from the two solitary words on the page, "Stay safe."

The Seeker plowed through his silent reflection, "Sister Leliana is in Denerim right now attempting to track down Lady Amell's whereabouts. We hope that, despite her being a mage, she will see reason in putting an end to this fight."

If anyone could move a mountain, drain an ocean, and fix the world it was Solona Amell. When he was on the brink of exhaustion and anger flooding his brain, he would remember the touch of her lips as he first kissed her. The way she parted them in surprise then kissed back even harder. His rage would cool leaving an ache in his heart that could only hurt him.

"I'll do it," Cullen whispered closing his eyes. She knew, Lana knew what his own Knight-Commander was doing better than he did. Had tried to warn him before, but he wouldn't listen. How would she look upon him now, knowing that he'd slaughtered so many mages in the name of justice? He would bear the brunt of her hatred, her scorn, if he could provide some aid to her and be near her once again.

"Beg pardon?" the Seeker asked.

Cullen turned and faced her, "I will lead your troops to the best of my ability."

Cassandra smiled as if she already anticipated his reaction. "Good."

"There is...something you should know." Cullen massaged the back of his neck, struggling to find the words. As Cassandra nodded her head at him, he continued, "I've decided to stop taking lyrium." He couldn't stand the idea of the order having him either in body or soul.

"You are yet standing," the Seeker said dissecting him with her calculating eyes.

"It's been a few weeks without, I...if I cannot perform whatever duties you require of me. If I, if I do not live up to what you need, then..."

Cassandra laid a hand across his forearm drawing his attention. "Commander, I swear on the Maker I will do my best to judge if you are able to continue to the best of your abilities."

Cullen nodded his head, "How do we go about planning this Inquisition? What do you need from me?"

"I have to wait for Leliana's forces to return with news but...in the mean time there is something you can assist me with." The Seeker unearthed another book from behind her back, this one plastered in a garish cover. She passed a far too familiar tale to Cullen and pointed at the cover smeared in a garish yellow text proclaiming it 'The Tale of the Champion.'

"I need your help in locating the author of this book," Cassandra said.

Cullen twisted the book around and smiled, "I know exactly where to find him."

 * * *

Claws ripped apart her sleeve and raked across the skin. Blood welled up through the abrasion but she was too far gone to notice the pain. The hurlock jabbered something at Lana, its rotted teeth spraying spittle against her cheek. She tipped her hand up and willed an icicle into being off her palm to drive through the creature's stomach. It was enough to kill the darkspawn but also obliterated the vestiges of her mana. She grabbed her upper arm to try and slow the bleeding while sliding back. Three darkspawn remained and there was nothing left in her to finish the job.

So this was how it ended. Lost in the twists of the deep roads, blood pooling from her wounds, and three darkspawn scrabbling over their dead brethren to finish off the hero of Ferelden. Well, she wasn't about to make it easy for them, even if that had been the entire point.

A genlock tipped back on its back legs and roared. Lana shouted back, "Oh, sod off!" Swinging her staff blade forward, it slicked across the gargantuan's back leaving a line of red behind but doing nothing to slow the creature. "What happened to these damn things?! You shouldn't be so big!" she screamed again, still trying to slide away from the creature while jabbing her staff like a kitchen knife. There were no more spells in her arsenal, no one was coming, no one even knew she was here. At least no one would know how ignominiously she died. It was a strangely comforting thought as her back flattened against the wall. No escape for the hero of Ferelden. Her time finally came. The genlock hissed, stamping its feet across the ground like a bull about to charge.

"Get on with it, already!" she shouted at it. Lopping into a run, the genlock sped towards her on all fours. It reared back, ready to strike her across the chest when fire burst upon its back. The genlock screamed, its skin crackling in flames. Lana twisted her hand around trying to figure out where the spell came from, her mana was still dead. How could she have cast it?

Then a woman in red and black armor burst out through the caverns behind the darkspawn. She bore a blade nearly as long as herself and hacked through the last two hurlocks with an infectious madness. Ichor bubbled up from the greatsword's wounds and the darkspawn turned their attack on the unexplainable woman. Lana had bigger problems than this newest pawn on the board. The flames died across the genlock's skin and it twisted its teeth back to her. Slipping down, her fingers gripped onto the first leather hilt she found hidden in her boot. Underhanded, Lana slit a dagger across the creature's throat. Black blood gushed from the powerful beat of its heart, drenching across her robes. It stumbled from the final death throes and landed upon Lana, dragging both to the ground.

Pinned under the genlock, she could just see the woman's massive greatsword chopping through the heads of the hurlocks, sending them scattering to the ground. The woman smiled at her destruction, then turned around to ask, "Please tell me this is the right one."

"I am positive she's here," a male voice spoke behind her.

"That's what you said last time, you know, before we walked in on an ogre."

"85% positive, then."

Lana wiggled below the genlock's corpse and limped to her feet. Using her staff as leverage, she rose to eye up her unexpected saviors. The woman was turned away from her, trying to mop up the darkspawn blood spattered across every inch of her. But the blonde man in a feathered coat blacker than the deep roads instantly struck Lana, "You!"

Anders clucked his tongue, "Told you it was her."

The woman spun away from the abomination and smiled. Blood was swiped across her nose but it was too red to be darkspawn. She cracked an even greater grin than before, as if that were possible, "I guess I owe you a drink."

"Anders," Lana sneered. She was in no state to fight him, her own body threatening to shut down after two weeks in the deep roads, but she couldn't stop the rage boiling behind her eyes. The traitor here, right in front of her, after all this time. After all he did.

The woman stepped in between them and stuck out her hand, "Solona, right? Solona Amell."

Anders tapped the woman on the shoulder and whispered, "She hates being called that."

Lana shoved away the woman's proffered hand and leapt into Anders' way, "Tell me why I don't kill you right now for what you did?"

"Because I doubt you could hurt a kitten in your state," Anders cut back, but his eyes darted up to the woman and he mouthed 'This'll end well.'

"Do not act as if you know my limits, Anders," Lana cursed, trying to summon all she could. "You betrayed your promise, the order, my trust and the faith I placed in you. In both of you."

Anders blinked and his cocky smile slipped away at her mentioning Justice, as if she hadn't figured it out the moment both vanished from the Keep. Reports of a mage with glowing blue eyes in Kirkwall sealed the deal as far as she was concerned. The woman grabbed onto Lana's shoulder, her grip friendly but with a flexing dig to warn the mage that she could shatter her collarbone if she had a mind.

"All right, let's not go into who betrayed who."

"There's nothing to go into. The answer is obvious," Lana spat back, not taking her eyes off the abomination. Anders slunk back from her venom, his eyes darting up the wall to avoid her. Shame was a surprise; she never thought the man capable of such a thing.

"You are her, right? Hero of Ferelden, big stopper of the Blight and slaughtered of darkspawn and all that?" the woman continued.

Lana slumped forward in her grasp, "I am, and you are..."

Anders interrupted, "This is the Champion of Kirkwall." _Of course, who else would dare to travel with him after what he did?_

"Hawke, at your service," she said finally releasing her grip and then patting Lana on the back. The force was enough to crumple a deepstalker's skull, but Lana gritted through it. "It's great to meet you, in the flesh. Love your work, you know. Killing darkspawn, stopping blights. It's great all around. Did you know we're family?"

"Oh?" Lana shook her head, trying to clear the never ending buzzing from her thoughts. In doing so, she glanced over at the abomination and saw him attempting to do the same. Once a grey warden, always a grey warden -- no matter how far you ran.

Hawke was the only one unaffected as she beamed, "Yup, my mother's side is Amell. You're like a second cousin twice removed or something like that. They showed me charts once but I didn't get it. I was never very good at lineage shit."

"Delightful," Lana said. She prodded at the wound below her shredded sleeve, then hissed as pain and more blood poured from it.

"I can heal that," Anders said, but Lana glared at him.

"Do not come near me."

His eyes crumpled, but he kept his hands folded across his chest. She didn't want a thing from the traitor, nor anyone else for that matter. No one was supposed to come save her. Wrapping a strip of fabric around her arm, Lana knotted it with her teeth then asked Hawke, "How did you find me?"

The Champion tipped her head at the sulking mage, "Some magic warden tingle, and not the fun kind neither. Oh, and we followed the trail of darkspawn corpses. Lots of those. Lucky thing we stopped by when we did too, eh? Seemed you were in a rather tight spot."

"Yes, lucky," Lana glared at the dead genlock that nearly finished her. "I assume you have some reason why you trekked into the deep roads and risked blight to find me."

Hawke's smile dripped off her cheeks and she shared a look with Anders. The mage dug into his satchel while Hawke continued to speak, "I did. I need a warden's help."

"You have one already, unless he's forgotten how to help," Lana said.

Anders grumbled but kept digging in the pack for something. Hawke shook her head, "A warden with access to all those wardeny things."

"Wardeny things?" Lana repeated. _Maker, keeping up with this woman was giving her a splitting headache._

Anders finally extracted whatever they wanted out of the pack and handed it to Hawke. "I hoped you could solve this," she twisted around and thrust a small red vial towards Lana.

"That almost looks like lyrium," Lana said. She reached her fingers towards it when a thousand voices echoed from inside of the thin glass, each chanting the familiar words of the archdemon. _Sweet Maker!_ "What is that?!"

"That'd be why I went to the trouble to find you, for you to solve the it and what its being is." Hawke passed the bottle to Lana. She held it between thumb and forefinger extended as far from her body as possible. Still the voices called from inside it, begging to draw her inward, to join them in a blissful serenity. For a brief moment that old curiosity gripped Lana and she wanted to dissect every inch of this red lyrium, trace its origins and discover what created it. How could lyrium have the calling burning through it? But it faded as soon as it caught, the dampener on her brain yanking her curiosity away. She came to the deep roads for one reason, and by the Maker's grace she was going to accomplish it.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help," Lana passed the bottle back to Hawke who frowned as infectiously as she smiled. Only Anders breathed a sigh of relief at her refusal, more than likely afraid his old Commander would make good on her promise of ending him. It was only bluster, Lana was far too exhausted to bother enacting justice on him. And, deep in her heart, she doubted she could raise a blade to him. He was one of hers once, for good or ill.

Hawke cradled the vial and sighed, "That's not what I was expecting to hear, but I guess you have big warden things to do. Why you'd come down here alone and all. Saving the world and shit. Been there, done that, then kinda blew it up again."

Lana bobbed her head at the babble, then she glanced back at the vial. It was small, but there was an artistry to the design of such a simple thing. Someone took the time to make it instantly noticeable. The bottle's familiarity finally struck her and she had to ask, "Where did that come from?"

"Oh that?" Hawke shrugged, her frown already slipping back to her resting smile, "Kirkwall. Some of the templars there were taking it instead of the regular blue flavor. Might still be for all I know."

Kirkwall? Templars! Lana snatched up the bottle and lifted it to the pale light of the dwarven runes. Yes, it was the same as the ones the Free Marcher templars used, even bore the seal of the chanty upon the top. _Maker's breath, what did he get himself into?_ She'd wanted to go to Kirkwall after news of the chantry explosion reached the shores of Amaranthine along with boats overloaded with refugees but it was deemed unwise. A powerful mage walking the streets of Kirkwall days after one destroyed the chantry; she'd only cause more panic than solve. Still, it took her seneschal and even Ali...the King of Ferelden to talk her down from it.

Hawke watched her inspecting the bottle anew and cocked an eyebrow, "Does this mean you'll help?"

What were the templars doing with this? What was it doing to them? Andraste's tears, if Cullen had somehow blighted himself she might be the only hope he had left. Gripping the vial tight, Lana turned to Hawke, "Tell me everything you know about this red lyrium."

TO BE CONTINUED in **_MY TEMPLAR_**

# _My Templar_

When the Hero of Ferelden agreed to help Hawke solve the mystery of the red lyrium she never thought it'd draw her into the grasp of the Inquisition and back into Cullen's life. When the world's falling down around her and her own blood is trying to kill her, she knows she has no right to rekindle what they began in the deep roads. Then why can't she stop thinking about him?

When the Hero of Ferelden agreed to help Hawke solve the mystery of the red lyrium she never thought it'd draw her into the grasp of the Inquisition and back into Cullen's life. When the world's falling down around her and her own blood is trying to kill her, she knows she has no right to rekindle what they began in the deep roads. Then why can't she stop thinking about him?

## Chapter One

**Surprise Anew**

Ice coalesced around Lana's fist as she faced down the elf daring enough to bypass the wards on her cave. He only cocked his head to the side from her threat, his mouth drawn in concentration. The daggers on his back remained sheathed but she knew the tightening of the muscles, the warning it carried. With a wiry body, the elf dressed himself in finer leathers than most human's she knew. Certainly better than the typical bandits of Crestwood. His grey eyes struck through her and dared her to make a move.

"Wait!" Hawke's voice echoed through the cave, "Don't get all magic icy stabs! I brought the Inquisitor."

Behind the elf, a human stumbled in - his own hand threading in a signature purple sparkle. His shoulder was exposed despite the eternal rains of Crestwood, but that fact didn't seem to bother him much judging by the smirk implanted on his face. A blonde elven woman slipped in next, her eyes zipping across Lana, back to her bow, the threatening mage again, then across the cave. She seemed uncertain of anything save the arrow notched and aimed at Lana's chest. _Off to a great start so far. Anyone else want to murder you today?_

_Oh Maker_ , she sighed, knowing all too well the dwarf smirking next to Hawke. Of course she'd bring him. Varric and Hawke were like cookies and milk. You couldn't have one around without the other spilling all over the floor. Lana tried to not roll her eyes as the dwarf tipped his head at her in greeting. The last time they saw each other had been under less than fiery circumstances - a moment in her life she wished to forget.

Lana shook away the magic, heat returning to her fist as the energy dissipated, and she extended a hand to the elf. He watched her with caution, then took it. "I am Solona Amell, the Hero of Ferelden."

The human mage blinked his watery eyes in surprise while the blonde woman squeaked and tried to leap away. Her panic squeals were reminiscent of that first nug Lana got for Leliana. Only Varric and Hawke remained unimpressed from the title. Hawke slipped her elbow on top of Varric's head to aid her lean, but the dwarf didn't blink. Theirs was a curious friendship.

The Inquisitor nodded softly either unaware of who Lana was, or having already surmised as such. It was hard to tell with the Dalish, they liked to play distant observers living in the woods while picking your brain for everything you knew. His cautious eyes darted back to the party behind him, taking a momentary pause at the human man, before landing back on the warden of the hour. "We need your help."

Lana surveyed the people one last time. Hawke had promised her an army, or as close to one as a renegade warden could get without a blight to force noble's hands. She'd scrabbled together fighting forces from the most unlikely of places by cracking open rocks to find the gems within, but a power radiated off these four. This might be her only hope. "And I need yours."

The Inquisitor folded his hands, the fingers knotting together as he leaned back, but it was the dwarf that spoke next.

"The Champion of Kirkwall, the Hero of Ferelden, and the Inquisitor banding together," Varric said, patting that crossbow of his. "That sound you just heard was thedas clenching its collective sphincters."

* * *

Lana'd seen her fair share of estates, keeps, castles, strongholds, fortresses, and any other fancy term you wanted to throw around for a heavily fortified area with its own drawbridge. But Skyhold was something else. An unsettling power undulated from the tips of the stone running the lengths of the tallest battlement down into the bones of the mountain itself. She felt it as she trekked across the drawbridge, Hawke grinning at her side. There was no particular reason for the exuberance, Hawke was always smiling. It was a quirk of her cousin Lana grew used to over time if she didn't stop and think about it often.

"This place feels ancient," Lana said while dragging her fingers across the mortar.

Hawke snorted, "Looks better than the last time I was here. Hey! I think they got the tavern all set up. We should check it out and see if there are any 'perfectly legal' games to crash."

"The last time we did that..." Lana began. Hawke batted her concerns away, as if her cousin wasn't the one missing a tooth because of it.

"Merciful Andraste." A sweet Orlesian accent rang like a bell through the courtyard. Lana twisted around and spotted Leliana all but running across the grounds towards her.

"Game will have to wait, cousin," Lana whispered to Hawke before turning to Leliana. She'd heard whispers of her old friend turning more sullen and inward over the intervening years, but a beam of sunlight brightened Leliana's face as she wrapped Lana in a hug.

"I'd lost all track of you and feared the worst. What were you doing in Crestwood of all places?"

"I missed you too, Leliana," Lana said while patting her friend's back. Leliana's chainmail bit through her far more unassuming attire. She never wore the grey warden stuff save for the rare trek to the Anders. Lana even abandoned her old mage robes miles back as wary farmers and merchants eyed up anyone thought to be a renegade mage. Now she wore the traveling outfit of any unaffiliated messenger; brown trousers, a green tunic, and a soft velvet vest. There were leather bits knotted here and there around her arms and waist but nothing in her attire screamed "Once Commander of the Grey." Barely anyone deigned a glance in Lana's direction unless Hawke stood beside her. It was hard to miss the Champion, some of which was due to her incessant need to wear the pointy Champion armor. And most was because that at over six feet tall and built like she could deadlift a dragon, Hawke was a living distraction before she even opened her mouth.

Leliana released her grip on Lana and stepped back. The smile wiped away to a neutral frown, her crystal eyes hardening as she surveyed her old friend. She absently tugged her lilac hood lower over her eyes. "What has occurred with the grey wardens? They vanished leaving no trace. Even your Vigil's Keep seemed abandoned."

"That..." Lana glanced around Skyhold. There was no reason to think there'd be any warden spies lurking about. She didn't feel the tug of the blight beyond her own veins, but after two weeks of keeping one step ahead of Clarel's thugs Lana wasn't about to take any chances. "We should talk in private about that."

"Of course, you should meet the other advisors. The Inquisitor..."

"Is back in Crestwood. Bandits, something something, undead, something something, rifts, something something, death ah! stabs. The usual," Hawke interrupted in her booming voice.

"I see," Leliana eyed up the Champion before slipping a hand around Lana's arm. The Spymaster guided Lana towards what must be the great hall of the hold. Skyhold was in a state, with craftsmen and servants bustling about in honor of some big todo. Hammers and whisks were both in evident as the underbelly of power required an eternal going over. Lana tried to ask Leliana about what stirred the nest but her friend was in a surprisingly silent mood. A few people scattered at the sight of their Spymaster slipping through the halls, then more pointed and gawked at Hawke. Lana tried to shrink lower into the collar of her shirt while Hawke waved vigorously at a dwarf perched upon scaffolding.

"Friend of yours?" Lana asked.

"I have no idea," Hawke answered pumping her hand in the air.

Leliana led them through a back hall and past an abandoned desk beside a warm fire. She stopped at a massive door and gazed out at the winter snows upon the mountains. It wasn't a window so much as a break in the wall itself. Though, that might sort of count as a window. A question for architect philosophers. Leliana gestured to a bile of bricks scattered along the floor, "We are still at work repairing the hold."

"Gotta murder all the slavers first, am I right?" Hawke said. Leliana shot a question at Lana, but she shrugged. It was rare for Lana to understand all of what her cousin said. The Champion dipped down and picked up one of the tumbled bricks. Towering over both of them, she slotted it into place and smiled. The winds knocked against the edge, and the brick promptly slipped through the not-window and landed outside with a crack. "Sorry about that," Hawke grimaced.

Leliana coldly eyed up the Champion but only murmured, "It is no mind." Yanking open one of the two massive doors, Leliana ushered them into the room of the map. They probably had a better name for it, but the main feature was a table fit for a feast but covered in a map of all of thedas. A pair stood beside it bickering over one pick lost amongst a dozen others. The woman in gold wore that painted smile of a diplomat who could destroy your life far greater and easier than any assassin. And the other...

Lana's feet ground to halt. She blinked her eyes and shook her head a few times to dislodge the illusion, but it was still him. Here. Alive. In the flesh. _Thinking about flesh was not helping._ Hawke stumbled into the back of Lana, then grabbed onto her cousin's shoulders to steady herself. She hadn't thought of him in... A twist knotted her stomach as the memory of an unexpected but not unwanted dream answered the question for her. He never seemed to stray too far from her thoughts no matter where she wound up in thedas. Except for...

"You didn't tell me about Cullen," Lana whispered to her cousin.

Hawke shrugged, then bellowed in the closest she came to a whisper, "Forgot, I guess."

That drew the attention of the woman in gold and the man she never imagined she'd see again. Cullen blinked his eyes slowly at Hawke, then his sight traveled down to the mage in the warrior's grasp. Color drained from his cheeks and he shook his head. When that didn't cause Lana to vanish, he gripped onto the table and struggled for a few deep breaths. Lana smiled weakly at him before Leliana snapped her attention away.

"Our Warden has arrived ahead of the Inquisitor," Leliana announced.

"Delightful timing. I am Josephine Montilyet, chief diplomat of the Inquisition," the woman in gold grabbed up a board off the table and began to attack it with a sharpened feather. "And this is Commander Cullen," she gestured to him with her quill, but didn't turn to him. Thank the Maker, she missed the commander still staring at his hands and blinking rapidly to make sense of this world. "Who," Josephine readied her quill above her board, "might I ask, are you?"

"I, uh," Lana tried to shake off the blush climbing up her backside, "Solona Amell, but please call me Lana."

"Lana is it?" Leliana smirked, their camaraderie picking up as if never dropped, "What happened to Lanny?"

"What do you think happened to it?" Lana cut back. She didn't mean for the venom in her voice, but the wound was still fresh no matter how much dirt she tried to kick in it. Leliana watched her anew, a cold dissection slicing up Lana.

"Solona A..." Josephine's quill paused, "Amell. Lady Amell? The, you're the Hero of Ferelden? That's the Warden you knew?" she asked the Champion.

Hawke shrugged, "Sure, we're family after all!"

"I..." Josephine strode forward and extended her hand to Lana, "My lady, it is an honor to meet you."

"Uh," Lana took the hand and gripped it tight. "Please, it's not really, I don't want to cause a fuss."

"A woman of such esteem requires, I will have to rethink everything!" Josephine suddenly switched gears, her quill jabbing into the margins of her board. "A feast is necessary of course, and, oh dear, all the state rooms are currently occupied. What if we moved Duke Confort to..."

"Josie," Leliana admonished softly, pulling the ambassador out of her tizzy.

"What? What is wrong?" Josephine glanced from Leliana back to Cullen. The Commander had just enough sense to turn his attention back to the map to bury the shock yet camped on his face.

"I'll explain later," Leliana said, tipping her head.

"Lana's on the run from the wardens," Hakwe blurted out.

The Commander's amber eyes snapped up at that, his hand brushing across the hilt of his sword. _Maker, she'd missed those little wrinkles across his brow and down his nose when determination set in._

"I am on the outs with the wardens but, it's a bit more complicated than that. The order's machinations are being kept from all save those closest to Clarel. I need to show you some..." Lana took a step forward towards the big map when the pounding below her skin rose up from its beaten back depths. She twisted on her ankle and would have fallen in front of the best of the Inquisition if Hawke had not caught her around the arms.

Josephine and Cullen both dashed to her, but it was Leliana that halted them. "I am assuming that you did not come to Skyhold under ease. Perhaps it would be best to take some time and get you acclimated to the area before we begin speaking of the wardens."

"A tour," Josephine exclaimed.

"I had something else in mind first," Leliana said. It was probably Lana's imagination, but she shuddered from the way her old friend's eyes glittered in cold mischief.

## Chapter Two

**Baths**

Freezing water poured down her exposed back as the she-devil dumped a second bucket. "Stop. Doing. That!" Lana gritted through chattering teeth. She hopped back and forth on her bare feet, splashing more mud against her frozen skin.

"I'm done with the first round of rinsing. Now we need to be getting to the scrubbing. Here!" The horrendous creature who tried to pass for human hurled a bar of soap over the wooden wall of the hastily assembled bath house. It bounced off Lana's shoulder and scattered to the grass. Unable to bend over in such a tight space, Lana bent her knees and hunted the soap out blindly. It was cheap for certain, the smell of lye overpowering and it looked like some gravel worked its way into the mix.

Sighing, Lana tried to lather the bar against her frozen skin but the soap was in no mood. The best it could bother were a few bubbles before giving up the ghost entirely and leaving a slimy film down her flesh. She did get a lovely abrasion down her stomach from the gravel though.

"This soap is impossible," Lana sighed. She chucked it back over the partition at the woman's head.

The creature from beyond the void caught it in one hand and threw the soap into a bucket. The ringing caused the nearby horses to whinny from their beds, stamping and snorting at the mage who kept shrieking during their afternoon feeding. It also pulled even more attention from wandering soldiers to the woman being bathed in the midst of their stables. And to think Lana once thought Leliana was too sweet for her own good. She should have listened closer to Marjoline.

The she-beast unearthed a brush as long as her arm and drug it across Lana's back. It had to be made from unfinished nails pounded into the back of a splintered log. Lana shrieked and leapt a good foot in the air, almost causing her to pop out of the top of the parturition. "What are you doing?!"

"Scrubbing you, as I was ordered to do," the woman sighed, tired of her victim questioning her torture tactics.

Lana tried to whip around to see her own back. It had to be bloodied meat after that attack, but all her fingers found were raised welts and a few misplaced suds. "You shall not touch me with that ever again. Do you understand?" Lana dampened the fire in her voice and tried to dip into her commanding presence. It completely failed on the washer woman.

"Listen, I don't know who you think you are, but around here I do as I'm told. You might want to learn that too unless you want to get kicked back to wherever they found you," the woman sneered. She gripped the brush tighter and aimed to rake up more of Lana's flesh.

The mage reached into the fade and wrapped her skin in stone, the bristles pinging as they struck. Trying a few more times to smash into Lana's skin, the woman sighed, "Take off that damn unholy magic."

"No!" Lana shouted feeling like a petulant child but also in no mood for healing her own back.

"I'll go and get a templar, he'll do you up a right treat and then you'll get your what-for," she threatened, banging the brush against Lana's skin. Even through the rock armor, she could still feel it knocking into her. Twisting her anger into mana, Lana threw a fist from the fade into the brush. It flew up out of the woman's hands and smashed against the ground with enough force to bury itself into the dirt. Lana glowered at the woman while she removed her stone armor, but the woman remained unimpressed.

"Look at what you did. Now I'll have to wash it, then wash you."

"It will not touch me!" Lana screamed, the pounding in her head matched by the throb of her skin. The woman wasn't about to give up either, the two ready to come to blows or worse when a new voice joined in the fray.

"Is there a problem here?" _Sweet Andraste!_ Lana sunk lower from that voice, curling her arms around her naked flesh while crumpling into a ball. _Out of all the impromptu stable washings in all of thedas, he had to stroll into this one._ She placed her ear against the wooden wall while keeping the rest of her hidden from view.

"Nope, Commander," the she-devil answered back. "Just washing up this vagrant. Spymaster's orders."

"Vagrant?" Cullen asked. He stepped towards the partition and was about to peer in at the to-be-washed in question when Lana popped up.

"Hi," she said. Cullen skittered back, the demon brush he scooped up almost flying out of his hands. She tried to sound cheerful but her eyes pleaded with him to save her.

"Lana, what are you..." He shook his head and swallowed a few times from the surprise of her leaping out of any corner of Skyhold. A blush bloomed over his forehead as it must have dawned on him that she was completely naked behind only a few thin scraps of wood. "Ma'am," Cullen straightened up, turning to the she-devil, "do you not know who this is?"

"Don't know, don't care," she answered. "All I know is we don't need possible blight running through the hold." To punctuate her sentiment, she dumped another bucket of ice water onto her victim's head. Lana managed to swallow down the screams to a minimum, but the water bit into her flesh, the pain fresh courtesy of the brush's attack. As Lana wiped her crumpled hair out of her face, she swore she caught the barest hints of a smirk crossing Cullen's face. But by the time she finished knotting her hair back and wringing it out, he wore the same stern countenance as before.

Lana was about to speak to him when the woman threw another bucket of water at her, this one somehow even colder. "For Andraste's sake, woman, are you trying to drown me?!" Lana moaned, shaking her head like a wet dog.

"I'm doing as I was told," the she-devil repeated for the fiftieth time. Lana would almost feel for her if it weren't for the gleeful glint in her eye. She readied another bucket when Cullen grabbed onto her hand, the bucket swinging in a threat to splatter anyone else.

"That is probably enough to clear away any threat of blight," he focused on the woman but his eyes darted towards Lana in her drenched state and they overran with pity.

Then the strangest thing happened. This monstrous creature from a nightmare realm blushed, a stammer never before thought possible crumpled up her lips and she nodded, "Aye, if you say so, Ser. I think she's probably had enough going over for one day."

"Good," Cullen said. He extracted the bucket from the woman's hands and placed it on the grass. When he turned back to Lana, his voice shifted to a whisper, "I admit, I didn't expect to find you here."

"Naked and nearly drowned beside the horses? Isn't that how you greet all dignitaries in Skyhold?" Lana tripped back to the safety of sarcasm. She hadn't had time to process what his being here meant, if it should even mean anything to either of them. Three years was a long time, and he'd have had ample opportunity to move on from whatever it was they fumbled around in the deep roads. The dashing commander, once loyal templar knight turned rogue heretic, oh that had to get some ladies panting. They were probably drawing lots to see who'd get first go at him in parlors across Orlais. Lana convinced herself that Cullen already had a wife and two children before Leliana even got her to the stables for her cleansing.

Cullen shook his head, uncertain if he should laugh at her sentiments or not. "Are you all right?"

"Very, very cold," as Lana's anger subsided so did her resistance to the mountain breeze prickling against her frozen skin. She massaged her hands against her arms willing the friction to warm her, but it wasn't enough. Stepping into fire might not be enough.

"Of course, you should...um," Cullen turned to the she-devil and said, "What happened to La...the vagrant's...her clothes?"

"Boiling 'em, got to get all the blight. Only way," she said dusting her hands off.

Cullen blanched and turned back to Lana, but she shrugged. Something told her it'd be a long time before she saw her gear again. What was a whole day spent standing in the yard trying to ignore the stares while freezing to death? She'd certainly done worse.

"Here," the she-devil chucked a piece of cloth at Lana's head.

By sheer willpower, she managed to catch it before it soaked into her hair. It wasn't a towel but a robe, almost but not quite silk. If it weren't for the bland color, she'd almost think it was one of Leliana's. Lana slipped her arms into the grey robe and knotted off the belt around her waist. The fabric was so thin the water against her skin washed it nearly translucent, but nearly was better than fully naked. It clung to what she had for hips, bunching behind her. She ran her hands down the back to try and smooth it out. "Oh, for the love of the Maker. This thing barely even covers my...uh." The blush burned across her skin raising the goosepimples even higher as she did her best to avoid eye contact with the commander. "May I have some pants?" Lana struggled to get her voice to a calm question.

The she-devil yanked open the partition and smiled, "No." Lana dropped her hands down the front and back of the robe, trying to tug it down so she didn't moon the entire army. Unfortunately, that also pulled down the top, exposing more of her chest. A dark urge to pulverize the woman to paste rose through her mind, but she tamped it back. It wouldn't help anyway. She'd still be just as nearly naked and now have a dead body to deal with.

Cullen's eyes were drawn by Lana's hands scurrying to cover herself, but he snapped them up to the top of her head. Coughing and swallowing a dozen um's, he finally managed to say, "Lady A...I think, that is to say, I know a way to. Follow me."

"What?" Lana glanced up at him. He pinned his gaze above her, terrified to look anywhere in her exposed direction.

"I have clothing you can borrow."

"Sweet Andraste!" Lana cried. He gestured to the stairs, then paled as he realized the logistics of her trying to climb them while in such a short garment.

"What if I, you go ahead of me," Cullen paused in his steps and let her take the lead.

She stepped up a few of the stairs and paused, uncertain where to head, when he sidled in behind her so close it blocked off any view of her backside. "Thank you," Lana whispered. Together they climbed like that, Lana yanking down on the robe while Cullen shielded her. His hands slid along the railings on both sides while she felt his eyes boring into the back of her head. The discipline of templars was something of legend. "Um," Lana paused, "which way do I go?"

His warm breath ruffled her frozen skin, "To your right. Don't worry, I'll stick close."

By the grace of the Maker, they made it to his office without stumbling across anyone else, though something told her Cullen was passing signs to his people to get out of the way. Or glaring them out of the way. Regardless, she was grateful as they stumbled into a place with walls, and doors, and no other people gawping at her. While Cullen shut the door, Lana gazed around the room. Like the rest of Skyhold it was mostly finished with a pile of pried up wood tossed in the corner and a tree trying to break inside. Surely, given time, it'd be cleared up. He had a practice dummy strapped to a wall, its face full of daggers. Lana wondered who he was thinking of while working through that rage. His desk was a disaster; bottles half finished, meals forgotten, papers piled in unsound towers, and all of it coated in wax from tipped candles while someone paced about. The few chairs were also covered in books, papers, and what looked like a small chess set. Lana snickered at the sight, drawing Cullen's attention.

"Sorry, I...The seneschal at Vigil's Keep used to have stern words with me often for failing to properly inventory my missives. Said it made it impossible to prepare the books," she smiled but the memory stung back. The keep, her keep that was once full to bursting.

"It's my, things have been..." Cullen scampered past her and bundled up the filthy flatware and bottles in his arms as if he had anywhere to put them. Whipping his head around the office, he realized the only logical place was the desk he just yanked them off of. Shrugging at his blunder, he looked over at Lana standing in frozen bare feet with the robe suckered against her skin, and a blush burst across his cheeks. It was so bright, for a brief moment Lana feared he contracted a fever from his working squalor.

"You needed...wanted to change into proper clothing." Opening his arms, Cullen dumped his trash across the desk.

"Proper isn't necessary, I'll accept anything that reaches my thighs at this point," Lana sighed. She folded her arms across her chest and knocked against her nipples hard enough to crack though ice. _Oh, so that's why..._ a blush to match the commander's curled up her stomach.

Cullen glanced around as if he expected pants to appear from thin air, then he sighed, "My clothing is up...give me a moment, please." Before Lana could respond, he grabbed onto the ladder in the midst of the room and climbed skyward. She craned her neck up to watch, savoring the way his thigh muscles strained from the exertion. _What are you doing?_ Lana snapped out of her reverie as Cullen vanished into his little loft. With her arms still wrapped around her chest, Lana flitted about the room inspecting but not touching the bookshelf. Most of the titles were what one would expect a leader of an army to own. She'd had more than a few in her own little library, though field marching tactics offered little advice in the way of fighting darkspawn. Most formations for warfare would fail instantly in the deep with soldiers plopping off cliffs and falling into lava.

"I think this, hope this will suffice until your clothing is dry," Cullen's voice called from above. The ladder creaked from his weight as he began the climb back down.

"You have a book by Brother Genativi?" Lana shouted so he'd hear. She pulled on the thinner tome and found it wasn't an account of chantry lore or thedas history but a tale of his time bumping into the Dalish. There was no mention of werewolves, or rhyming trees for that matter, but her heart bloomed from the loping words of the kindly and curious man she once rescued. She slipped the book back into its place and continued to explore his shelves.

"Ah, yes, there are more than a few of his histories around Skyhold if you're curious. I don't have many here, and..." Cullen paused upon the ladder, only one step from the ground, his eyes peering between the rungs, "What are you looking at?"

Lana yanked out the book that sparked her curiosity; a cover of throbbing red was all it needed to warn the reader of the dangers lurking within. "This? You own this? _The Awakening of the Dragon King_?" Her eyebrows shot up as she dangled the tome before him. Cullen massaged the back of his neck and he glared a hole through his already ramshackle ceiling. She knew he was struggling to either admit he had no idea what the book was or call her on the fact that she knew exactly what it was.

He chose option number three, "I thought it was a history of King Calenhad."

Lana smirked, "It sort of is, if you snip out all the dirty parts. Though I think that leaves you with ten pages at best." Still smiling, she placed the book back where she found it.

"Here," Cullen extended a pair of trousers towards her, "I doubt they will fit you, but it was the best I had."

"Thank you," Lana accepted them. The knees were worn to a soft tan, but the seems were sturdy and what did it matter? It was better than the nothing she had on. Lana bent over to hook her leg into the pants when she heard a strangled goose sound. It was so inhuman she snapped up into the amber eyes of the commander. His own attention was focused upon her breasts trying to spill free from the top of the robe. He flinched as his mind caught up with his body and Cullen actually smacked a hand over his eyes. Returning to sliding the pants on, Lana cursed to herself that the man had to stop being so damn adorable. She yanked the pants above her hips only to have them slide back down.

"You wouldn't happen to have an extra belt, would you?" she asked while holding the edge of the pants up.

"That, I...I'm afraid not," Cullen admitted, defeat ringing through him.

Lana waved her hand, "It's no mind." Rolling the top of the pants down, she shortened and tightened them with each fold until they clung loosely to her thin hips. It also pulled up the crotch so she didn't feel quite so untethered and free. Asking for smallclothes would probably put Cullen on the pyre.

"I thought this might help as well," Cullen said as he passed over a tunic. The colors had faded to a dull grey and it was softer than velvet from wear, but someone took the time to blot away any stains and mend a torn seam under the arm. Lana slipped the tunic over her head and found just how much she and the commander differed in size. The arms dangled a full cuff off the ends of her fingertips. Due to not having the same strapping shoulders, the neck of the tunic bowed deep down her chest, leaving that pesky cleavage on display. She rolled up the arms, but there wasn't much of an easy way to solve the low neck even with the starched collar.

"Is it...it doesn't fit as well as--" Cullen danced back and forth on his feet, his eyes wanting but not staring at her.

Lana interrupted him, "It's fine, it's good, better than what was on offer. Thank you for it."

"You're, uh...why did Leliana send you out to the stables for that? If you don't mind my asking. If you do, you don't have to answer."

A smile warmed up her cold body. Despite the commanding presence that wilted stable hands turned she-devils it was still the same Cullen under all that armor. And he didn't even know the power he had to sway hearts. Not that he was the type to use it. Lana slid up onto his desk yanking the ill fitting pants lower, but it got her feet off the cold stone ground.

"I suspect she's mad at me for 'missing' her summons."

"Ah," Cullen stepped closer to her and tried to smoothly lean his body against the desk. Unfortunately, he misjudged the distance and his body slid lower to an uncomfortable position. His elbow clanged against a bottle and his waist twisted against the desk's edge. Lana watched, waiting for him to try again, but judging by the blush he was too terrified to try.

"I didn't try to miss it or 'order people to obscure my location' as she insinuated. I was in the deep roads at the time, didn't even know of the conclave or this Inquisition. By the time the Temple of Sacred Ashes was attacked I was off in Orlais jabbing my thumb in some prickly pies," Lana slipped further back on the desk, her bum knocking into the scattered dishes.

"But to have you scrubbed down and on the stable grounds," Cullen shook his head, a look of shock twisting up his face. Did he not know his Spymaster's past?

"Never get on Leliana's bad side, trust me."

Cullen nodded, "I'm coming to realize this."

"She was right about the blight though. And it maybe being transmitted through clothing or on skin, we're not sure. Grey wardens, we sort of stop noticing it after awhile and it can...it can wreak havoc amongst armies."

"I thought you were in Crestwood not the deep roads."

Lana shrugged, causing her bare shoulder to peek out of the tunic's bowing neckline, "Wardens and Blight, we're inseparable."

A soft silence descended between them, both staring ahead at the shut door and trying to pick through four years of complicated history. She'd bet on foolish hope recently, only to have it burst apart on her. To try again... It seemed cruel to even dangle the idea before him, or her. After she left Kirkwall and returned to Amaranthine, Lana kicked herself for giving in to...Maker, she still wasn't certain. A schoolgirl crush? Years of lonely lust? Or was it a crisis of faith in her life, a crisis she had yet to solve? Regardless, it was her burden, not his. He had more than enough golden opportunities to find contentment here in this magnificent hold. Just not with the she-devils of baths.

Cullen coughed drawing Lana's attention to him. Maker, how she missed losing herself in those doleful eyes, like a drop of golden honey settling in a mug of warm tea. "You, uh, um, your hair is longer," he stuttered out.

She picked up the end of the strands and ran them through her fingers. "Haven't had an opportunity to attend to it lately. Not many barbers in the deep roads. Ample opportunity there with no competition if one's willing to shave darkspawn." Lana dropped her own locks and stared at his, "Yours is...different?"

"Oh, that! I...well," Cullen dug his fingers across his scalp rifling the golden waves that she remembered as ringlets. "It's a not very interesting tale of...change. I wanted a change, I guess." Lana nodded, she knew that feeling if not quite the execution. It'd take blood magic to erase her curls. "Do you...um," his voice dropped to a whisper, "do you like it?"

"I..." Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but for a brief moment his face reminded her of Alistair, sweet brown eyes and sweptback blonde hair. Her face constricted from the memory but Cullen had to only see disgust. She tried to chuckle to cover up for the wound weeping in her heart. "It suits you. But so did the curls, so, I suppose whatever you want to do. I'm not one to judge or offer advice on matters of hair design things. Darkspawn rarely care about such things, not that I tend to ask them. It's all...I'm going to stop talking now."

He bobbed his head, his eyes drifting down to her exposed shoulder. Whispering to the wind, he said, "I worried for you."

"For me? That's a full time job," Lana smirked, then grimaced. The wall kept her aloof from people. It was supposed to keep her and others safe from not getting attached, but look how well that turned out. She drew her fingers across his gloved hand perched upon the desk. "I was worried about you too. After the explosion at Kirkwall, I..."

She expected the old templar armor to fall back into place, for Cullen to rear up and thunder against mages, but a different cloud stormed across his face. He winced and glared through the window slit behind his desk. "You were right."

"That'd be a first."

He turned from his vigil to shoot her a patronizing look, but Lana wasn't being sardonic for once. She felt the sting of her mistakes that led to losing them in every step across Ferelden and Orlais trying to right her wrongs. It was a wonder she didn't leave behind bloody footprints. Cullen sighed, "You tried to warn me about Meredith but I couldn't see, wouldn't see. I failed them, failed you, I should have listened to what you told me."

"Maker's breath, Cullen," Lana snapped pulling his attention from the window, "I had no idea about the whole evil red lyrium statue sword thing. No one did."

"But you knew about the violations, the brandings, the...everything I missed!" he twisted his head around as if trying to shake the misdeeds from his soul.

She couldn't stop herself from cupping his cheek. The warmth of his body radiated through her cold hand and he leaned into it, his eyes slipping closed. For a moment she lost herself and stroked the scar upon his lip with her thumb. "Do you want to hear every thing I've missed? Every poor decision I've made? I hope you have a comfortable chair because it's a rather long list."

Cullen snickered, the laugh drawing his stubble across her palm. It refreshed her skin to feel it again. "I don't know if we have the time. 'The day slips away.'"

"'But the moon is fresh,'" she quoted automatically, then had to shake off a blush as she remembered where the passage originated. Cullen's own guilty eyes glanced towards the bookcase. She had no idea templars read the contraband books after confiscating them. An easy silence rose between them where neither needed to say a word to fall into each other's presence, but she knew where it could lead. Where it shouldn't lead. Lana pulled her hand away from his cheek and placed it back upon the desk.

"Three years," she said staring a hole into the ground, "is a long time. With the sky tearing, and a mad darkspawn on the loose...Maker, why does that sound so familiar?"

"Four years, actually."

"Hm..." Lana turned to Cullen. His own transient thoughts shifted across his face.

"Four years have passed since we last...when we were toge- assisted each other in our duties."

"Right," Lana bobbed her head. "Four years, even a bigger amount of time then. And I don't want to...I mean, if it--"

Cullen rose up from his lean upon the desk and adjusted the sword upon his hip. The action drew Lana's attention downward and she realized she'd best continue to his feet or risk another blush. "I understand. You do not wish to make things difficult between us given the importance of the work here."

"Things were never difficult," Lana began, a smile from the memory curling through her. She broke it off and backed down from the foolish thought. "You're right, for the sake of thedas it's best if we be, forget about...No, I don't mean forget. Be friendly, not that we're not being friendly now...Maker's sake," Lana curled her hands around her forehead in consternation, "why is this so hard?"

She heard a soft chuckle from the sidelines and turned to stare a question at Cullen. He smiled a knot of pain and answered, "I believe that was what ran through my head after you walked into the war room. That diatribe more or less."

"Never gets easy does it?"

"I'm afraid not," Cullen admitted and weariness washed across him. It was as if he cut a string and let every heartache, every loss show upon his face. Just as quickly he pulled it all back. The joys of command.

Lana had her own duties to attend to, and it was unlikely Hawke would remain docile for much longer. She eased off the desk, hiked the pants back up, and smiled, "I should go find my old friend turned personal torturer and explain why I wasn't there for her. Think of a plan to solve this warden problem."

"Right, of course," Cullen dipped his head.

Padding towards the door, Lana paused at the handle and turned back. "Thank you again for the clothes. I probably would have died in a puddle of embarrassment if I only had that little Orlesian robe to wear."

He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes, "Then I'm glad I helped. It would not do to lose you now."

Lana nodded and glanced down, "Cullen, for what it's worth, I am glad to see you again."

His taciturn smile shattered and he dipped his head down to gather his thoughts. "I am glad to see you as well."

With his parting words Lana yanked open the door and ran smack dab into Hawke. Almost literally as her giant of a cousin stood hulking outside the door. She easily spotted the commander over Lana's head, then glanced down at her. "Hey! If it ain't the lady of the hour. Been talking to Varric and...what in Andraste's tits are you wearing? Nearly got your own tits on display to, if ya didn't know."

Lana sighed and tried to carefully shut the door behind her, but Hawke managed to step in the way, "I am aware, thank you. The commander was kind enough to loan me a change of clothes after my Skyhold welcome."

Hawke guffawed at Lana's pulled face, "Heard about that fun bathing time. Everybody's heard about it, in fact."

"Wonderful, I'm famous."

She thought her sometimes surly nature would turn off the Champion, but it only seemed to encourage the woman who went beyond the pale to get her to smile. It seemed to be Hawke's newest game, or perhaps her own sacred duty. "So you and the ol' Cullen know each other then?"

Lana glanced back at the man trying his best to pretend he couldn't overhear two people talking about him in his own doorway. "Yes, in a way, we were in the same circle in Ferelden."

Hawke scrunched up her face in thought, obviously ignoring Lana's explanation. As if struck by lightning, Hawke stood bolt upright and snapped her fingers. In a voice that could shatter mountains, Hawke said, "Oh! That's the templar you were begging for in your sleep."

"Bloody hell," Lana squeaked. She couldn't dare risk glancing back at Cullen, so she focused a glare on Hawke. The woman was infuriating. She played the ignorant but giddy fool until you spoke to her for a few moments and realized she'd fully sized you up in minuted and knew all your dark secrets. After traveling together for six months, it was a wonder Hawke didn't know Lana better than she knew herself.

"I never did hear the name, got the templary bits though. Well, not got got. If ya catch my drift."

"Please, stop talking," Lana begged.

There was nothing to halt Hawke short of a qunari invasion and even that was dicey, "Explains all that whimpering in your sleep while working through the deep roads."

"No, that..." Lana's blush snapped away as another shame bloomed in her gut. The first she could stomach, but the latter burned her. "That's something else. Come on," using just a small spell, Lana shoved the immovable Champion out of the doorway and slammed it shut. She shook her head trying to wish some sense into the world.

Hawke spread her arms wide, "What?"

Stepping ahead of her cousin, Lana spat back, "You'll be the death of me."

## Chapter Three

**The Plan**

"And you're certain Lady Beverly will not be attending the fete?" Josephine leaned into Leliana's shoulder, prodding her with both a quill and arched eyebrow.

Leliana sighed, "Yes, the arrangements have been made."

"Good, because we do not want a repeat of last time. We're still finding pieces of him across Skyhold," Josephine cut back writing a line across her clipboard and then shoving one of the picks across the big map.

Lana had been hmming and nodding through most of the meeting while she lost herself out the window, but Josephine's cryptic words snagged her attention, "Pieces? Was his body exploded? Do you have access to gatlock?"

"Oh stars, no," Josephine shuddered at the very idea.

"She meant his clothing," Leliana chuckled. "The man drank from the wrong goblet, foolishly dosed himself with a wyvern poison meant for another, and spent the rest of the night convinced he was a dragon."

"Three soldiers had to coax his bare ass off the flag pole," Cullen grumbled. "Because he was 'too important' for us to shoot him down."

"Sounds like my kind of Satinalia," Hawke quipped. She sat beside Lana along the wall of the important room, her legs thrust so far off the shared bench the advisers had to stumble around her to get at their map. They were supposed to be formulating a plan to deal with the wardens, but they'd spent most of the morning talking about the nit and gritty of life at Skyhold while waiting for the Inquisitor.

"The man also kicked over three feeding troughs, rolled around in pitch for the roof, and attempted to...become amorous with a statue," Cullen said while his fingers batted against his sword.

"Please tell me it wasn't one of the horse ones," Lana sighed and caught the commander's gaze. He rolled his eyes and shook his head drawing a smile to her lips. Out of the corner of her periphery, Lana caught Leliana watching her with a quirk across her face.

The door blew open and the Inquisitor finally graced them all with his presence. An instant solemnity swept over the advisers from his presence. He bowed his patrician head, "Forgive me for my tardiness, there was an incident that required my attention."

"I hope it didn't involve pitch and a horse statue," Hawke said in a booming aside to Lana. Of course the rest of the advisers heard and couldn't stifle the giggle.

"I'm afraid I do not understand the reference," the Inquisitor said, his piercing grey eyes darting through the three professionals fighting to get back to neutral. He turned on his heel and eyed up the two women crashed together on the bench, "Please, fill in for us what you know of the wardens."

"Ah," Lana rose to her feet to approach the map while Hawke leaned back and placed her hands behind her head.

"What?" Hawke shrugged from four sets of eyes glaring at her relaxed posture, "All I know about wardens involves darkspawn, blight, and their thoughts on riding reverse--"

"All right," Lana interrupted, "please, do not elaborate on...I have this." She approached the great map and stepped beside Leliana. They'd had an honest discussion away from prying eyes where Lana told her everything, nearly everything. Leliana had a great chuckle over the image of Lana's body smothered by the oversized clothing courtesy of the commander, then offered her own as recompense. She'd intended to take the nightingale up on her offer but their catching up took so long after a time, Lana's were returned. She was surprised how white the Skyhold launders spruced up the vest; that was unlikely to last past the day.

"To understand what's happening, what must have them concerned, I have to tell you about what makes a grey warden. This is..." Lana sighed. She'd been prepping herself for this. After Clarel called for her head she thought it'd be easy to distance herself. Still, the rules of the order clung to her like twisted bedsheets. They may be threadbare and moldy, but they were all she had left in the world. "In order to sense darkspawn, to become a warden, we drink their blood. We take in the taint."

"Merciful Maker," Josephine gasped, her quill actually pausing. Leliana knew, or at least suspected enough to be unsurprised. Lana's eyes darted up to the only templar in the room. The wardens were always a bit iffy on whether the joining was blood magic or not, though she suspected they kept it secret so they'd never have to answer the question. Cullen looked wan but stoic, his heels dug in. _Well, time for the next bombshell then._

"People think it makes us immune to the blight, but it doesn't. Not really. We're all...dying. Every warden gets twenty or thirty years and then the taint wins," Lana heard more gasps but she plowed through, needing to get this out. "That's when we start to hear voices, the darkspawn calling to us, or the archdemon, or maybe the blight itself. No one's certain."

"Like your dreams?" Cullen interrupted. His voice was barely a whisper, but it drew everyone's attention.

Lana nodded, "Yes, but something's happened. The calling it's...it's in everyone's head and it shouldn't be. Regardless of age or when someone took the joining, they're all hearing it. Every warden in thedas thinks they're going to die."

"Is it affecting you, Lady Amell?" the Inquisitor asked. He dressed himself in the garb of the Inquisition, the grey-tan leathers buttoned with the symbolic eye, all human attire save a pair of softskin dalish gloves. The familiar embroidery lightly touched her hand, as if he wished to comfort her through a difficult time. She almost snorted at the idea.

"When I'm focused on a task, talking to someone or casting magic I cannot hear it. But in the calm, it slips back into my mind, like whispers or a song on the wind."

"It's why I'm here!" Hawke shouted while waving her hand for emphasis. "I'm good at distractions."

"That's not why...well, that is true, you are good at them," Lana admitted. _Was that why she kept Hawke around?_

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Leliana pushed, a note of concern marring her porcelain face.

Lana shrugged, "Warden secrets. I didn't even realize it was affecting every warden until I ran into Hawke here. While I was investigating the red lyrium I received a summons from Clarel. She was calling all of us to Orlais to solve this crisis of the order."

"Could it kill you?"

She shuddered at the panic and also resolve in Cullen's tone, as if he could somehow fight the taint out of her. Lana could reassure him, she grew good at lying for comfort, but he deserved the truth. "I'm already dying, have been since the blight began."

"But this calling, what effect does it have upon you? We've heard of what Corypheus can do to warden mages, the sway he holds," Leliana whipped her head to Hawke who sat up now with a glare in her eye. Anders was her one weakness. Fire, demons, blood mages, poison spitting giant lizards; none of that slowed Hawke down, but if Anders so much as whimpered she fell apart. Maker only knew what Hawke saw in him, but she'd defend him to the death if it came to it.

"Varric's been chatty, I see," Hawke grumbled stewing into her folded arms.

Lana shook her head, "I hear nothing more than the archdemon, it is simply louder."

It should have been enough, but Leliana continued, "Your collapse earlier."

There was nothing getting past the spymaster. "It is an unrelated matter. I...would prefer to, it's not important."

"Lady Amell," Josephine swept in with her honeyed words, "if it could endanger the Inquisition..."

"Then we have a right to know," the Inquisitor finished.

"Fine," Lana snorted as she spread her hands across the map and dropped her head, "post guards around me at all times if you're worried. I grew up in the circle, it's unlikely I'd even notice bumping elbows with a soldier or two."

"Commander?" Leliana turned to Cullen.

"I trust her," he said sincerely. A warmth spread up Lana's cheeks and she shook her head. Foolish given how many unknowns they faced, but sweet. It was doubtful she'd say the same if the positions were reversed. "We have more than enough templars and mages walking around Skyhold to deal with any matters should they arise. Which is still assuming that Corypheus' control could extend that far."

"It is still a risk, a calculated one perhaps, but..." Josephine said.

"What if I promise to watch her? I've been doing it for a few months already. What's one more?" Hawke called out.

"And you have training in disarming magic?" the Inquisitor turned to her.

Hawke's jaw dropped open and she shook her head, "Uh, I was in Kirkwall - land of blood mages and demons and other bitey things. They kinda made me their Champion for being good at that stuff. I think I can deal with a bit of magic here and there."

"And it does not fail to pass me by that you two are related," the Inquisitor continued.

"So, what's that mean?" Hawke interjected. "Think I will falter in my 'line of duty' cause we've got the same great grandmother?" The two fell into bickering over who could best stop Lana in the event of a total catastrophe with Josephine joining in. Even Cullen tossed a comment or two their way all in support of her. Only Leliana remained out of it, her eyes piercing through every speaker and weighing them carefully.

Lana slammed her hand on the table and shouted, "The problem is not me!" As every eye turned to her, she shrunk down and mumbled, "At least not just me. I tried to attend Clarel's little soiree but was intercepted."

"By three wardens looking for easy pickings," Hawke shouted. If it weren't for her cousin remaining nearby it was doubtful Lana would be alive enough to be a threat to anyone. They'd claimed they were there to escort the Hero of Ferelden, but the more questions Lana asked, the more agitated they became until -- as all things seem to do -- a fight broke out. While picking over their bodies, Lana found the writ for her arrest: alive or dead.

"I never discovered what Clarel's game was, but her turning on me, sending wardens to eradicate another Warden Commander is unheard of. We've had our differences, and I suspect she's still jealous of missing out of the blight, but this...Either the Warden Commander of the forces in Orlais, Ferelden, and some of the Free Marches has decided to revolt against the order's laws or she's been corrupted."

"My vote's on the latter," Hawke called.

"So," the Inquisitor spoke softly while ignoring Hawke's pleas for attention, "what you're saying is the next step should be finding a way to discover Clarel's true plans. Any ideas on that?"

Lana turned to the quiet elf and sized him up anew. She'd heard the short short version from Hawke - blessed by Andraste (or not) closed the hole in the sky, mountain fell on him, he survived, got given the sword of power, leads the Inquisition - all very heroic things that could warp to darker ideals when held up to the light. But, for being thrust into a seat of power by either divine providence or random chance, he bore it well. Better than her, probably better than Hawke. It was hard to tell with that woman. She seemed allergic to real command and favored slipping off to the pub when anyone was looking for a leader. This one didn't bluster, he watched. He didn't stomp in and demand the floor, he waited patiently to be given it. But, she suspected, if something crossed him he'd thunder from on high to stop it. She wasn't certain if the man frightened or impressed her.

"Yes, I have one," Lana reached into her vest pocket and unearthed her own death warrant. The picture was a terrible likeness and unnecessary, everyone in the order knew her. "If the wardens want me, then we let them have me. Use me as bait."

"Over my dead body," Cullen stormed. Every eye whipped up to him, but he didn't crack from the pressure or blush himself to death. Another fire burned across his face as he sliced his hand through the air to punctuate his words, "You're our only connection to the wardens in Orlais. If we stretch your neck on the line, then we lose that insider information. I will not allow it."

"Is that your decision to make, Commander?" the Inquisitor said in his soft tone.

The sneer didn't break from Cullen's face, but his eyes danced over the Inquisitor. "I gave my opinion, that is all."

"I do not relish the idea of placing you in harm's way, but I could seed a few hints amongst known warden contacts as to your location." Leliana leaned over the map and prodded through Orlais, "The question is where to set the trap."

Lana plucked up the pick in Redcliffe and twisted it around in her hands. It was a long shot, but it might work. "I have another idea. We were too few in the Ferelden order for many years, so we relied upon dead drops to pass messages, ask for supplies, aid, little things. I could light one of them up and arrange a meeting here." She stabbed the pick down just outside of Teagan's village near a lake she once loved.

"An interesting idea," the Inquisitor said.

"This assumes anyone is left to answer," Leliana said, "but it could work. And if not, there are still my spies."

Lana frowned at the idea, more than likely word of her being with the Inquisition would spread off the mountain faster than any of Leliana's spies could spin the lie. But if this beacon worked, then it wouldn't be a random Orlesian warden she'd get answers from. It'd be one of her own.

"Inquisitor?" Lana asked, turning to him, "What do you say?"

"If you believe this beacon will work, then we may was well try it first. I will be traveling through the Emerald Graves to answer Fairbanks' inquiry, but if you require any assistance..."

"I can lend a hand," Cullen interrupted.

"That works as well," the Inquisitor barely even blinked from the commander throwing himself forward.

Lana nodded. If this worked, she'd finally have her answers. She'd finally know what happened to all her wardens, the ones she recruited, trained, commanded, befriended. Vigil's Keep provided no clue to their disappearance, but this might. Lana flicked the pin with her finger and said, "I need to get to Redcliffe.

## Chapter Four

**Failure**

It stung less than she expected. Spring's thaw muddied the ground making traveling unpleasant; but the warm air, chirping birds, and fresh energy made up for the water weeping into her boots. She wrapped her hands around herself, a chill off the lake curling through her thin cloak. It wasn't really a lake, not an official one, and not on any maps. More an overgrown pond with lofty ambitions, at least that was how Alistair described it to her. They'd slipped away from the campsite and especially away from the others so he could show it to her. It was one of his favorite spots when he was a boy. He'd even tried to carve his name into a tree beside the watery edge. Her fingers drifted across the _ALIS_ embedded in the wood. He wasn't good at finishing things.

Lana heard the sound of armored boots squelching in mud and metal clanging together keep the wearer upright. She turned from her vantage point to gaze off the cliff at the sound's source below. It was only a day and half before she heard an answer back from one of the beacons. One of her wardens accepted her meeting and they'd set the date for as soon as possible. Using this lake was her way of ensuring it was one of hers, very few knew its exact location. She said she'd go alone, but...Lana sighed, watching the blonde head bobbing along the marshland that was once forest. Someone wouldn't let her.

"I'm up here," she called to Cullen. His head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes against the afternoon sun. The watery sounds, like custard dropped in hose and slapped against the wall, followed his footsteps as he struggled up the grassy hill. The soldiers followed close on his heels, but none seemed particularly happy about Lana's spot.

As he reached the rocky edge his fingers flattened against the nearly unscalable cliff. Lana dropped to her knees and extended a hand to him. He gripped tight despite the wet gloves and together she hauled him up the crystal surface of the lake. The area was hidden atop a cliff that seemed insurmountable unless you knew about the secret path. Even then, one needed a bit of climbing equipment or a good jump to get up there. Alistair had wedged some of Zevran's old daggers into the rock for leverage when he first showed her. The assassin took the news rather well while twisting around his bent blades. He only hid four frogs in Alistair's bedroll as retribution. This time Lana used magic to assist her.

"I thought clandestine meetings were held in the depths of night," Cullen grumbled as he squinted at her through the burning rays. He'd tossed off that furry surcoat of his, but the piles of metal did no one any favors in the rising heat.

"Not enjoying the return of summer?" Lana asked, grateful to be in her messenger outfit. The linen against her arms breathed better than any leather would.

"Summer is fine, but to come from the mountain into this warmth takes a bit of adjusting."

Lana extended her hand towards the lake, "There's water to cool off. Just strip off your armor and dive in." The moment the words left her, she frowned at her impetuous tongue. _Sweet Andraste, no. Do not start this again!_

"That, uh..." He blinked against the offending light of the sun and glared at the still surface of the pond. "I am good, fine, it's not an issue." Shaking his head, he turned his wrath upon the two soldiers still below. "Cobby! Nollins!" That must have been the two soldiers' names as they both whipped their heads up at the commander and saluted. "No, don't bloody waste time...get up here."

"Right, Ser. We, uh, we're not sure how precisely," one of the soldiers called out.

Cullen's dumbstruck face was priceless. "You climb," he sneered down at them and then shook his head at Lana.

"You brought them," she whispered to him.

"Do not remind me," he added back. His breath warmed her cheek he spoke close so the soldiers wouldn't overhear the confidence their commander failed to have in them.

"We, well, see, Ser, if you be begging my pardon, it's just that..."

"What is it?" Cullen shouted at the stumbling pair.

The other spoke up, her voice gruff, "We don't have any rope."

"You don't need any," Cullen threw his arms up and tipped his head back to the sky. Lana saw him whispering what looked like either a part of the chant or a personal mantra that he couldn't murder every idiotic soldier under his command and hope to have an army remaining.

She took pity on him and shouted down to the soldiers, "There's a cave back behind the trees. If you follow it, it should lead to an incline up here."

Cullen's chin slipped down and he stared at her, "There is?"

"There wasn't before, I created it," she said then turned her eyes away from him, "I'm not very good at climbing either."

"Ah, Ser?" the gruff soldier called, her fingers splayed out against the rock to peer up at them. They weren't prepared to follow the strange new warden's orders.

"Yes, yes, go find the cave. And get up here," Cullen waved his hand dismissing the pair. They scattered off and Lana mentally calculated the chances of their finding her dissolved rock entrance versus the bear's den a few kilometers further in. She gave them 50:50 to be kind.

"You're without your staff," Cullen pointed out, gesturing to her empty hands.

She flexed her callused fingers and nodded, "I stopped carrying one outside of battle when the rebellion bubbled over into the streets. It drew more attention than I'd like from _concerned citizens._ So near Redcliffe I thought...I doubt I'll need it. This is a simple meeting, nothing more."

Cullen nodded but didn't look entirely convinced. It wasn't as if she needed a staff to defend herself. "How long until your warden friends show?"

She shook her head, "I have no idea. Our system isn't that sophisticated." Colored light and a series of numbered explosions didn't lend one the ability to burn sonnets across the skies of Ferelden. It was the best they could whip up. It might be crude, but it worked.

"Right," Cullen sighed. His fingers knotted around the pommel of his sword but he seemed to shake off the stress of command. Shoulders slipping down out of the overburdened hunch, a calm replaced his eternal frown. Even his worry lines faded away. "Beautiful place," he remarked. Lana flinched and glanced towards the cliff's edge. _She'd had all of Ferelden to use and she chose here. Why?_ The excuse that it was secret only held up to those who didn't know her. She was aware of another twenty places better hidden and easier to fortify without soldiers stumbling through possible bear caves to find it. But she picked this lake, as beautifully painful as it was. The memories weren't as haunting as they'd once been, the old scar upon her heart nearly healed shut, but if she closed her eyes she could still smell the scent of a rose on the wind.

"Lana?"

She whipped her head around to try to dislodge the past and turned to him. They'd remained friendly but distant in the past days, only seeing each other for map room meetings and the occasional dinner. Hawke spoke more with the Commander than Lana did but that was true for everyone with Hawke. Her cousin could charm a dragon, then kill it. Lana kept her relationship with Cullen professional and at an arm's length, bundling away all memories of those few days they shared in the deep roads. But now her legs melted like sugar in rain from the way he looked at her. The tenderness in those brown eyes flipped her heart upside down and she bit down a gasp to turn it into an, "Um huh?"

"This calling of yours..." he began and Lana threw her arms up. She was so tired of talking about it with Leliana, with the polite but serious Inquisitor, even Hawke tossed a few lines in every now and again. Yes, the Calling, it will kill her. What makes her a grey warden is also what will end her, whether she likes it or not. _It's not as if she could change it now!_ Cullen touched her arm and she turned from her tantrum to face him. "You said it's fatal."

"It is, sort of. Might as well be anyway," she said. Her eyes danced away from his to bore into the pond. A frog rose to the surface, bubbles blowing from its nose as it released a held breath.

His finger circled against the fabric of her shirt where he held her, lightly tracing her arm in comfort. "Does it cause you any pain?"

"No," Lana smiled bittersweetly, "not anymore. The joining was...not much fun, but slipping into the calling is more like giving into exhaustion at the end of the day. The long sleep, I guess."

"Then why did you collapse in the war room?" His eyes wandered over her face, from her eyes down to her lips and back. She wondered if it was some trick to tell if she was lying or if he...no, it was silly to contemplate.

"I'm surprised," Lana said, shaking her head. "You're the first to ask that. I thought for sure Leliana would inquire, but maybe she sussed it out on her own. Is there anything, any secret, she doesn't know now?"

"I try to not think about it," Cullen admitted and Lana smirked.

"It was poison, leftover in my system from the warden attack on the way to Orlais."

"Poison? Maker! Lana, do you need a healer?"

"I am a healer," she said lifting her free arm and drawing forth the power of the spirits. "It's not a big deal. I could keep it at bay and work it out of my system on my own as long as I was concentrating or not exhausted." _Or in near shock at seeing an old lover standing before her._

Cullen leaned closer to her, his personal musk overpowering the floral scent in the air. She remembered it well, almost earthy and comforting, like a warm blanket on a wintery evening. She wore it upon her skin for a few days after they left the deep roads. "You could have told one of us, any of us."

Lana shrugged. "It was my fault. I'd been slacking off on taking doses to build up my resistance. It'd been a few years since anyone tried to actively kill me outside of combat and I grew sloppy. I..." Her words faded from the shock puckering up his lips. It drew her attention to the scar bisecting up his mouth and through the patch of stubble that would never make a mustache. "I can handle it, it's nearly out of my system."

"Nearly?" Cullen shook his head and sighed. He still held her arm tight in his own hand and didn't seem about to let go, "You don't have to do everything alone."

"I..." It wasn't stubbornness that held her tongue but an excessive gathering of facts. Every time, every moment she let her guard down and tried to bring someone into her life it backfired spectacularly. And yet she kept trying, kept hoping that one day it'd all work out for her. She'd lived upon the dream of hope for so long she woke one day to find her soul malnourished. "I'll be fine," she cut off his concern and dropped her arm. Cullen's fingers opened to release her and he reached back for his sword. "I've been through worse." She turned away to gaze at what should be her little cave exit and considered the conversation closed.

A faint breeze slicked back the sweat percolating on her brow, the crisp air smelling of snow. Perhaps winter wasn't quite finished after all. Cullen sighed beside her, his nails prodding at the leather pommel, "You say that as if it's a badge of honor."

She swallowed and turned to him. His eyes focused a thousand miles away down into the depths of the earth. Lana pinched her eyebrows together in thought and in a stripped voice said, "I say it because it's true." Her fingers drifted across his arm, smudging up the polished armor. A palm print of hers fogged up his vambrace. Cullen turned and reached for her fingers.

Boots squelching through muddy waters drew both their attention. Lana slid away while attempting to tap into the fade energy that percolated through this place greater than much of Ferelden. _Okay, she had one good reason to use the pond._ Cullen rolled his fingers around the grip of his sword and squared his shoulders back. Three figures pushed aside the vines dangling over the cave entrance. Two wore the blue and silver armor of the grey wardens, the griffin still prominent upon their chests, but the last was dressed in black and green splint mail with a heartwood bow strapped across his back.

Lana splashed through the overrun pond towards him before he even saw her, "Nathaniel?" Steel eyes snapped up at her, and then that dour frown lifted in a smile.

"Warden Commander," he said tipping his head to the side. He still wore those same braids in his dark hair, though grey strands threaded through them. Mud and wear sundered his armor, and his face was marked with grit from the road. But the stern faded to the best smile Nathaniel could ever manage as he gazed at her, "I hoped it was you activating the old beacons."

Lana squelched through the mud towards him. "Nathaniel, I..." she paused before him and held out her hand. He caught it and gripped her along the forearm, his fingers twisting it in the friendly greeting of checking for weapons. She did the same. Then he pulled her close into a half hug, his battered armor crushing against her chest. As she broke away, she glanced at the two wardens behind him but couldn't place the faces. They were both human -- one male, one female -- and both well armed. Not unheard of for wardens, but...Lana shook her head. This was Nathaniel here, it was better than she could have hoped for a random roll of the die. She turned back to her old friend, her voice lowering to her command presence, "What happened to the wardens? I returned to Vigil's Keep and there was no sign of any remaining. No one knew where you went or why. As if you all just vanished."

Nathaniel's eyes glanced over at Cullen and Lana followed suit. The commander looked as relaxed as a razorback, but he hadn't drawn his blade yet. "I am afraid in your absence you missed out on a game changer, Commander. The greatest discovery the wardens have made in an age. Perhaps since the order even began."

Lana glanced back at Cullen, then to Nathaniel. A warning crawled up her back, but she kept her hands flat against her thighs. "A discovery? Of what? Is this about a talking darkspawn?"

"No, no, so much better than that," Nathaniel shook his head, and then it struck Lana. He hadn't stopped smiling, the grin plastered on since he spotted her. That was not the Nathaniel Howe she knew, the Nathaniel she's conscripted all those years ago. A man who could glower through his own birthday party. A few (Oghren) used to float the theory that even sex couldn't knock off that Howe frown. She never encouraged the joking rumors despite suspecting they were probably accurate.

Lana began to slide back through the mud on the balls of her feet, but Nathaniel jerked forward. It appeared innocuous enough, but it stopped her. She watched his body, but he looked relaxed and unconcerned, his fingers caressing his bow while the other dangled at his side. The other wardens still stood silent behind him. "Explain it to me, why you would leave everything. Tell me what it is. What you've found, whatever it is you're working towards. Please, Nathaniel. We've been through too much."

He bobbed his head, a pang hollowing his cheeks as it crossed him face. "You...you're not supposed to be here. You weren't meant for this, for them." Nathaniel glanced back at the commander of the Inquisition glowering back. "The Western Approach. That's where everyone's gathering, everyone who could be of use. And the use someone like you could be..." Nathaniel's hand lashed out to grab onto hers as if mocking their earlier greeting. His fingers dug into her forearm, the chewed nails ripping into her skin and locking tight so she couldn't escape his grip.

"What are you doing?" Lana asked while trying to pull away. She tried to keep calm, needed to be calm to get through whatever fog had him. If she just had some time, she knew she could break it. Behind her she heard the sound of steel drawing from the scabbard. _No, that wasn't how this was going to go. There had to be a way. These were her people_.

Nathaniel yanked her closer to him, her chest bouncing against his shoulder from the force. He whispered in her ear, "You missed it, Commander. I'm sorry." Pain shattered through Lana's stomach and she broke away from the mad man's eyes to discover a dagger jammed below her rib cage. Nathaniel's hand guided it in, her blood dripping from the wound across his once noble fingers. White hot pain shredded through every muscle in her chest as her once second in command twisted the blade deeper. A red haze circled around her vision. Summoning her mana through the pain, Lana blast an icy force against Nathaniel and the other wardens. His hand slipped off hers and the dagger as his body flew through the air trailed by shards of ice. But the damn man was agile, and he twisted into the flip to landed on his feet. Water splattered against his eyes from the force, which quickly froze from Lana's spell. The other wardens were struck with the cold, both of them tumbling to the ground like rag dolls, but they didn't even blink as the frost of the lake crusted over their faces. _Makers sake, what were they?_

Now Nathaniel slipped off his bow and notched an arrow. Lana threw up a barrier with her right hand while trying to hold the dagger with her left. Breathing dug the blade in deeper, slicing apart her insides and clawing more searing pain across half her body. The red haze increased, narrowing her vision. Her ears hummed from the blood pounding through her beating heart and sliding down the dagger across her palm. If the ringing increased, she knew the threat of blood-loss dragging her down to the abyss. She tried to slide back through the water as an arrow struck into her barrier. It hung suspended in thin air before the undulations of the energy faltered and it splashed to the ground. The agony ripping apart her flesh chewed through her focus, her barrier twisting below her hand. She was always shit at them.

One of the backup wardens drew daggers and came for her, but Lana sneered at the attempt and blasted the woman with an ice fist thick enough to crack open a skull. She dodged, but not fast enough as the ice shattered her in the shoulder sending one dagger flying. The splintering bone sound echoed across the pond. Unfortunately, that spell drew her attention away from the barrier, leaving Lana exposed. Her eyes whipped back in time to watch Nathaniel draw his bow. His thumb quivered for a heartbeat against his cheek. Was it regret bubbling to the surface or could she hope still to find him? He released his grip sending the arrow for Lana's exposed shoulder. She gritted her teeth, prepared to take the hit, when a shield snapped in front of her taking the blow of the arrow. The momentum caused it to smash into Lana's chest, but she could deal with bruises over an arrow.

Cullen yanked his shield off her and raised his sword at the third player in the game. They met blow for blow, the warden nowhere near as skilled. Darkspawn didn't train every morning the way the commander did, and wardens weren't used to facing a talented foe. Lana rolled the water up from beneath her feet, spinning it into a vortex nearly ten feet tall. Each twist froze it solid. Hardened to a point, she lifted the ice spear into the air and drove it at the female warden. The woman rolled away, her knees skittering through the pond, but as the massive ice spear impacted against the ground, shards shattered into her eyes.

"It takes the warden commander thirty seconds to recharge her mana after a spell like that," Nathaniel cooly called from his vantage point. "Attack now!"

Lana whipped around at him, her fingers still clinging to the dagger he tried to kill her with. He wasn't about to show mercy now, and with Cullen embroiled with the other warrior no one was going to pop out with a shield for her. Aiming for her head, his steel eyes cut through her without concern or care. She was nothing more than a target dummy to him now. Lana sighted down the arrow back to Nathaniel's eye. There was nothing she could reach, nothing human remaining in them as he released his grip.

Drawing upon her hidden reserves, Lana raised up her barrier. Sticky hot blood gushed out of her wound from the struggle, the red haze twisting to a hot white as her ears peeled like chantry bells. She screwed her face up tight, unable to watch death from her old friend. When she opened her eyes, she found the arrow dangling an inch from her face. She willed herself to stare past it and shout at Nathaniel, "You do not know me as well as you think you do."

"I know you cannot kill me. You couldn't before we even knew each other. Before you left me in charge of the Keep and the wardens, your people, during your many, many absences," he gloated. Nathaniel Howe gloated. Whoever and whatever this person was, Nathaniel was long gone. Either buried in the depths of his own mind or worse...

On her periphery she watched the female warden jump to her feet, blood pouring from her eyes. She blinked through the ice shards embedded in her eye sockets but wasn't backing down. Cullen hacked into the other warden's leg, but the man limped through the wound that would down most others. These weren't people, they were golems made of flesh. They didn't feel pain, didn't slow unless fully stopped. Lana reached her hand out and grabbed onto Cullen's hand.

"What are you doing?" he shouted as she dragged him away from his prey.

"Hold and don't let go!" she ordered. Releasing her grip on the dagger, Lana summoned every last ounce of mana from her withering pool. She glanced once more at Nathaniel who was notching another arrow. Her Nathaniel, the man who -- against all the odds from their start -- became one of the best men she'd ever had the luck to serve with. _Forgive me._

Gripping tighter to Cullen to keep him shielded with her, Lana poured every drop of lightning in her body directly into the water beneath her feet. Sparks shattered across the surface of the lake, leaping like dragonflies upon the lake in pursuit of food. Purple energy wrapped up through every body not connected to the mage, the power bursting through their insides and slowly cooking them. They struggled to scream, but the lightning twisted and warped their bodies, their tongues swelling and unable to speak, vocal cords popping from energy yanking their flesh apart. She didn't look up, couldn't, just kept the flow of energy from her hand into the ground. The wardens splashed in the throes of pain, but it wasn't until the final sparks sputtered out of her hand that she heard three bodies plummet into the water. Nothing more moved save the soft wind sweeping back her hair.

She did it. She killed them. Killed wardens. Killed her wardens. Her fingers shook, still extended to the watery end as if she had any mana left to cast. He made her do it, gave her no choice. She wanted to find a solution, to save them all, had believed there was a way, but now... Lana released her grip on Cullen, the man fallen silent from the death around them. She stomped towards Nathaniel's corpse. From the fall he crumpled onto his knees as if in prayer, his hands dangling at the sides begging for mercy from the Maker. But his head was tossed back, gazing endlessly upon the scarred sky. The flesh upon his face was charred and blackened from her lightning bolt, the skin crackling like a pig roast, while flames licked upon that braided hair. Because she did it. She killed him.

"Damn you!" Lana screamed at him. "How could you? Why didn't you wait for me to return?! What could have possibly pushed you to do this? To turn against...Maker, take you all!" She tried to reach for him, whether to shake the body or try to close the eyes boiled in the sockets she was uncertain. But the knife chewed up her side, the pain shooting anew through her not deadened nerves. Bending low was impossible.

Instead, she kicked her boot through the water, splashing up Nathaniel's side. His skin hissed from the cold splattering against the charred remains. "What am I supposed to tell your sister? Your nephew?!" Lana wrapped her fingers along the dagger's grip, trying to steady it. The wise thing, the proper thing, was to keep it in place until someone was there to bandage and clean the wound. Leaving it in cut off the blood to a dribble from her wound. She tipped her head back to the sky, blinking against the rage of tears burning in her eyes. Sighing to the wind, she whispered, "I trusted you. Why didn't you wait?" Lana yanked the blade out of her side. Blood poured from the gash blooming across her tunic and up through the vest until it dripped to the pond. If it weren't for the dragon scale armor beneath her traveling clothes, she'd be in far worse shape. Probably even dead.

Raising the dagger to her face, Lana was about to toss it into the pond when a symbol on the pommel caught her eye. It was the grey warden griffin but flanked by the Ferelden dogs. One of Master Wade's works from their dark early days in Amaranthine. She'd had this blade forged specifically for Nathaniel. A shudder shook through Lana's body and she lurched forward about to plummet into the pond.

An arm wrapped around her shoulder holding her upright in this cruel and unforgiving world. Cullen pulled her tighter, his arm folding fully around her into a hug. Still holding onto the dagger, Lana knotted her forearm up around his. Her other hand crept to her wound, trying to slow the blood that saturated her clothing and now dripped into the pond. Scarlett trailed through the pond, like little ribbons twisting in the water. "I failed them," she gurgled through a spray of tears. "Every damn one of them."

Cullen didn't speak a word, only gripped tighter to her. She couldn't see his eyes as he faced behind her, but his cheek pressed against the top of her head. _How could she face any of them ever again? How could she wake knowing that it was her selfishness that put her wardens in Corypheus's path?_ The dagger slipped from Lana's fingers as she dug into Cullen's arm. She pinched tight below the metal vambraces needing to anchor herself to something real, something that couldn't be yanked out from under her with a whim. He didn't yelp or shrug her off. He only held her tighter.

"Ser! We heard the play of magic and came as soon as..." Nobby and/or Collins' shouts tumbled to a halt at the sight of their commanding officer clinging to a bereft warden, her own sobs gurgling with cries of pain. Lana couldn't see them but she felt Cullen stiffen below her fingers.

"The warden is injured," Cullen ordered, his voice emotionless, "Return to camp, fetch a healer! And someone else to take care of the bodies."

"I, uh..." the pair stuttered, bouncing around in the water to get a good view.

"Now!" Every ounce of his wrath burst into that one word. Both soldiers all but yelped, scurrying away fast. They took the quicker path down to the hinterlands by leaping from the cliff's edge.

"We're all right, Ser!" one of them shouted up. "Off to find that healer now."

Lana would have laughed from their incompetent determination but her brain was numb. Even the feel of her own hot blood trickling through her fingers meant nothing. If Nathaniel was turned, then...then they all were _. Ten years, a decade spent building up the wardens, her wardens, and for what? What was the point of it? What was the point of her?_

"Lana," Cullen whispered her name as he pulled her tighter to him. His stubble scratched up her cheek.

"It's my fault." Her lip wobbled from a hundred tears crashing in her heart, a thousand cuts to her skin deeper than any dagger could reach. "I failed them, I turned my back on them. I did it."

She heard Cullen cough to bite back his own emotional purge. He wrapped his arm closer to her and whispered, "You're hurt."

Her fingers stretched against her side, but she didn't dip into her filling mana to fix the wound. Would the spirit even come to her now? Would they trust her knowing what she was? "It doesn't matter," she said, true defeat overflowing off her.

"It does to me," Cullen hissed beside her ear anger pummeling every syllable. But it broke as fast as it rose to be replaced by a heartbreaking sorrow. "Please," his breath shuddered, "heal yourself."

Lana didn't answer him but the powers of the fade cracked below her hand. She blinked through the never ending tears while stitching up the wound in her side left by Nathaniel. Maker only knew what would stitch up the one in her soul.

## Chapter Five

**Healing**

Lana sucked in a steadying breath as she attempted to drop the tiny screw into place, unfortunately that tugged upon the wound on her side. The tweezers slipped from her fingers and clattered to the desk, sending the screw rolling across the polished wood. Pain walloped the left of her body, but the throb was dulled from bone shattering thanks to a bit of time and her own personal poultice recipe. It wasn't as potent as she'd like due to Skyhold's surprising lack of elfroot, but she made due with it and a bit of help from the fade. She lifted up the hem of her nightshirt to inspect the bandage but no blood pooled into it. Without having any proper clothing while on the run from the wardens she wore the borrowed tunic from Cullen. Despite the deep neck, it reached to the tops of her thighs and was softer than the fanciest underthings in Orlais. It also helped how much it yet smelled of him.

After being banished to her not-state room for rest and recuperation, Lana lasted all of an hour in bed alone before she had to get up to do something. Her traitorous thoughts trailed her every move, the memories unwilling to shake free no matter how far she ran from them. The shock of what happened wore to a nub when she limped to the Inquisition camp near Redcliffe. Cullen finally released his hold upon her as the healer patched her up, but she felt his eyes scouring over her from the side. Lana couldn't lift her head to face him, to admit to herself what she'd done. Burrowing under a nest of shock was preferable to the blame threatening to crush her chest. After that it was a long wagon ride up the mountain to Skyhold with more than a few guards being extra watchful. The commander remained behind to take care of things, but she knew his word traveled with her. People were quick to offer help to the stabbed woman and never leave her alone. Leliana greeted her, doing her best to downplay what occurred, but Lana shook off her ignorance. They needed a plan, they needed to find a way to cut back at the monster who did this to the wardens. To her people. She'd stewed about it the entire trip, but Leliana wouldn't have any of it. During all of Lana's attempts at bringing up Corypheus, Leliana shifted to innocuous topics -- or worse -- memories of old times. Memories were what Lana was trying to avoid.

Digging her palms into her forehead, Lana glared at the mechanical device blasted apart across her desk. Golden gears and silver screws rattled across scraps of metal molded into six squares of varying size. It looked as if someone cracked the gilded mechanical box in half and dumped all the innards out. Which was in a round about way what she'd done, but with a bit more precision than applying a hammer. She reached for the cup of tea Leliana refreshed before returning to her spymaster duties. Placing the edge to her lips, Lana tipped ice cold water into her mouth. Shaking her head to clear the bitter, frozen tea, she cupped her hand under the mug and pulled the power of fire through the fade. After a moment the nearly blackened tea boiled. She smiled from the simple spell when a knock broke against her door.

"Enter," Lana called while placing the cup down to cool. Without looking up she said, "But if you've come to play 'the worst ever' again, I should warn you I have in fact seen the Duke of Jader's underthings and I'd prefer to not...not, uh..." Her words drifted away as she stared up at the commander and not Leliana filling the doorway.

He cocked his head to the side, but his face was stern and unbending, as unreadable as a stone. Weary and coated in red dust, he was still without his furred surcoat. Behind him, the last vestiges of the sun crested over Skyhold's garden. "I wanted to see if you were all right," Cullen said knocking into his sword.

Lana dipped her head down and waved him in, "Please, come in. You don't have to stand in the door."

He nodded primly, but she swore she caught a smile as he slipped inside and shut the door behind him. "Do I wish to ask about...?"

"No!" Lana interrupted, knowing what flitted through his mind. She twisted in her chair to face him but didn't rise. Standing was still tricky. "It is a very..."

"Long story?" he said, a whisper of a smirk lightening his face.

"I was going to say disgusting tale. If the Duke of Jader asks if you've seen a pink dragon answer yes and walk away."

Cullen bobbed his head and swallowed, his eyes dancing back and forth to try and piece together what that meant. "I..." his fingers knocked about that sword while his brain struggled to find the words, "I wanted to see--"

"If I was all right?"

Cullen grimaced, "And I said that already. Your wound was not as deep as I'd feared, though it must have been painful."

"Stab wounds typically are," she smiled softy.

"Ah yes," Cullen sneered at himself. His eyes lifted to her and his face washed to concern, "But there was...what happened with the wardens--" Now it was Lana's turn to grimace as her happy facade cracked. She was no player of the game the way Leliana was, but she knew how to put on the show when it was necessary. No one wanted to see their leader scared, no one needed to see her break down, and no one wished to see her human. She'd cried, of course, but the tears silenced so abruptly when she willed it there was almost no balm in their falling. Sometimes she wondered if the decade of playing the stoic leader had leadened her heart to stone.

Lana twisted her forefinger around her other hand's middle finger. With each thought she gripped tighter, strangling her own fingers. What was there to say about the wardens? They wanted her dead, needed her dead. All of them. Even hers...

"Nathaniel," Lana began, her eyes boring past the commander as she took herself back to those first says at Amaranthine, "he was...very set in his ways. Determined I think is the nice way to say it. When we first met he was in a jail cell, caught for breaking into the keep and plotting to kill me." She laughed at his stubborn insistence he'd rather hang than be conscripted.

Cullen gasped, then paused at her laugh, "Does that...happen often with wardens?"

Lana shrugged, "It was only fair, I did kill his father." She stared down at her hands. Red welts rose off the fingers twisted together, and she glared at them. So much killing in her past; it seemed all she was good for anymore. Licking her lips, she continued her story, "He was the third person I ever conscripted into the wardens and he hated it. Hated that I made him do it, that I didn't kill him on the spot. Hated having to follow my orders, and yet, he'd do it. Snicker, and mumble under his breath, but he'd listen. Best damn archer I had, and a hell of a tactician when he'd speak up." Lana paused and giggled from the memory, "He was so soft spoken and sure footed, Oghren threatened to hang a bell off his neck. I never expected him to come around. I needed wardens, that was all there was to it, but over time we formed a...a friendship of sorts."

A hand gripped onto her murderous fingers and she glanced up at Cullen. "You cared for him."

"I cared for all of them. They were my people, my wardens. Forty three people given the joining, pulled into the fold, cursed with this taint. I trained them, I watched them, I encouraged them, I broke them, I built them up. And I...I failed them all," she tried to turn away to face the desk, but Cullen held her tight.

"Lana, that was Corypheus' work, not yours."

She mashed her lips together, staring at their intertwined hands. Blinking back a tear she looked up at the man who hadn't ordered her to come to grips with reality, only held her against the tidal wave of anger and regret. "Kirkwall was Meredith's work, not yours." She didn't mean for it to sting, only to explain what was in her mind, but he reared back as if she hit him. His hand slipped away from her and she reached out clutching it even tighter in her fingers. "I wasn't there for them when he came, when he took them away. They were mine, my duty, my world and I abandoned them." He stared above her as she spoke but didn't struggle to pull his hand away. The glove was softer than she expected, already showing wear on the pads of his palm where the grip of the sword would fit inside.

"I'd leave Vigil's Keep from time to time, to deal with missions, answer summons..."

"Travel through the deep roads with a hired templar," Cullen said. His eyes still gazed through the wall, but his face softened from the memory. _Maker, how was that simpler times for them?_

Lana smiled as well, her voice reflecting it, "All of it was for the wardens. To protect the world from the threat of blight. But I traveled to Seheron for...personal reasons."

"Seheron?" Cullen interrupted, his eyes finally snapping to her, but Lana looked away. There were many things in her life she felt she could tell him about, but not this. Not yet. Thinking about what happened between her and...it still turned her stomach.

"It began in Antiva but led to Tevinter, then Seheron. Assassins, evil magisters, qunari, blood magic. The usual suspects," she joked shrugging her shoulder. It popped out of the neck of her shirt, dragging the collar to the side. Cullen glanced at the spare flesh on display from her movements, but turned to look at her hands instead. Lana continued, "And when I returned, they were gone. Every warden, every one of them was gone. I had no idea where, no starting point to try and find them. It was as if they simply vanished. I..." She paused, swallowing down the full truth and began again, "I'd hoped to find them in the middle of this crisis. To discover they were hiding, planning to hit back against Corypheus, or...Maker, anything but that." She gasped as the image of Nathaniel rose up into her mind. Of his fingers digging into her arm deep enough to leave welts, his other hand driving the knife through her flesh and the look in his eyes. They weren't the blank stare of the puppet of a blood mage; his eyes glittered with some mad purpose.

Cullen dropped to a knee, his scabbard banging against the floor. He tried to get Lana's attention, but she couldn't raise her head, couldn't look at him. Gently, he caressed her cheek, his thumb hooking under her jawline. Together they lifted her face. His thumbs wiped at the tears she didn't notice she was crying. "I am so sorry," he said, punctuating each word with a breath.

"It's my fault," she shook her head, trying to break away.

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is," she argued back, needing to feel the lash against her skin. There was no one left in the order to punish her for this, so she had to do it herself.

"Lana, I know you don't want to hear this now, and it'll probably only make things worse, but I need to say it. You can't predict every outcome of your decisions. Whatever drove you to Seheron, there was a reason for it. And if you'd stayed behind, if you'd been in Amaranthine, he..." Cullen struggled as he leaned back to stare down at his other hand still wrapped around hers, "he could have taken you too."

"Cullen, I..." she almost cracked from the heartache pouring out of him.

"You're not alone in wishing to wallow in blame," his voice fluttered away as his fingers rubbed hers. Then he snapped up, "But you deserve better than what Corypheus did to you, to your people." His nose flared and he dared her to challenge his assessment. She could see in his eyes that he had a thousand counterarguments, a million different ways to prove she was worthy.

Smiling crookedly, Lana bumped her bare shoulder into him, "No 'For the good of the team' speech? What about the old 'We're gonna get this bastard' one?"

Cullen snorted, "We will get that bastard, I promise. But...I didn't think you'd want a speech."

"Probably wouldn't have worked anyway. I've given so many I think I'm immune," she chuckled. Cullen rose from his knees, his fingers falling away from her face, but he still held her hands.

"What about 'I want you to go out there and give me 110%?'" he asked.

Lana laughed at that, "Maker, I hate that one."

"Me too," he smiled back. His fingers drifted off her hands to the rolled cuffs of her tunic. "You're still wearing this?" he asked.

"Oh," Lana shook her head, feeling a fool, "you probably wanted it back. Of course. I didn't have any other sleeping attire and..."

"It's all right," he said while rolling back the cuff. His fingers drifted across her thin wrist caressing her skin as if writing a secret message upon her body before he pulled them back. "Technically, it is yours."

"Mine?"

"This was the, uh, the tunic you left me so I wouldn't have to approach the gallows 'bare assed.'"

Lana picked up the hem of the shirt and perused it. The color was so faded it was impossible to make out, but then she spotted the sign. The grey wardens had a particular stitch they used for their clothing, a sort of under/over that ensured anything stolen would be easily recovered for proper inventory. _How'd she miss that?_ "It's so worn, I...I couldn't tell from the color," she said.

Cullen grimaced, "I wore it often, perhaps too much and it faded in the sun. I needed something other than the uniform. After Kirkwall, I...turned my back on the order." His fingers picked at the hem of his shirt, "It helped to know there was something out there besides the templars." Lana glanced up into his golden eyes soft with memories. She ached to wrap her fingers in his hair and pull his lips to hers. Instead, she rubbed at her own eye, catching Cullen's attention.

"What do we know about the Western Approach?" she asked, then grimaced at using the commanding we. Some things are never forgotten. "Leliana wouldn't talk about any of it. She's wrapped me under her big sister wing until I heal."

"I...uh," Cullen glanced back at the door, "am uncertain if I should go against her wishes."

Lana chuckled and rose from her chair. The blood rushed to her ill used legs, but the ache in her side only throbbed once before falling back asleep. Improvement. "I can assure you, Leliana is not all knowing. And I promise, I will keep it to myself." Lana twisted her lips with her fingers and threw away the invisible key.

Nodding, Cullen smiled, "As you wish, but I will still sleep with one eye open for a few nights." He winked at her in conspiracy, and Lana felt all blood drain from her legs again. "Agents are tracking some movement in the western approach, but most of it appears to be bandits. There is talk though of noises out of some of the ruins in the sands."

"Noises?" Lana squared up her shoulders before him.

"Could be nothing, it's hard to say. Do you have any theories on what the wardens would be doing out west?" His eyes darted over her face watching to see if she was about to break, but Lana was made of sterner stuff. Now that she had a problem to tackle, that infectious curiosity rose.

"No, well...maybe. There's an old warden fortress out there, leftover from the...ah, I can't remember which blight. Abandoned. Last I knew, the circle mages were using it before the rebellion for some research. Regardless, whatever they're doing they need wardens alive, possibly with an emphasis on mage wardens. It must be why Nathaniel originally intended to capture me."

"Capture?" Cullen reeled back.

"I believe that was his intention until you threw off the balance. After we showed our teeth he gave the orders to his men on how to take me down. He had to rethink his plans and try to end us both."

"He stabbed you, and was about to shoot an arrow through your shoulder before I stopped it. How does that condone capture?"

Lana shrugged, "I've survived worse."

"Stop that!" Cullen cursed, his eyes flaring in the weak firelight.

She stumbled, lost at the unexpected burst of anger, "Stop what?"

"What you keep doing when anyone shows concern, acting as if any injury to you is inconsequential. As if it doesn't matter that you are in pain."

His deadly tone caught her off guard. She told the truth to those who asked, and most took it as an "awe, the Warden Commander's being funny again, telling all those great war stories." No one ever objected to it.

"As long as I get the job done, it doesn't matter if..."

"I cannot stand it," Cullen shouted, rounding upon her. Exasperation caused his chest to rise, a fire burning deep in those amber eyes. His nose almost bumped into hers he stood so close. An endless hurt twisted up his face as he stared down at her, "The way you treat yourself as if you're expendable. It pains me to think you believe it."

"I..." Lana stared into his eyes hunting through her mind, trying to find the right words to convince her she was worthy. Arms length, it was the only way to maintain a shred of sanity in the ever testing world. That was her lot in life from the beginning. She thought it would change when she left the tower, that maybe she could let down her guard but that proved even more disastrous. Everyone needed her to act as a symbol, a protector, a pawn in their game. Here was the only damn man in all of thedas who wanted her as only herself instead of some living statue and she kept him just as distant as the rest.

"Maker's breath, I can't do this anymore," she cried in one quick sentence. Grabbing onto Cullen's now wavy hair, she pulled his lips to hers for the kiss she'd been craving since spotting him in the war room. He tasted even sweeter than she remembered, his lips softening as they pressed against hers. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, quietly inviting him to try the same. Cullen matched her craving, bending his back more to meet her hunger. With her barefoot the height difference was almost impossible, but neither was about to give up because of a few inches. His hands smoothed across her lower back, digging his tunic into her skin. As Lana sucked upon his bottom lip, his fingers dipped down below the tunic to cup her ass. Kneading each cheek, he yanked her higher until she stood on the tips of her toes, pulling her deeper into the kiss. But it wasn't quite enough.

Lana's fingers slipped out of his hair to grab behind his neck. With a leap, she jumped off the ground and knotted her legs around his waist. Cullen broke the kiss to steady himself from the unexpected weight of a mage wrapping around his body. She smiled mischief at him and he chuckled back. He pressed his lips back into hers, both of them giving in to every restrained urge they'd fought for years. His left arm slipped under her buttocks to keep her up while the right hand yanked up the tunic. _Maker!_ She squirmed in his grasp savoring the strength in his arm holding her upright. How had she gone four years without his touch? Gentle but determined, certain but careful. Lana dug her legs into his hips, rising up higher. Crushing her breasts against his armor, she ignored the pain as every inch of her body flooded with the aching need for him. Cullen responded in kind, a moan rattling in this throat from her grinding deeper into him. She matched it as his fingers crawled up her bare skin, the leather of his gloves warm.

Suddenly, Cullen paused and he pulled away from the kiss. "Lana?" he whispered. She steadied herself for another one of those 'we can't do this' debates even with her legs wrapped around him.

"Yes?"

He brought his free hand to their eyes and swallowed at the crimson streaking down his glove, "You're bleeding."

Carefully, she dropped her legs to the ground with Cullen guiding her down. She yanked up her tunic to inspect the wound, exposing more of her skin than he'd managed, "I must have broken a stitch when I...uh, you know."

"Yes, I was there," Cullen deadpanned and she smiled.

"This will take a bit of time," Lana sighed and grabbed up a small towel off the desk. She pressed it into the wound causing pain to radiated up her side. "I'm sorry," she said, glancing up at Cullen.

He yanked off his bloody glove and tossed it to the desk as well as the other. Turning back to her, he smiled, "There's nothing to apologize for. I should not have pushed, given your injuries..." Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed, "I should leave you to rest."

"Don't go," Lana pleaded, her free hand grabbing onto his.

"Lana, you're not in a good shape to do...what I would really wish to," Cullen steadied his breath and placed his forehead against hers. "You're injured."

"I'm well aware of that, but I..." she glanced at the bed. One half was pristine with the sheets still crisp and folded, the other looked as if someone tried to hide five nugs under the covers. Only gone for a day and her cousin still managed to leave behind the messiest of beds without trying. "I don't want to be alone. Hawke's off doing something with Varric in Val Royeaux, and it's so quiet with just the calling in my head and..."

His lips pressed against her forehead, trailing off her thoughts, "Of course I'll stay. But you should lay down, it will help stop the bleeding."

Lana tried to not roll her eyes from the obvious advice. With one hand suckered to her side, she limped to the bed. Cullen guided her elbow as best he could, but she started to feel foolish as she laid upon the top of the covers. "I don't want to be any trouble," she began.

He unhooked the scabbard knotted across his hip and laid the sword upon the table. "You're not being trouble."

"If you have an army to run..."

Cullen paused in slipping off his boots and smiled at her, "They can run themselves for a few hours. Hopefully not into a wall, but anything's possible."

Lana laughed and then groaned as her broken wound wagged its finger at her. That was what she got for daring to enjoy herself. Cullen slipped into Hawke's side of the bed, then paused as his leg clanged against something under the covers. Yanking them back he unearthed a poker. Far too small to be used for a proper fireplace, it bore the relief of a roaring mouse on the handle.

"I am not going to ask."

"Probably for the best," Lana said. He placed the poker on the floor and stretched out on the bed beside her. Maker, she felt even more foolish having the commander of the Inquisition sitting with her as if she were a child, but...but she was so glad he was here. Cullen placed his hands behind his head, trying to maneuver beneath Lana's extended elbow without bumping it. She stared up at the ceiling which was lacking any foliage bursting through it, and tried to steady her breathing to calm the pain.

"I'm afraid I am uncertain what to say," Cullen said, breaking the silence.

"Isn't that always the way?" Lana chuckled then regretted it. She shifted on the bed to try and drain the pain away.

"If you could travel anywhere in thedas where would it be?"

"Is this one of those ice breaker questions which someone poses when surrounded by strangers while wishing they could be anywhere else?"

Cullen sighed, "If you have a better one, I am open to hearing it."

"No, no," Lana paused, struggling to find an answer, "I suppose I'd like to see Rivain."

"To find your ancestors?" Cullen asked.

Lana smiled, "My family's Marcher, I think. I never remembered much before the tower. No, there is a fascinating theory on thaumic energy and its transmogrification into potable kinetic that the Rivain mages use to power their devices. In theory, it should be under performing compared to the typical re-tread of potential, but they seem to have cracked the problem of excess discharge and maintained a full balance. I've wanted to study it, to see if its applications can be altered to..." Lana turned her head to see a smile splitting across Cullen's cheeks. "And I've already bored you."

"What?" he leaned his head up to stare into her eyes, "No. I...admit I don't know as much about magical theory as someone with your skills, but I enjoy hearing it from you. Missed hearing it from you." Cullen stretched his arm out and slipped it under Lana's head. She pressed into the muscles propping her up as he played with her hair. Fingers massaged her scalp and knotted her hair up more than usual. It was bliss.

"What of you, then? It's your game, you must have some place you've always wanted to see in thedas."

"I..." he blinked to bring up a thought, "I have a fascination with the steppes of the Anderfells."

Lana nodded, "Understandable. They're beautiful, but a pain in the ass to climb up."

"You've been?" Cullen twisted up on his side to look at her despite his hand still pinned under her head.

"Grey warden stuff," Lana swallowed back the burn the word dug up from her gut. This was supposed to be distracting her from all of that. "But the food is excellent. They have this dumpling where the dough is so much thinner than what's used here and there's a spiced meat mixture. I...I can't really explain it, but it's...Ah!" her elbow bumped into his waist causing her to put more pressure upon the wound.

"Here," Cullen reached over and pressed his own hand against the cloth. His palm cupped around her hip, the fingers dancing across her skin while his thumb plucked against the bone below. Maker, how she wanted to move those hands lower and more center of mass. To feel him massaging her inner thigh...

"You know," Lana said, trying to talk through the lust burning through her from his touch, "I've never seen the White Spire. Been to Val Royeaux a couple times, but never made it up there."

"Maybe I could take you some time," Cullen's voice dropped low, his breath whispering against her ear.

"Is it safe? I know the Inquisitor solved the whole rebellion, but I thought bandits had..."

"There's always later," he answered, his eyes boring into hers.

Lana smiled. She trailed her freed fingers along his jawline, "I'd like that."

"I...uh," her heat flushed along his face as his gaze hungered. "I'm not sure what to talk about next."

Her finger drifted along his slack lips and ran up the length of his new scar. She wanted to ask him about it but knew better. She had her own scars she'd never talk about. Cullen blinked from the contact, his body rigid as he maintained a careful balance beside her. So close to him, she could savor his personal musk, and now it struck her what was so different about him. _How had she not noticed that change?_

Her eyes closed, Lana asked, "How long's it been since you've gone without?"

"What? I...uh, gone without- What are you asking?" Cullen's flush switched to a full blush as his panicked eyes zipped around the room.

"Lyrium," Lana smiled. "What did you think I...oh," she blushed herself and stammered, "I didn't meant to ask, not that it's any of my, though I suppose it almost was. Ha!"

Cullen's thumb circled along her back, his fingers sliding across her bare skin as he re-positioned the towel. "How do you know I'm no longer taking lyrium? Did someone tell you?"

Lana touched her nose, "I can smell it. Templars always smelled different when you drank it, a metallic chemical burn."

"Oh, I didn't know." He folded back from her, "It's complicated, the reasons for it, for not taking it anymore..."

She gripped tighter to his jaw and tried to catch his sinking eyes, "Are you well?"

"Yes, as well as can be expected."

"Then that's all I need to know."

He smiled and dipped his head, "Thank you." Lana struggled up and caught his lips in a gentle kiss. She pulled back before it grew to anything hotter than what she'd dreamed of for her wound's sake. Cullen's fingers slid across her skin as she sat up along with the towel.

Inspecting the crimson stain upon it, he lightly touched her wound and found nothing fresh. "I believe it's stopped."

"I know," Lana smiled, "it did a few minutes after I laid down."

"Then why did I..."

"Because," she picked up his gentle hand in hers. Her thumb massaged the callouses along the pads of his palm. She bore nearly the same on her own hand from the staff. "I enjoyed the feel of you touching me."

Cullen gasped at her honest answer. He slipped down upon the pillow, his breath whispering beside her ear. "Would it be too forward of me if I say I enjoy touching you as well?"

"Only if you plan to never do it again," Lana smiled at him. She twisted to her side to face the wall and Cullen cupped his body around hers. His hand wrapped around her hip just below the wound and pulled her even tighter. To sleep while held in Cullen's arms, she'd never thought a thing was ever possible. And now, her body was buzzing too much to let her get anywhere close to rest.

"Well, commander of the Inquisition. That's a pretty big job there. How'd you stumble across it?"

"Cassandra approached me in Kirkwall," his heat washed over her, blanketing her in the first veil of safety she'd felt in over a year.

"Interesting. I've only heard bits and pieces about the right hand from the left. How about you tell me all about this Seeker of yours."

## Chapter Six

**Betting It All**

"Come with me," Hawke barreled into their shared room with determination on her face and a crown of flowers upon her head.

Lana turned away from her book and pointed at the floral arrangement, "What's with the flowers?"

"What flowers?" Hawke said with such confusion Lana feared she either imagined them or her cousin truly didn't know they were there. "Never mind, come on. Put down your book. That's all you've been doing for the past three days, squatting in this room reading."

"I believe I've been healing," Lana gestured to her stab wound that was now well on its way to being a nuisance scar that only throbbed when she sneezed. "And studying up on rift magic. I'm impressed despite the lack of circles how much research has already been eked out from them. It seems as if..."

"That's boring, you can't keep doing the boring stuff!" Hawke half collapsed in the doorway, her hands skimming across the ground like an exhausted child. "We should do something fun. Really fun too, not your little dancing bear fun."

"It wasn't a bear, it was a poorly sculpted dog, and it wasn't supposed to dance," Lana frowned while glancing at her once finished and then again obliterated device. Getting it right was proving more tricky than she expected. _How did the tranquil make it look so easy?_

"I'm bored, you're bored," Hawke whined some more.

"I'm not bored," Lana sniped back. After returning the next morning with enough books for Lana to collapse a library, Hawke resumed her duties of watching over the wounded and possibly dangerous mage. Unfortunately, Hawke was not made to be contained within four walls for very long. Lana encouraged her cousin to take long walks during the day before they murdered each other in their sleep. The commander stopped by on occasion, and almost always when Hawke was sitting in the corner trying to whittle a set of daggers out of a larger sword. This, of course, required the two of them to pretend he was merely checking on the rate of her recovery and to update her. Despite the constant chaperon, Cullen never came with a plan on what to drone on about. He managed to fight off the blush from the blunder, but his recitation of troop movements to the bemused grey warden did not help their cover story.

Only once did Cullen knock on the door when Hawke was on one of her 'you're wearing through the stone floor' walks. Even alone, they spoke of genteel topics and kept apart...for about three minutes. Cullen nearly jumped out of the window when Hawke dropped her latest haul from unguarded barrels right outside the door. The near close call kept them guarded and cautious, at least until Lana was well enough to resume her own duties away from her cousin.

Hawke's big brown eyes pleaded with the mage, "Please, I'll let you have all my pudding from dinner."

"You despise pudding," Lana sighed even as she shut her book. No matter how much she fought her cousin on principle, stretching her legs sounded nice. And it was unlikely to kill her now.

"All the more reason for you to eat it instead. Come on, I swear, you'll love it. All the best people will be there."

Lana paused in rising and snapped her head at Hawke. "People?"

Hawke slapped her hand against her mouth, "There I go giving away the surprise. Just grab your stick thing and let's go."

"My staff," Lana sighed, as if the Champion of Kirkwall didn't know the damn difference. She'd prefer to leave it safely stored away from whatever Hawke was planning but she needed it as a cane. Putting the weight of her left side against it, she limped towards the rack to grab her cloak.

"Nah nah, you won't be needing that," Hawke waved her hands away at Lana.

She was dressed more presentably than Cullen's tunic and bare legs, but her attire wasn't something she'd want to get caught in front of an entire tavern in. "You're certain of that?"

"Yes, just a couple people, it'll be no big deal. I promise. Come on," Hawke extended her arm and Lana took it. Despite being in the hold, Hawke still wore most of the Champion armor. She seemed particularly attached to the talon-like braces now frozen from the chill of night. Lana slipped her cuffs lower to shield her fingers from it and cursed herself for never getting into gloves. All the other mages were doing it.

"I know I shall regret this," Lana sighed, "but let's go."

"You'll love it, trust me," Hawke squealed.

* * *

She'd first anticipated a tavern, then the great hall. After that a back room in the kitchens or a visit up to Leliana's rookery. But Hawke yanked her across the battlements rimming Skyhold and kept opening the door to every closed room along the way. "Nope, nope, nope, sorry, nope," became a familiar refrain as she uncovered either ruins, offices, or surprised dignitaries in the middle of undressing.

After awhile, Lana suspected Hawke had no real plan in mind and used it as an excuse to get her out of the sick room. It seemed just as likely as anything else. Hawke seemed to operate on a string of bad luck that by the grace of the Maker turned good. Planning was not her strong suit. Opening a random door and expecting a party to fall out seemed within her wheelhouse, until her cousin finally opened door number 12. It was as dilapidated as the other rooms waiting to be spruced up. Broken beams and rotted wood were piled along the edges, and vines sprouted off the filthy stones, but someone installed a round table large enough to seat ten in the middle of the room. Chairs circled around it, all but two of them occupied.

"I got her!" Hawke shouted, drawing everyone away from their game of cards. A golden lantern twisted soft light upon the table, barely chasing away the shadows of night, but the man directly across from them flared up his fist with purple magic.

Dorian grinned wide, "Ah, excellent. We were afraid we'd have no new coffers to dip into for this round."

"Be careful what you wish for, Pavus," Leliana leaned in, the light flaring her red hair to an orange sunset. She'd shrugged off her hood for this meeting. "Lanny's sent many a man home crying."

"Not for want of trying, I hope," he smiled that infectious grin while Hawke released her hold upon Lana and stomped to the table.

Her cousin yanked back a chair beside Varric and fell onto the side of it. She propped one foot up on a barrel then slid her cards off the table into her hand. "Ah, this was all shit," Hawke cursed, throwing them back.

"It's not really bluffing if we all looked at your cards while you were out of the room," Varric chuckled to his old friend, then he turned his eyes to watch Lana place her staff against the doorway. "Snowflake. What'll ya be having? We have mead, and mead, piss pretending to be mead, and I believe Ruffles over there is savoring some vintage wine from Lord Flufflebutt's ancient cask bottled during the nug age."

Josephine choked a bit on her wine, then placed the glass down pristinely, "You are closer to the truth than you might imagine, Master Tethras."

"I am a connoisseur in the fine wines, madam," Varric said waving his hand dramatically in front of his exposed chest.

"You're a connoisseur in fine bullshit," Hawke cut back then bellowed a laugh. It was so powerful the table rattled, causing the betting pot to undulate as pieces skittered to the edges to fall off.

The Inquisitor turned to Lana while she slipped into the chair between him and Leliana. "Snowflake?"

"Hm?" Lana stretched her side to work out the knot and got a glance at Leliana's worried brow.

"Varric's charming nicknames for everyone," Dorian said directly across from her. "What does yours mean? That you have a frosty demeanor, or a particular fondness for winter? Perhaps you can blush white."

"I'm good at ice spells," Lana said rolling her fist just enough to coat it in her nick-namesake.

"I see he puts as much thought and effort into them as I suspected," Dorian chuckled.

"Hey, I try very hard to not try very hard at 'em," Varric harrumphed.

"At least you all get something, I'm stuck with Hawke."

"There's always waffles," Varric said. He gathered up the discarded cards from her and passed them to the Inquisitor.

"Right, because that one took well," Hawke rolled her eyes and grabbed up a mug. She sniffed it, took a drink, pulled a face, then took another one. Lana would be surprised that she kept going back but that was how Hawke drank everything.

"What game are we playing?" Lana asked. Sitting up primly, she dropped her hands on her lap as if she was attending to a duchess' tea instead of a backroom game of cards. "Diamondback?"

"You're aware of Diamondback, my lady?" Josephine asked blotting a droplet of crimson wine off her lip.

"Aware? She won the shirts off five pirates backs," Varric stirred up old memories better left dead and buried. "What'd you ever do with them anyway?" The Inquisitor cut the deck and passed out the cards. Lana used the distraction to gather each one into her hand and glare at them.

"It was an unfair advantage, they didn't understand the game," she said while shuffling her own hand around. Everyone picked up their cards in their own special way. Leliana kept them flat against the table, only lifting up the barest hint of an edge. Using both hands, Dorian squared his shoulders and placed the cards close enough to his lips to kiss them. As if not having a care in the world, Josephine swept them up and ran her finger along the edge. Varric was his usual self, trying to get every single possible tell out of the way early before he actually looked at his hand. And Hawke, there were none like Hawke in all of thedas.

"Shit, shit, shit. Ooh, that's a good one. I always liked that one. Shit." She all but threw the cards face up onto the table to show everyone which was her favorite. The sad thing was, half the time she still won the damn game despite being unable to bluff her way out of a sack. That family good luck which Lana somehow missed out on always rose up to save her.

The Inquisitor was delicate in his approach, even more so than Josephine. His eyes hunted across every card for a second longer than was necessary, as if he expected them to confess their secrets.

"Oghren," Leliana said, distracting Lana from staring through the Inquisitor, "he taught us how to play Diamondback during the blight. Among other things."

"Actually," Lana scratched her forehead and threw in the first bid. "I learned it in the circle tower."

"Oh, ho," Dorian perked up at that, "I didn't think your jailers went in for that sort of nonsense. Isn't it all up at dawn, scrub the floors, drop and give me ten?"

Lana folded her hands and placed her chin upon them to glare at the tevinter mage, "We found our fun when we could."

"Sometimes with the templars," Josephine interrupted, then she giggled, "or so the rumors go. I raise the bid to ten."

People shuffled off a few of their cards for replacements, but Lana hung onto hers. She never liked to reveal a weakness this early in the game. Hawke loomed over Varric's shoulder and spotted a card she preferred. The two of them tried to negotiate a way to hand it over to her. It was completely against the rules, but no one spoke against it, the game more relaxed than the typical cutthroat deals in other taverns. It felt good to only be making decisions that cost her a few buttons instead of the deaths of countless people. She'd missed this. Hawke was her own entertainment in 6 foot plus form, but being surrounded and sharing her thoughts with others was her life for so long before the wardens changed all that. She never realized how strange being alone truly was until she was out of the tower. After being watched every day of her life since she was six, finding herself alone felt almost sinful. It was hard to shake even ten years later.

"Lana," Dorian began, "I may call you Lana, I hope." She nodded for him to continue. "The dwarf here and I have a small bet and, given your history, I suspect you might be just the one to solve it."

She blinked and glanced up from her cards into a smile that opened a pit in her stomach. This couldn't be good. "What is it?" she asked against all common sense.

"As I understand it, you have a rather intimate knowledge of our dear Commander Cullen." Dorian's voice dropped down into a stern mimic of Cullen's while saying his name.

Lana ran her fingers against the cards as she stretched her neck. After a second she sighed, "Where did you hear that?"

"Let's just say a rather large bird told me," Dorian tried to play coy, but Hawke slapped her knee from the joke.

"Large bird? I like that."

"Don't believe everything Hawke tells you." Lana glared at her cousin.

"It's," Hawke pointed at Lana then Dorian, "probably good advice."

"I see. Well, regardless, you've been around templars before. Being in your little circle together, or however it works down south. So, you might be able to solve this impasse we've reached. We're trying to determine what material our dear commander's smallclothes are composed of."

Lana choked on her own saliva from the shock, "What?"

"I suspect he's into something tiny and silky. All gruff armor and stern glances on the outside but underneath that it's satiny lace."

"That's uh..." Lana struggled for a way to save herself and defend Cullen.

Varric sat up beside Dorian and slapped his conspirator on the back, "I say he skinned a bear and whatever didn't fit on that ruffled coat of his, he wrapped around himself."

"That makes a lot of sense," Hawke said bobbing her head at Varric. "No way all of a bear pelt went into his coat wrap thing." She circled her fingers around her neck and sent the flower crown scattering to the floor. Without saying a word, Hawke scooped it up and placed it back upon her head.

_Maker, out of all the ways she could get on Cullen's bad side it had to involve a tevinter mage and his smallclothes!_ Breathing to steady her voice, Lana shrugged, "I'm sorry, I can't help you. I have no idea what material makes up any templar's underthings much less the commander's."

Dorian blinked slowly and she dug her fingernails into her cards, afraid he'd call her on the bluff. But then the grin cracked and he shrugged, "Ah, it was only an idea. I suppose it's back to plan B, dwarf."

"That's all on you, Sparkles. I prefer my head where it is."

Mercifully, the conversation drifted away from Cullen and smallcothes in general to what was upon everyone's minds. Lana managed to get caught up on what she'd missed in thedas while she was in exile. So much had changed quickly both in Ferelden and Orlais it was going to take her weeks to figure it all out. Even the mage rebellion ending only brought more questions to her mind. Lana knew that Ali...the crown had let them stay in Redcliffe and something happened to break that deal, but Fiona must have some endgame. She wasn't the type to back easily into a corner.

"Do you remember the game we used to play during cards?" Leliana asked Lana. She unearthed a mug from beside her and poured it to the rim from the qunari sized pitcher on the table.

"No," Lana shook her head as she accepted the drink. She knew what Leliana was driving at, and had to stop it now, "No, that is...inadvisable." She sipped the drink and discovered it was that piss posing as mead Varric mentioned earlier. The cloying sweetness of mead was replaced by an acid ravaging down her throat. She blinked a few tears back from the fumes and then took another sip.

"Now I have to know what it is," Dorian sat up, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"It was rather simple," Leliana continued despite Lana's insistence. "Everyone says something they've never done and anyone who has must take a drink."

"You mean 'I will never?' We have that in tevinter, but it's a teensy touch more complicated."

"And involves a shit ton more blood magic, right Sparkles?"

Dorian sighed and threw his head back in feigned outrage, but when he glanced back those bittersweet eyes landed upon the Inquisitor for a beat. Lana almost scooted away to avoid the heat before he smiled and turned to the dwarf, "Everything in tevinter involves blood magic. Why you can't greet someone for morning salutations without slitting a wrist or two."

"So..." Josephine spoke up, still giggling from her wine.

"No, I do not intend to strip naked and sacrifice you all. Not while the night is young at least," Dorian rolled his eyes.

"Not that," Josephine said. "This game, I think we should play it." Lana dropped her head to the table more than aware of how this damn idea turned out before during the blight. Throw in Dorian, Hawke, and Varric and no one was going to be able to look each other in the eye until next harvestmere. Josephine glanced at her, but plowed ahead, "How does it start?"

"I'll begin it," Lana said, her words muffled by the wood. She sat up and massaged her forehead. _What to say? Ah!_ Smiling slyly at Leliana, she said, "I have never nailed someone's knickers to a chantry board."

The spymaster smiled and drank her own grog with a flourish. After placing it down, she explained, "Now everyone who's ever done that takes a drink."

"Oh, of course, so simple." Josephine sipped her wine and, as a bit of a surprise, so did Dorian.

After finishing, he shrugged, "What? We were all young once. Youngish. Does it count as young if it was two years ago?"

"May it be my turn?" Josephine interrupted. No one was about to argue, so she screwed up her face struggling for one. Snapping her fingers, she said, "I have never...no, oh, um...I have never killed a demon."

"By all the..." Dorian grumbled downing another as did everyone else at the table save the grinning ambassador.

"I'm quite enjoying this game," Josephine said while twirling her glass in her fingers.

Leliana patted her friend on the shoulder then took up the next round, "I have never kissed royalty."

Lana shot a look at her, but her friend wore an inscrutable yet innocuous look as if she didn't intend to attack her specifically. Glaring into the table, Lana took a drink a bit longer than normal to try and blot out the reason she was doing it.

Hawke scratched the back of her head and asked, "Does it count if they kissed you?"

"When did that happen?" Varric asked.

"You remember, we were in Nevarra and that King of fancy pants whatever he was came up to me and..."

"Hawke, that wasn't actual royalty. He was in a play."

Shrugging, Hawke tipped back her glass and all but licked it clean. "Still counts. It's a king, just one without a country." She filled her glass, then glanced around the table, "Coming up with stuff I've never done? This'll take awhile. Um...who's going next?"

"I will," the soft Inquisitor spoke up, straightening his shoulders, "I have never killed a high dragon."

Lana turned to him, "Truly? Give it time." She shared a look with Leliana as they both drank. Hawke was now tipping back her glass underhanded either out of boredom or she was already at stage one drunk and rounding to the next level.

"Oh wait," Hawke slammed her mug down on the table and grinned, "I just thought of one!"

"That's great Hawke, now you say what it is," Varric prompted.

"I have never ever killed an archdemon!"

Every eye swiveled to the only warden in the room. She tipped her head, her tongue hunting across her teeth to buy time before she poured the last of whatever this was down her throat. It stopped biting through her gullet a question back and was now sloshing around in her stomach. This was not a good sign.

"Varric? You got one?"

"Sure, I've never fought in the blight," he shrugged then reached forward to bang his glass into Lana's.

"For all the...is the game actually called get the warden drunk?" she complained even while fulfilling her duty. "I'm the injured one here."

"So was I in our last skirmish, but you don't hear me complaining," Dorian sniffed.

"You mean the splinter from lifting a piece of firewood? And you didn't shut up about it for three days," Varric snorted at him.

"It was very deep," he whined, batting his eyelashes in mock pain. "Ah, it seems everyone has taken their turn but me. Hm, oh, I know. I have never snogged anyone at Skyhold." Then, against the rules, Dorian took a deep draught from his glass and smacked his lips. Beside her, Lana watched the Inquisitor quietly smile and take a bare sip.

"That's not how it works, Dorian," Josephine insisted as she climbed across the table to prod her finger into him.

"I was thirsty, and thought it ample opportunity to brag," he smiled at Josephine. Chuckling broke out from the mage's insouciance. The table fell silent as they all turned to Lana finishing off her pint. It wasn't until she placed the mug back on the table she realized what she'd done.

"Lanny?" Leliana was the first to question her.

"Sorry," Lana blushed and a stammer flew from her lips as her inebriated brain searched for a lie, "forgot what the question was. It was about killing darkspawn, or golems, or any of the other thousands of things I've fought, right?"

Dorian chuckled, "I do believe our Diamondback ringer is fully snickered. Let's play some cards!"

Despite playing the professional charmer, Dorian was total shit at games of chance. He kept fluting at the most inopportune time which kicked him from the game before the second round. Yet losing all his buttons did nothing to dampen him, he grinned through every hand without him like he was the biggest winner among them. Josephine was vicious in the way only an antivan could be, her strikes surgical and quick, but Lana knew how to beat them. Zevran had done much the same and was just as easily distracted with flattery, though Josie bounced back from it faster. After watching her pile of buttons fade to only a single one, Josephine sat out and sipped the last of her bottle of wine while standing over Leliana's shoulder.

Before too long, the spymaster herself was out. She acted the part of failing to watch the flow of the game, but Lana knew Leliana excused herself. Occasionally, the spymaster's eyes would wander over her friend, but she seemed to be paying just as much attention to the others. Did they know Leliana was playing them while they played?

"Nope, I'm quitting before I lose my shirt," Varric said tossing his cards into the growing pile of buttons.

"Or worse," Hawke snorted, "your chest hair." Once again, that Hawke luck radiated through. Despite the game of chance knocking out an antivan, a tevinter who probably grew up in gambling houses, a spymaster, and the man who introduced Diamondback to Kirkwall, it was Hawke who was still in the game.

Varric leaned back in his chair to let that mythical chest hair breathe. He'd switched to a bottled ale and kept taking slow swigs from it. Lana thought she recognized the label as one of Isabela's stock with a few anatomical pictures drawn upon the purveyor's forehead. "You're about to learn why you never play games against Hawke, Inquisitor."

"Does she cheat?" his eyes broke from his cards to draw across the dwarf. It came as no surprise how conservatively the elf played, each careful challenge met by an even greater defense. His only downfall seemed to be the mage sitting across from him that was now swirling his fingers through a puddle of spilled beer to draw glyphs upon the table. Every once in awhile Dorian would look up, impishly smile, and the Inquisitor would float a valuable face card.

"Who? Me?" Hawke squeaked, now on her fifth pint. Maybe sixth. Lana gave up after two, the medicine in her system wishing nothing to do with alcohol. "I am a law abiding Kirkwall of citizen Champion!"

"A law abiding citizen who aided the mage rebellion," Leliana said turning to her.

Hawke blinked slowly then pushed two cards to the Inquisitor for an exchange, "I didn't say whose laws, now did I? Besides it all worked out in the end. Your big sword here saved the day." Dorian snorted from the unintentional euphemism and the Inquisitor shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. "Didn't ya? What am I missing now? It's not funny to not tell me things!" Hawke stampeded over the awkward but adorable blushing filling the room.

Varric patted her on the arm and sighed, "I'll tell you when you're sober."

"Good luck with that," Hawke snorted while adding more fuel to the fire. After wiping the beer from her lips, she shook her head, "What was I saying? Oh right, Inquisitor here stopped the mage rebellion. Brought it all to a halt. Good on him and everything."

"Yes, hear, hear," Dorian called raising his empty glass, "good on him."

The tevinter mage cut off from the destruction across southern thedas was the only one in a celebratory mood. Lana's eyes darted to Leliana and they shared a look. Things were not settled, anyone with half a brain knew that after Corypheus was dealt with the same problems would yet remain, the anger double in its viciousness. Even Varric remained quiet, his eyes boring into the ceiling above them.

"Dorian, that's..." the Inquisitor tried to cut him off before the man began literally singing his praises.

Behind them the door swung open, a mountain wind trying to scatter the loot piled up on the table. Lana reached out to save it along with the Inquisitor. Meanwhile, Hawke cheered the buttons on to freedom. Varric's head swung down and a smile widened upon his face, "Curly! You've come to join us?"

Then Lana heard Cullen's tell tale sigh, "I was merely passing through when I saw the light under the crack..." She turned around in her chair and smiled lightly at him. His eyes landed upon her and his scar lifted before he shook himself and nodded at the others in the room, "Inquisitor, and ambassador, spymaster..."

"We're gonna be here all night if he keeps naming everyone," Dorian quipped.

Cullen growled, "Pavus."

Dorian nudged Varric in the gut, "I'm coming around to your theory. It would explain the eternal crankiness."

"What would?" Cullen interrupted, his eyes boring into the nonchalant mage.

Lana jumped to his rescue by sliding another card forward to exchange with the pile, "Shouldn't we be finishing this game?" She felt Cullen approach from behind her, the commander interested in the shenanigans of the rest of the leaders in Skyhold.

"I see you're playing cards," he continued. Only the barest wisp of pain threaded through his words, so narrow you'd have to know him to hear it. Lana winced from it while staring at her new card, but she didn't know how to respond without showing her whole hand.

Thankfully, Varric came to the rescue, "Shit, Curly. We figured you were still busy with that...what were you doing out there in the rain?"

"Drills, and that was hours ago."

"Is that what you call it when you make your men march around shirtless?" Dorian interrupted, "In which case you need to drill much more often." The Inquisitor sighed softly under the guise of picking two more cards, but Lana knew that feeling. _Someone I care for just made an ass out of himself. Do I help or let him keep digging?_ She often made the choice of passing him a shovel. The Inquisitor was far kinder.

"We need our standing army to be fresh," the Inquisitor said, his eyes peeking over the tops of his cards at the tevinter mage.

"They look plenty fresh to me," Dorian whistled.

Varric leaned forward, "Our Hero, Champion, and Herald are in some final death match here, but we can deal you in next hand, Curly."

Cullen leaned back on his heels behind Lana. It would be perfectly natural for him to grab onto the back of her chair for balance but he steadied himself upon the sword instead. "That's all right, perhaps some other time."

"I'll hold you to that," Varric tipped back on his chair and slipped a boot upon the table.

"I am curious to see how this hand plays out though," the commander said while slipping nearer to Lana. She squared her shoulders and sat a bit higher as the scent of his body washed over her. Dorian wasn't kidding, he'd been out in the yard exercising the same as the other soldiers. _Maker, how she wanted to leap on top of him, pry off every inch of armor and answer Dorian's question in the flesh._ Instead, Lana dropped another two buttons onto the pile and turned to Hawke.

"Your draw," she said.

Her cousin scratched her head, glanced at her cards, knocked her fingers against the table, then blinked, "Shit, right! I had a point."

"That would be a first," Dorian sniped back, which earned him a cautious look from the Inquisitor.

Nothing stung Hawke as she continued, "Us, the three of us, together here. It's funny because we were all in the running to be the head of this little Inquisition. Right?"

A few heads swiveled from Hawke back to the Inquisitor and the Hero before landing upon Leliana. "That is true."

"So, let's make this game interesting. Winner gets control of the Inquisition!" Hawke spread her hands wide, almost throwing her cards through the air.

"That's not..."

"I don't think we should..."

"It's inadvisable to..."

All three advisers spoke at once in an attempt to tamper down the Champion's wager. "Ah come on," Hawke chided, "What's the worse that could happen? Sky's ripped open and a talking ancient magister darkspawn's getting ideas of god hood. Hard to beat that. You feel any blights coming on?" She turned to Lana and raised her tankard in question.

Lana shook her head, not at the blight question, but the idiocy of placing an entire army's leadership upon a game of cards. It'd probably happened before in the history the thedas, complete fools were often made kings after all, but precedent didn't make the idea anymore ludicrous. "I'm uncertain if..."

"I'm game," the Inquisitor interrupted her. He twisted his chin lower to cast a scrutinizing look upon Lana. She grumbled into her hands and pulled her cards closer to her chest. There was no way out of it without looking a coward or... She feared the or more.

"Very well," Lana sighed, "I am in as well. Shall we call it?"

"Oo! Me first," Hawke picked up her cards, unearthed one that slipped under her mug, and chucked them into the middle of the table. Her suits and numbers ranged all across the board, not a single one matching.

Varric scooted the cards around to face him and clucked his tongue, "That is the absolute worst hand you can possible get in this game. I'm damn impressed actually. Is that a coaster?" He thumbed an extra piece of paper that slipped into the game.

Hawke threw her arms behind her head and tipped the chair into the wall. "Guess I don't have to be in charge. Such a shame. Heart's broken, and so on and so forth. Okay, now you two go."

The Inquisitor's narrow eyes slipped to Lana and then he laid down his hand. "I believe you call this a Full Keep," he didn't smile but his eyes gleamed from the strength of his hand, each face card grinning for him.

Lana glanced down at her cards, then plastered on the biggest loser smile she could manage, "I am afraid I have nothing to beat that. Congratulations on maintaining your, how did you put it Hawke? Big sword."

"Best kind to have!" Hawke called unaware of the precarious position Lana just lied her way out of. The rest of the table released a breath as the tension faded away leaving only the smokey bonhomie in its wake. The Inquisitor scooped the buttons up to his side of the table while Dorian smoldered at him. _Big sword indeed_ , Lana chuckled to herself. She carefully folded her cards back into the pile obscuring the fact she had the entire royal house of one suit.

Varric picked up the deck and gave the cards a flick, "That's enough Diamondback. How about we try my preferred poison and switch to Wicked Grace?"

"I'm afraid that's enough excitement for me," Lana said scooting back her chair, "healing and all." She rose to her weary feet and willed her muscles to skirt around the table.

"Too bad, the runner up's leaving us," Varric sighed, then pointed at Cullen. "You wanna take her seat?"

The commander slipped back to the door and picked up Lana's staff. He handed it to her without a second thought, then glanced at the dwarf. "Ah, no. Drilling can take a lot out of a man."

Dorian snorted in the middle of a drink spraying cheap mead all over the Inquisitor's gain. His puppy eyes danced up at Cullen who was scowling, then back to the Inquisitor who was scowling for a different reason. But none of it slowed him down. "Oh Maker," he sighed, shaking his head. "What? Did that bypass over everyone's heads?"

Lana reached the door, her fingers upon the handle when Hawke called out, "You need me to help you back?"

"No, I..." she paused and did her best to not glance at the man finding his own convenient excuse to get out of there, "I believe I can handle it on my own."

"Got it!" Hawke clapped her hands, then slammed both on the table, "All right, let's do this. What else we got to raise the stakes? How about we put Skyhold on the line?"

Josephine sighed, "You cannot bet a place you do not own."

"Good night everyone," Lana called pausing for the chorus of responses before she slipped into the night.

## Chapter Seven

**A Walk**

It took a few minutes for Cullen to catch up to her, not that she was limping quickly across the battlements. He coughed to get her attention, as if she couldn't hear him clanging away behind her.

"I thought you might like a bit of assistance back to your room."

Lana smiled and twisted around to face him. The moonlight lit upon his pale face turning him almost white. Those golden eyes gleamed as Cullen tried to blot away a hunger smoldering in them. "No," she said. His sure smile faltered before she continued, "I was hoping to enjoy the evening with a walk around Skyhold instead of returning straight to my room. I would love some company though." She reached out and slipped her arm under his. A goofy grin stretched his cheeks as he rose back to sure footing with her clinging to him for balance. Lana slid closer and put more of her weight upon him than she had her cousin, not that Hawke couldn't have lifted her up on her shoulders. Cullen patted her hand upon his, the soft leather caressing her naked fingers. Rather than remove it, he kept his fingers pinned in place upon hers.

"Lead on," he said. Lana did just that, her body gently nudging into his while she poured enough energy into her staff to kick out a small blue orb. Even on the best of days, winter winds whipped off the mountains ravaging most of Skyhold, but tonight they lay dormant. Perhaps they were enjoying a night in as well, playing games with the other weather phenomena. Only a cold chill crept off the snow swarming the walls in the slowest invasion. Lana bit back a shiver as the creeping fingers of winter plucked at her skin below the linen tunic. She cursed herself for trusting Hawke and not bringing her cloak.

Cullen caught the movement, "Are you cold?"

"Only a little," Lana answered. She slipped a hand under the drapery of his surcoat, pulling her body tighter to him. His warmth enveloped her as he placed his hand upon her shoulders to try and guard her against the mountain air. Cullen sighed softer than the winds, his lips almost pressing into the top of her head. Silently, they walked in that formation like two people competing in their own personal three legged race. Despite the armor, she nuzzled her head into the crook of his armor, finding a rare soft section on the commander's unbending body.

Circling the battlements wasn't the most exciting of tours, but the moon hung full in the sky so bright only a smattering of stars could break through the night. She felt blissful, freer than her heart had been in a near on year while gazing up at the endless void. To some it unnerved them, the question of how a never ending abyss could envelop the world. What was at the edge of the sky? Lana knew she'd never find out, but it was fun to wonder. The only other movement through the hold came from people milling below on the courtyard. No one else stepped upon the battlements. For once, they were completely alone. Even then, she felt Cullen stiffen below her hands when a voice carried on the wind. Gossip was dangerous and could derail an army's cohesion, especially if favoritism was suspected. To show that much interest in a potentially dangerous outsider would only reflect poorly on the commander. She'd hoped to keep their... _andraste's tears, what were they doing? Was it little more than a protracted one-night stand?_ Lana knew she had no standing to ask more of him than that, to expect more than that. And, she wondered, could she ever be trusted with more than a passing fling? Her own heart lay in...she wasn't even certain anymore. Perhaps no one had a claim to it. Instead, it was sealed in those jars the Nevarran mortalitassi use, never to be unearthed for a thousand years. Still, talk could become an issue and he needed to be told.

"There's something you should know," Lana began. Her steps slowed and they paused just before a massive gap across the wall where time or an ancient boulder shattered apart the stone path. Twisting in his grasp, she looked up into his eyes. Cullen laid his hands gently across both of her shoulders and waited for her to explain.

"Hawke's been talking," she said and Cullen laughed.

"Next you will tell me the sun rises in the east."

"Except she's been talking about me...and you," Lana watched his smile snap away to a wrathful focus.

"Talking to who? About what?"

"The what I'm uncertain of, but the...Dorian knows something. At least enough to ask me about...I, uh." It struck her that telling Cullen might be crueler than leaving him with a heads up to beware rumors. It'd be better to keep the truth vague.

But he sighed and massaged the back of his neck, "You may as well give me the full of it. I will only imagine it's far worse than it is."

"He asked me what your smallclothes are made of," Lana sputtered out, her eyes dancing from his face back to the empty void beyond Skyhold. She'd expected Cullen to snarl, or perhaps throw something, but he only snorted. A few sharp curses broke under his breath, but when she turned back to him his face was calm.

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth. Sort of. That I couldn't answer his question," Lana shrugged. Her hands skimmed up his biceps to his shoulders, trying to find the man below the armor. She saw it only for the briefest of windows, but the image rested safe in her memory. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "It's not as if there's a material nothing's made out of."

"It's, uh," Cullen's cheeks burned and his eyes danced upon the ground. "Been a few years since you last would have...imposed upon such a discovery."

Lana blinked into his bashful eyes for a moment, then she glanced down his body to stop at that big sword, "Are you telling me you've changed tactics since then?"

Gulping a few times, Cullen pressed his lips close to her ear. His warm breath raced through her body alighting the butterflies no longer dormant in her stomach. "Not precisely, no. I was hoping to give you an excuse to check."

"Oh," Lana brushed her fingers against his cheek, "I've never needed an excuse."

He slipped down and so quickly placed a kiss against her lips he missed by half, either the indisputable innuendo or the excitement making him jumpy. Before Cullen could rise to his full height, Lana grabbed onto both sides of his face and pulled him down for a proper one. After three days in the sick bed with only Hawke and a tight lipped Leliana for company, she damn well deserved it. Stubble prickled into her top lip from the man who never seemed to properly shave. She cupped her lips around his bottom one instead, sucking and nibbling upon it. Cullen enveloped his arms around her and pulled her body tighter. Ignoring the push of metal against her chest, she melded deeper to him and felt the evidence that he hadn't changed his stance on underthings. Sweet maker, that throb below the belt pushing against her stomach made her head spin more than the cheap mead ever could. A soft sigh rattled in her throat as her body tried to jumpstart her mind, but she broke from the kiss and back onto her feet. There was a time and a place, and no matter how badly she wanted to defile the commander of the Inquisition right now, she wasn't about to put Cullen in any awkward danger.

He held his hands against her back, the fingers digging into her exhausted muscles and he gazed down at her. "I never want to let you go," he whispered so softly, his eyes closed tight, she wondered if he meant to keep it to himself.

"That would make eating difficult," Lana said while watching to see how he'd react to her hearing his words.

Cullen chuckled but didn't break his hold upon her. His eyes rolled open but there was only contentment in them, "Sadly true." No accusing her of being blood mage, no sudden questions if she could read his mind through some other forbidden magics. She'd known how tight of a line she walked with him in the deep roads. A templar being shown the full potential of a mage let off her lead, it was dangerous for her. But she'd needed him, needed a templar, so she shrugged off the panicked looks upon her casting amplified spells. Or when he kept his fingers wrapped around the knife's hilt after her bad dream. And now, he suffered the indignity of someone like Pavus as if a magister were little more than a hangnail.

"I am surprised you put up with Dorian. A tevinter mage no less."

Cullen pinched his lips together in thought, "He's insubordinate to an infuriating degree, but proven that he's devoted to assisting our cause."

Parting her fingers through his forehead, Lana drew across the wrinkles staining his brow. She lifted them up causing his eyebrows to rise in fake surprise. Underneath them the scowl broke, even the pain etched under his eyes and around his mouth seemed diminished. "You have changed," she stuttered.

"I..." Cullen's eyes dipped down to his feet, "I know that I was...I cannot ask for forgiveness for what I did. The anger, Maker, the hatred."

Lana cupped his cheek and his eyes flickered to meet her. She smiled, "People, not problems."

"People," he agreed. "Though you can cause problems." Cullen sighed, rolling his eyes from whatever else the tevinter mage saddled him with.

Burrowing her fingers into the gap of his armor, she hooked an arm around his muscled back and pulled herself higher to meet him. Lana trailed kisses along his jawline. The stubble scratched her lips, but she didn't mind knowing that she'd savor that particular burn later. Taking extra care to lavish attention upon that little divot in his chin, she paused to whisper, "You have no idea how many."

His body trembled from the hunger in her voice. She should stop it, rein herself in as she always did, but sod common sense. Sod duty, the order, and every other weight hanging off her neck. All she wanted right then in that moment was him. Cullen seemed to be of the same opinion. He kissed down her neck, the warm breath alighting her skin against the creeping frost. Pushing back that infernal high collar with his pinkie, he continued the trail lower, savoring every inch of her skin as if they were stumbling kids sharing each other's bodies for the first time. Lana rose up on her tiptoes, steadying herself as he dipped even lower.

"Oh! Oh, Maker! Sorry, I didn't realize there was anyone over here."

Lana wiped away her light, casting them both into darkness. Her eyes snapped over at not a soldier, but what looked to be one of the merchants out for a night stroll. He was dressed in traveling leathers far too light for the mountainous weather. "That's quite all right," Lana said. She kept her hands pinned tight to Cullen holding him in place against her chest. It was doubtful the merchant had any idea who she was, but he'd be certain to recognize the commander.

"Having a bit of fun away from prying eyes, eh?" the man snickered. "Say no more, say no more. I'll just leave you two to it then." He slipped backwards on his heels, sliding deeper into the shadows. It wasn't until she lost sight of his face that Lana released her grip on Cullen. The commander glared at the retreating form, but a burn scarred up the back of his neck.

"I'm doing fantastic at this," he muttered under his breath while scrubbing his face with his fingers.

"Uh huh," Lana said, her eyes still upon the nondescript man trying to blend back in with the rest of Skyhold. Cullen followed her gaze, then turned a question upon her. She twisted her head, "A merchant, wandering the battlements alone at night expecting this broken section to be empty."

As the information dawned on him, Cullen rolled his eyes, "He's a blighted spy. Great."

"I can tell Leliana in the morning, assuming she isn't already aware," Lana continued to watch the man she'd painted in her mind. Before her flare sputtered out she got a good look at his face and a memorable scar bisecting up the cheek. Even a beard could not hide it.

"And in the meantime he'll do who knows how much damage, gather all the secrets he can, and pass them on to his contacts. Whoever they are," Cullen sneered again, the hammer finding a new nail.

That was what he was best at, the unstoppable force, finding an immediate threat and ending it. But she'd seen this kind of subterfuge before, ran into it on more than few occasions in Amaranthine. The best response was to tag the man, watch to see where his dead drops were, then move to intercept. Anything else wasted possible opportunities to smoke out others. And yet, Cullen's approach felt so much simpler and satisfying.

Lana ran her fingers down his arm to slip them into his hand. He broke from his mental list of all the ways to punish the spy due to her touch. "Leliana can handle it," Lana whispered. "It will be easier if I mention running into him on the way to my room. You grabbing your sword and intercepting him would raise questions."

"True," he admitted, but she still saw the glint in his eye. "I would leave it in her capable hands either way." At Lana's curious smirk, he added, "I do have some control over my actions."

"Speaking of..." Lana patted her side, the pain redoubling as the last of her draught drifted out of her system, "sleep sounds a wonderful option right now."

Cullen cupped her hands inside of his, "I would still make good on my earlier offer."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, commander," Lana said. She took his extended arm the way an elderly woman would cling to her helpful grandchild as they stepped down the battlements and onto the courtyard. Few paid them any attention, their own pallets filled for the night, but a couple soldiers saluted as Cullen passed. He'd return it, ask if all was well, then continue guiding his platonic associate past them. It wasn't until they rounded into the great hall that she dared to slip closer to him. No one moved among the empty tables stretched along the runners. Every fifth candle was lit, the flame low and bobbing from the winds of their passing. It cast dark shadows against the scaffolding, and drew the eyes upwards towards the inches of moonlight cresting through the roof. Skyhold was quiet.

By the time they got to her door, Lana ached to curl up under the covers and not rise until she was finally rid of this blasted wound. Cullen dropped her hands and awkwardly twisted his body up in an uncertain knot. His hand ruffled through the back of his hair, knocking the not-curls forward.

"Something on your mind?" Lana asked. Maker, with a flush upon his cheeks and those deep set eyes dancing into hers, then away out of fear, he was a man who could steal any heart he wanted. How were there not declarations of war for his hand?

"I was wondering, wanted to ask you about a thing that I noticed. Your card game with the Inquisitor."

"And Hawke," Lana prompted.

"Yes, her too." Cullen smiled and finally settled in her eyes to say, "I saw your hand."

Lana feigned a mock outrage but internally her mind screamed, "That's cheating, commander."

"I wasn't involved in the game, it can't be cheating if I have no stake in the game," he scoffed, but those piercing eyes softened for a moment as he remeasured his morality. "You...you could have won," he pointed out the obvious.

"True," Lana bobbed her head, her eyes focusing just below his.

"Why?"

Her mind reeled to find an excuse, anything to explain why she did it. "I rather doubt Hawke or the Inquisitor were serious. Hawke is never serious," Lana smiled, but she knew it wasn't reaching her eyes. "To take command of the Inquisition now given all he's accomplished, all those who've pledged to him, it's preposterous."

His fingers knotted through hers and she sighed from the contact dragging her back. "You could have..."

Lana raised an eyebrow at him and walled up her fear behind sarcasm, "Suddenly, you seem eager for me to take up the mantle. I didn't realize you bore that particular hunger for my ordering you around."

Instead of blushing, he sighed at her and was not about to rise to the bait, "Lana, you just spotted that spy as an afterthought. You'd make an excellent leader, you always have."

_Right, an excellent leader who got everyone under her command brainwashed, kidnapped, or worse. The kind of leader who ran from her duty when no one was left. If it weren't for Hawke..._ Lana pulled on Cullen's hands and knotted them around her back. His eyes dipped in confusion, but he didn't fight her. The chill of the night nipped against her cheek as she placed it against the armor over his chest. "I'm tired of all that. Tired of being distant, being..." she dug harder into him, her fingers rubbing circles along his back, "untouchable."

Stubble roughed up her forehead as Cullen placed his chin against her. "I suppose I can understand."

Clinging together overlooking the garden, a thousand unspoken conversations rose up between them. Conversations they needed to have. Lana knew it, but she feared to put a single voice to them because she also knew exactly how it would all end. This was a fool's dream, but it was a nice one.

Cullen's lips kissed her forehead, drawing her out of her reverie. Sliding away from his warm embrace, a yawn struggled out of Lana's throat. "Sleepier than I anticipated," she said, then blocked off a second with her hand.

Her fingers knotted around the handle and she pushed open the door to her room. The abandoned candle sputtered on the desk, her book still open from when Hawke dragged her away. Warmth percolated through the room, calling her to it.

"Good evening, commander," Lana said. She picked up Cullen's hand and gently kissed the glove. Perhaps not the wisest of decisions as they tasted of oil, leather, and the grime coating Skyhold's walls.

Cullen chuckled at the move, then he dipped down and scooped her up for one last kiss. His arms knotted around her waist, lifting her higher as they attempted to devour each other. Before any other spies could accidentally wander in, he placed her down. With a twinkle in his eye, he said, "Sleep well, Lady Amell."

## Chapter Eight

**Sparring**

The smell of sweat slicked off brows onto the grass below, the sound of metal bashing into metal or meat, the burst of energy riding the wind from combatants revealing each other's weak points. Lana forgot how much she missed sparring. As the warden commander, her job was to watch the warriors train the others. It wasn't as if a mage could offer up much by way of suggestion for how best to stick someone with a sword. _Use the pointy end and try to not get stabbed._ And, she was supposed to be the intellectual one, jotting down notes and paging through books, not neck deep in the blood and muck while rain pounded from the skies watching two of her own square off.

But, by the Maker, did her blood pump while she sat perched upon a stack of straw bales watching an Inquisition soldier try and pummel the hell out of Hawke. "Keep your arm up," Lana shouted.

Hawke spun around, dodging the man's shield and spraying the audience with mud from her extended sword. "Arm schmarm! I've got this!" her cousin shouted. She'd stripped off her armor for what ladies and gentlemen in imposing masks would probably call indecent, displaying her scarred and imposing muscles for the world to see. It wasn't that Hawke wasn't lady like, she merely followed her own definition of lady. One that involved hitting things often. Hawke snorted at the indignity of Lana's involvement and the cold of the mountain crystalized her breath giving her the impression of a bull about to charge. Her opponent, a well meaning kid who was honored to fight the Champion of Kirkwall, mightily wet himself.

Lana chuckled and shouted, "I wasn't talking to you!"

Laughing as if throwing open the void itself, Hawke lunged at the kid. He tried to twist away, but her blade whacked him in the back sending him skittering into the mud ass over end. His foot hung suspended above his head, the sword long lost in the pit that began as dirt. "That's mine!" Hawke cried while slotting her greatsword back where it belonged. With the match over, the terrifying hell beast slipped back onto its leash leaving behind only the friendly and overbearing woman. Hawke grabbed both arms around the bruised and battered man so she could haul him up. She tried to rub off the mud on his uniform, but only smudged it up more.

"Th..th...thanks?" he stuttered. Hawke still held him slightly suspended off the ground, his toes paddling against thin air, and Lana suspected she wasn't even aware.

"No problem, you did good. Not like defeat an invasion good, but you didn't trip and impale yourself on your sword. That's always a plus," Hawke tried to whisper to the kid but her voice echoed through the training ground. A dozen spectators huddled around. They'd begun the day with none, but as word of the Champion of Kirkwall spread, so did the attention.

Leaning on the bale beside Lana was Varric. The dwarf sighed from his friends eternal exuberance over hitting things. He agreed to play arbiter and probably had some coin riding on the outcome, always in Hawke's favor. Yanking up his dagger, Varric put another notch on the board. "That's Hawke 15, Inquisition 1."

"I still say it shouldn't count," Hawke shouted back. "Some damn bird flies past and drops a turtle on my head? That's not part of any fancy fighting routine you can practice."

Varric parted his hands, "I don't make the rules."

"Sure, sure," Hawke grinned at her old friend, then wiped at her face. Below the mud fresh bruises percolated waiting to bloom to their full glory, but the woman didn't care. Didn't seem to even feel the pain as she flexed her arms. "Who's up for the next round?"

"How about me." Hawke turned to the source of the voice and paled at the massive grey skinned man stepping towards her. Leaping over the log barrier of the muddied field, he wiped his fingers along his horns to remove any grease and unsheathed his own greatsword.

Her eyes narrowed at him and she glared into his one eye, "You Qunari?"

"Yup," he said.

"You know I killed a lot of you in Kirkwall? A lot a lot of you. Killed your Arishok too." Hawke spat back. The two of them began to circle like a pair of dogs about to fight or fuck. For the sake of nightmares, Lana prayed it would only be the former. Hearing about Anders was bad enough.

"Yup," the Qunari said, "Got another one though."

Lana cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "I know him!"

That caught the Qunari's attention and his good eye focused on the tiny mage reclining above the sparring yard. It took her awhile to climb up the pile of straw bales, but it was the best seat in the house. "You, a mage, know the Arishok."

Lana smirked and folded her hands across her chest, "More than know. I'm the one who gave him his soul back. Shit, did that sound dirty? I didn't mean it to sound that way."

The Qunari smiled wide, "I do know you. The Kadan Warden. The stories they tell of you in Seheron..."

"All true," Lana interrupted.

"Even the one with the dragon, blood mage, and you bare breasted--"

Varric shot up and shouted, "That one I can vouch for."

"What? No you can't," Lana glared down at him.

The dwarf twisted around to look up at her, "It's part of the narrative structure. You have to admit that one's especially true for the sake of the joke."

"Even if nothing like that remotely happened?"

"Especially then," Varric grinned. He yanked one of his drinks from out of the straw bale and tipped it back. Lana shook her head at the storyteller and occasional archer. They hadn't not gotten on during their adventure, but they weren't exactly close either. Nowhere near as close as he was to Hawke; that was an inexplicable bond that only death could cut.

"Hey! If we're done talking about who did what naked, I've got a reputation to maintain," Hawke whined. "Are you in, or not?"

The Qunari grinned wide and spun to face her, "With pleasure."

"Better be careful there, Tiny. Hawke don't play too nice with oxmen."

Tiny, or whatever his real name was, smiled wide at Hawke while he shouted at Varric, "Don't worry, I'll be gentle."

"Oh, gentle, you overgrown lump of overcooked oatmeal!" Hawke lashed out at him first, her fist shattering into his jaw. Tiny danced back to avoid the recoil of her blade, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid her other fist. Blood trickled from a split lip and his tongue lashed out to lap it up. From the other side of the ring, Hawke paused and extended her hand. Tipping her head, she made the 'come here' motion.

Tiny threw his head back and laughed, "I'm gonna enjoy this." He roared, then lunged for Hawke, his horns extended like a proper charging bull. The wise thing would have been to dodge out of the way. It's what Lana would have done after she threw a couple fireballs. But Hawke stood her ground, which threw off the qunari. Mid-dash, he twisted to the side, and Hawke struck with her sword, but the man was fast enough to smash his blade against hers. The clang reverberated through the entire courtyard, even the mud puddles rippled.

"Still playing gentle?" Hawke grinned at him.

"Hm," Tiny whipped his arm back in a great arc to bring his blade down across Hawke's skull, "no!" The Champion met him again, but the block was slower than it should have been.

Still, cocky Hawke was a feature. "Good," she hissed as the two began their deadly dance. Lana leaned forward, drawn by the action, when she heard a soft squeak upon the stairs beside her. Spinning her head quickly, she spotted the madam ambassador's clipboard hovering upon the staircase. Josephine gasped a few "Oh My's" as Hawke and Tiny each took a swing at each other.

"Got any bets on who will be victorious?" Lana asked the wan diplomat.

"I hadn't put much thought into...they're likely to injure themselves doing that!" Josephine cried, her clipboard covering her face. Lana turned back to watch Hawke and her new qunari friend head butting each other. Or trying to. It wasn't working so well in either case as both kept meeting at the same time, then dodging out of the way. Hawke bashed her nose into Tiny's horn and he practically threw himself over her shoulder.

"Scars earn the best drinks," Lana quoted from one of Varric's tales. He heard it and raised his drink at the mage.

"My Lady," Josephine spoke to draw Lana's attention. "I wonder if I might not have a word with you?"

With her eyes fixed upon Hawke, Lana spoke out of the side of her mouth, "Go ahead. I doubt anyone will be watching us."

"Yes, I..." Josephine swallowed as blood sprayed across the yard.

"It's just a flesh wound!" Hawke shouted before she inflicted the same upon Tiny.

Lana's eyes danced away from her cousin to the ambassador. Her skin looked paler than usual, her mouth gawping for air. At the sound of bone meeting bone, she grimaced and fanned her face. _Not the type to enjoy these fights._ Lana turned to her, "You do not need to watch. We can speak another time if..."

"No, no," Josephine looked away from the spectacle and regained her balance, "The advisers met recently. As you know we have intelligence on Corypheus' plans to take Celine's life and throw Orlais into chaos."

Lana folded up her arms. Officially no, she didn't actually know that. But Leliana wasn't about to keep something like that away from her, and most of the hold seemed aware anyway. It wasn't exactly secret knowledge, though they were a bit more guarded in how the Inquisitor learned it. Behind her she heard the qunari scream, "Gah! Mud in my eye!"

"Andraste's ass, do I hate that," Hawke answered back. Lana turned back in time to watch her cousin knee the giant in the face. How did he even fall?

"Celene is attention a ball soon to solve the civil war crisis. We intend to infiltrate it in order to warn her about Corypheus' assassination plans," Josephine continued, unaware of the epic fight she kept dragging Lana from.

"Good, I guess," Lana said. "I assume we will scope out the Western Approach after then." She was keen to break free of Skyhold and bring justice to the ones that struck her people. But she also knew this wasn't her keep and she had to play by his rules.

"Yes, that is the Inquisitor's intent, but I came to speak to you about the ball at the Winter Palace," Josephine continued.

Something in her tone drug Lana away from watching Tiny lift Hawke up by her leg. "What does this have to do with me?"

"We have an interesting development," Josephine yanked out a small scrap of parchment and dangled it before Lana's eyes. "It seems that it is common practice for the Empress of Orlais to personally invite you to every ball she attends."

"Ah, I forgot about that," Lana snatched up the familiar vellum marked with the seal she grew tired of finding a polite way to respond to with 'not if all of thedas was about to be swallowed into a dark pit.' "Thank you for accepting my mail, but..." her thoughts trailed off as she realized why Josephine and the other advisers suddenly cared about her social life or lack there of. "You want me to attend the ball."

"Corypheus knows of the Inquisition, his people will watch ours, but you are an unknown quantity. Leliana has kept your existence within Skyhold a secret."

"And it's not as if they can take away my magic," Lana said, twisting the card around in her fingers. She'd attended three balls in Ferelden; a coronation, an anniversary of ending the blight, and a wedding. After the last, she made herself too busy with her warden duties to bother fishing out dancing shoes.

"You would be a great asset," Josephine continued to try and flatter her.

Lana's eyes shifted to the diplomat, "And your Inquisitor approves of this?"

For a moment she faltered, just a barest hint of an argument flashing across her face. Most wouldn't have even caught it, but Lana expected it. "He considers it wise to 'stack the deck' given the unknowns."

A scream echoed through the ring so high pitched Lana expected to whip back and find Hawke impaled upon the qunari's horns. Instead, the Champion was somehow perched upon his back, both arms wrapped around said horns. She was trying to steer Tiny like a ship around the arena. "Eeee!" Hawke screamed again, having the time of her life.

"What about Hawke?" Lana tipped her head to the 6' 5" woman caked in mud and bruises literally riding a qunari.

"Ah," Josephine stuttered anew, "she is a wonderful warrior, but given the thoughts in Orlais of the Champion and her relation to the rebellion, it is..."

"I was kidding, Josephine," Lana chuckled. "She is one hell of a dancer though. Orlais' loss, I suppose."

"Leliana did stress that if you are not up to your full potential, you may bow out. She will not risk you for the Orlesian court."

Lana patted her side. The flesh stung from the attack, but it didn't crumple up her stomach or twist up her brain until nausea settled in. "I believe I am in as best of fighting form as we can hope for. So, yes, I will attend this little dance of the Empress'."

"It's actually being thrown by Lady Floriene, sister to Duke Gaspard..."

Lana tried not to roll her eyes as every little notch of Orlesian history was recited to her by the ambassador. Instinctively she knew it was important, and that she best learn all she could before. Not smiling or frowning at the right fancy pants lord would get her into trouble, especially in Orlais. But it all sounded like the time in Vigil's Keep when the piss boy stepped on the stable hands foot. They shot dirty looks for a week, came to awkward blows, and then to everyone's relief, finally kissed.

"Oh," Lana smacked her forehead, halting Josephine's droning, "I'll probably need to wear something other than..." she pulled at her vest and padded down the crumpled shirt, "this."

Josephine's eyes glittered, "Do not concern yourself, I know of the perfect garment for you."

"So fast?" Lana shook her head. Then again, throw a few frills on someone's mage robes and she could pass as fancied up enough to be the Hero of Ferelden. People didn't expect her in some brocade couture, they wanted gleaming armor and darkspawn heads on spikes.

She turned back to the sparring, but the two combatants seemed to have reached their own epic climax. Buried in the mud upon one knee, Hawke blinked against the mud in her eyes while Tiny wiped down his own blood across his chest. The pair panted, eyeing each other up, but grateful for the break.

"By the void, what's all this noise?" A new voice entered the ring, and Lana whipped her head up as Cullen stepped up to the log fence. "Hawke, Bull? Maker's breath, I thought you were mutilating nugs out here."

"We're just..." Hawke panted, "having a bit of fun."

"Yeah, commander," the Qunari slapped his chest and lifted his blade. "Fun." Hawke grinned at him, and answered in kind.

"Fun? You've destroyed the sparring ring. It's a mud hole!" Cullen chastised them, but they kept glaring their own personal madness at the other.

"You telling us to stop?" the Qunari asked.

Cullen folded up his arms and leaned back on his heel, "No, I want to see how this ends."

"Hey, Cullen," Hawke jerked her chin at the commander, "you wanna fight the winner?" Then she leaped into the air, her greatsword extended high over her head. Tiny threw his own sword to the ground and his free arms grabbed onto Hawke's hips. He thought he could hold her extended above his head out of reach, but the woman was too long. She swung the blunted edge hard against his back, but the Qunari didn't drop her. Instead, he ran his fingers up and down her sides, tickling the mighty warrior to death.

"Oh!" Hawke giggled, "I am going to, ha ha ha, kill you!" She kept hacking her sword against him while fighting through the tickles. The Qunari took each blow with aplomb but even he couldn't stand it forever. Now it was a matter of wearing the other down like water against a mountain. Lana glanced away from the two of them to watch Cullen smirking at the sight. He softly shook his head at the display and chuckled. _Maker, what she wouldn't give to watch him spar in the ring._

"Lady? My Lady?"

"What?" Lana broke away from the man she mentally stripped to face Josephine.

"I was saying that on top of your attire, you will also require an escort."

"Oh?"

"But I believe I know an exemplary candidate," Josephine smiled. Lana turned back to the commander now inspecting Hawke's winning tally. They had yet to make good on that mauling she began in her room. What better place to light the romance than a ball by starlight?

A grunt from the combatants echoed through the courtyard and both Tiny and Hawke collapsed on top of each other. Mud splattered nearly four feet high into the air, then the groaning began.

"That's it, we're calling it a tie," Hawke shouted. She lay upon her back stretched across the Qunari's trembling side.

His face buried in mud, he had to wipe it away from his nose to snort out, "Agreed."

Varric clucked his tongue, then added a new row to his leader board and one tic mark under Tie. "You're slipping in your old age," he called out.

"Bite me, dwarf," Hawke shouted.

Cullen watched human and qunari help each other rise to their feet before jerking his chin and asking, "Does this mean I have to fight both of them?"

## Chapter Nine

**Arriving**

Officially, the Hero of Ferelden never came to Orlais, her duties keeping her confined within the kingdom of her namesake. With Clarel watching on one side and an Empire more than happy to exploit her connection with the gentry on the other, she was happy to contain her movements. Officially. A few trips in and out of the country never had any reason to go noticed by those in power, especially when she kept to the deep roads. Now she had no choice but to break even that narrow rule.

Fireworks burst over the skies of the Winter Palace, the green and yellow tendrils dripping through the air as they reached for the countryside. A few of the nobles paused in their pecking order to glance up at the extravagance but the servants bustling around them pinning outfits in place and buffing up masks paid it no heed. The staging area before the grand entrance reeked of expensive oils and desperation. Lana moved towards the steps when her skirts snagged under her buckled shoes. Black as pitch, cracked gems glittered off the surface of her slippers like distant stars. A gift from Leliana. The heel was modest and unlikely to offer up too much resistance should the night go the way she was prepared for, not that she wasn't beyond throwing them out of the way at the first sign of trouble. It was the skirts that were giving her trouble.

She'd expected Josephine to haul out a more ruffled version of one of the five dresses worn throughout the streets of Orlais, but the ambassador continued to surprise her. Lana wore a corset with a straight neckline decorated in hand-stitched leathers of black and red cut to mimic scales. She had a pair of arm guards wrapped around her biceps, each baring a tiny red and black leather wing. To complete the illusion of the Hero of Ferelden dressed as an archdemon, it wasn't a black or red skirt wrapped around her legs but translucent silks of orange, reds, and yellows undulating in a haphazard fashion. Sheer on their own, the silks overlapped enough to hide away her skin. To the unsuspecting, the Hero of Ferelden appeared like a dragon that just breathed fire upon itself. Josephine had included an underskirt to fluff it out, but Lana managed to yank that away from the servants. She didn't need to be snagging her skirts across every tight corner. The corset unfortunately was a size too large, which Lana became increasingly aware of as another pin stabbed her in the side. That was survivable, it was the long skirts that concerned her more. At an inch too long and trying to drag through the mud she was likely to trip and fall if she wasn't careful, but due to the ethereal fabric there was no way to hem them. Her hands, emptied of any staff, were destined to spend the entire night holding her skirts away from her shoes.

Lana shivered thanks to her exposed shoulders and arms bumping heads with the night winds. Getting inside was preferable to freezing to death in the courtyard from the creeping cold. Starting a fire would only draw more attention to the mage hidden amongst them like a snake in the grass. Most people from a distance would chuckle at her ensemble. _Ah, a dragon, how droll being worn upon such a small woman._ Then they'd draw close and notice the scars bisecting her shoulders and arms. That's when the chuckles drifted off to impolite stares and gasps. For being proud of their game, the Orlesian gentry seemed immune to making complete jackasses of themselves when truly surprised.

What she needed was to get through the gates, hole up somewhere away from prying eyes, and wait for a signal from the Inquisitor. But _he_ had to get his ass over to her first. Lana cracked her neck absentmindedly and the lady beside her started from the sound. She smiled at the terrified woman, which only startled her more. _Maker_ , Lana tapped her well shod toe, _where was he?_

"Excuse me, pardon, begging your rather ample backside..." the voice flitted through the sea of finery until Josephine's noble escort popped out.

"Lord Whitley," Lana sighed. If one took a toad and crossed it with a nug you'd get an unholy abomination and also the closest approximation to Lord Whitley's appearance. He wasn't particularly ugly in the classic sense, but from the way his eyes flitted to the edges and his tongue lapped against his lips when he was approximating thought it was natural to fear Whitley was about to gobble up flies. The man was some distant cousin of the Empress so unloved by the family they somehow kept losing his invitation. But his blood was blue enough he could pass on the Hero of Ferelden's arm, or so Josephine assured her. At the moment, Lana placed the odds of him surviving to the steps at 3:1 and fading fast.

"Ah, my Lady, you are ravishing by moonlight," he pinched his eyes together and stepped closer, "I think. Never you matter, I had a delightful talk with the Duke over there. Seems he has plans to open up an iron ore trade with..."

"I do not care," Lana interrupted.

"Oh, what about...?"

"You are a means to an end, as am I for your 'deals.' Let us get this over quickly before my arms frost over," she sighed while rubbing her fingers along her shoulders.

"I could offer some assistance in that--" his grubbing fingers reached out for her skin and Lana slapped both away. She narrowed her eyes at him, but he shrugged, "I'm only trying to help; you don't have to tear my head off for it."

_I will do more than tear your head off, you little toad._ She hoped that Josephine was unaware Whitley was the type of man to call her 'a chocolate morsel' and expect to survive the night. If not, she needed to keep a closer eye on the ambassador. Lana flexed her fingers, willing the fire spell away from them. She had far bigger dragons to slay tonight.

"Come," picking up her skirts, she clipped quickly towards the steps of the Winter Palace. Whitley scurried behind her, shouting immaterial tripe about how important the point of his existence was, but she shook it off. Shoving through the gate, anger drove away the vision of the hallway before her. It was probably very elegant and tasteful, with tapestries and other things people hung in their palaces to impose upon others with the same decorating sense. All Lana saw was a red haze burrowing in the back of her brain warning her to control her temper. While the nobles might enjoy a few fireworks here and there, a true unleashing of magic would send them all scampering to the winds, blowing whatever the plan was for the night. It would have been nice for her to have been included in a moment or two of it at least.

When she approached the mahogany door to the ballroom, Lana had managed to talk herself down to a calm. She hadn't seen any sign of the Inquisition for a few days, having taken her own horse and joined with another caravan of nobles bound for the Winter Palace. Hopefully they were already in place, or were about to arrive. Lana paused and snickered. It would be her luck that something changed mid-stream and they were off fighting Corypheus on the other edge of thedas while she diddled about with canapés and Orlesians.

"Madam." The palace's herald approached her and extended his scroll. Jabbing a finger at the list, he coughed from below his mask, unable to make any useful body language to tell her what he wanted. _Maker, what was with this blighted country?_ In Ferelden, you just shouted you arrived, then ran off to see what was left on the meat table. Lana was probably supposed to have servants to handle such things, but she leaned over and whispered her name into his ear. He sniffed at her lack of decorum and seemed unperturbed at her name until he found her entry. That narrow patch of face visible below the porcelain nose paled so white she feared she might have to catch him. He coughed a few times, checked to make certain that wasn't some grave insult to her, then gestured she get in line.

Gathering up the fire skirts, Lana slipped behind a pair of women in matching emerald dresses. People lined the battlements along the dance floor. There was probably a more impressive term for the floors overlooking them bound back by railing, but she couldn't shake the thought of a condemned prisoner walking past rows of archers lining to take the kill shot. A few guards stood watch over the stairs, but nowhere near as many as she'd expected. Most of the guests mingled among themselves on the top floors. Despite their positions along the not-battlements, somehow every eye twisted around to watch the entrance, all to size up and pounce upon anyone who'd fallen down the pecking order. Jutting out her chest, Lana stared up at the chandelier hovering above the dance floor and fixed her face with grim determination.

"You have to take my arm," Whitley slipped close to her, his elbow knocking her in the side.

"Why?"

"It's tradition," he said nudging into her chest again as if she were an underripe fruit.

Growling under her breath, Lana touched his arm with only two of her fingers. She couldn't bring herself to get any closer. Whitley smiled at her and turned to gaze out at the proceedings himself.

"Should be a grand night," he whistled. "Your first time?" _And yours_ , Lana mouthed under her breath but she was out of patience for the man and wanted this done with. Even speaking to him seemed a waste of strength. "Don't worry," the toad had the audacity to pat her arm, "I'll keep watch over you."

"Maker, give me strength," she muttered audibly, tipping her head back.

"Presenting Lady Solona Amell," the herald's voice boomed over the murmuring crowd. Her name didn't even warrant a skip in the small talk, the din rising in volume. Gathering up her skirts, Lana began the walk down the stairs with Whitley trailing beside her. The herald continued to read from the list of accomplishments Josephine gave him, "Arlessa of Amaranthine." That drew a few curious stares from the crowd. With a shore upon the Waking Sea, Amaranthine often did trade with Orlais and other neighboring city-states.

The herald coughed, and in a voice tinged with respect and pants-wetting awe he hollered, "Hero of Ferelden, conquerer of the Blight, and Warden Commander of the forces in Ferelden."

With a crash, the sea of whispers stilled to a dead drop leaving only silence in the waves. Lana kept her head held high as she crossed in front of every eye in the empire watching her, waiting to see what this mage only legends and tavern songs spoke of would do. She made it another five steps before the wave returned, people pointing in awe and surprise at the tiny woman out of myth crossing their ballroom floor. The herald continued to drone on with Whitley's meager accomplishments, but no one paid him any heed, their focus glared upon her. Lana paused at the landing and turned her head up to the imposing woman in the sapphire dress. For a brief second Lana wanted to ask her how she fit through doors, but she bit it back. _Maker_ , her legs wobbled under the fire skirts. She wasn't good with nobility. The only one she ever had to deal with was Alistair and he put up with her brand of brashness because he had no choice. As did the rest of the royalty in Ferelden seeing as how she was the one who kept them in non-blighted lands. It made all of this pomp and circumstance much easier.

"You do us much honor with your presence, Hero of Ferelden," Empress Celene bobbed her head.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lana caught Whitley go stark white and try to bend at the waist. She caught the idea and curtsied deeply. "The honor is all mine, your majesty."

"We are curious, what drove you to accept our invitation after all these years?"

"Peace concerns us all, your highness, even the wardens," Lana lied through her teeth.

Celene blinked from below her mask. She turned briefly to the woman beside her. This second one spoke at the Empress' silent command, "And which way does the Warden's favor attend?"

"Whichever way brings safety to the lands of Orlais and southern thedas," Lana shouted out, then she tacked on, "my lady."

The woman sneered, but Celene chuckled, "A most careful answer. Please, enjoy the evening. We hope you find it satisfactory."

"I am certain I will, your highness," Lana curtsied again then headed for the stairs. People parted from her as if she carried the plague, women dragging upon the cuffs of men so they'd scurry out of her way. Whether it was because Lana was Ferleden, a warden, or a mage, she ignored all the panicked gasps and tried to get a sense for the landscape. The ballroom was about as gilded and silk encrusted as she'd expected, but fewer people than she anticipated circled around the area. Lana touched her face feeling naked with her bare skin on display. Twenty masks glanced towards her direction, each porcelain facade measuring her up.

Whitley yanked a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his brow. "They tell me you are a mage," he tried to strike up a conversation with her. Why he was still following her she had not a clue.

"Is the they you mentioned named common sense?" Lana shot back. She whipped her head around; a familiar antivan accent broke above the conversation wave but she couldn't see Josephine. What Lana wouldn't give for Hawke's height right about now. Or her crowd clearing abilities.

"A quick tongue on you," the toad grinned. Lana's shoulders stiffened from the familiarity in his voice. She didn't respond, only continued to hunt through the crowd for a friendly face. "I have a passing fascinating with the arcane arts. Do tell me, have you found in your particular travels a way to create a love potion?"

Lana's posture snapped to steel as she turned upon the man. "A love potion?" her voice was pure ice, daring him to continue.

"Or spell. You know, something to increase the amorous affections from one in another. Think of the possibilities," Whitley grinned as if he'd stumbled into the next great idea to make him rich and put him in what he considered his deserved standing.

Despite being shorter, Lana loomed over the man speaking without a clue, "A love spell? You wish to alter a person's mind fully against their own wishes for your menial means?"

"For the sake of romance, of course."

"Ah," she lifted her head away in understanding, "yes. I know of what you speak. That is called blood magic and unless you want the chantry to strip you of every title you hold I would refrain from drawing upon this love potion concept of yours." Whitley squeaked from the threat of her barred teeth. Withering lower to the floor, he murmured something about the dangers of blood magic and how he was only postulating, of course. There was no possible chance he'd dare have anything to do with blood magic or its heathen ways. Lana smoothed down her hackles as best she could by turning away from the man. It was amazing he'd survived past his fortys with a flapping tongue attached to so little brain. The Orlesian nobility must think so little of him he's not even worth cannibalizing.

"Pardon, madame," a servant gently prodded into her arm. "Would you care for one?"

Lana slipped a smile on and reached for the plate when the smell smashed into her gut. Orange wedges decorated with candied cloves sat upon a leafy vegetable. The fist bundling up her skirts dug in deeper, pain keeping her grounded to the here and now. She tried to slide away politely, when Whitley scooped up one of the treats and bit into it. Orange acid and the juice splattered through the air to plop across Lana's cheek and every ounce of control in her body shattered. Panic clawed up from her gut with tendrils through her chest, each finger knocking against every one of her ribs until it wrapped around her throat and squeezed like a garrote.

She stumbled back from the smell, gasping to find fresh air, but the anxiety rattling in her brain wouldn't leave. People pressed around her, people who could split in half with a demon's claws. Intestines spilled upon the ground, blood splattering into the mud like gristly raindrops, and all around it the smell of oranges. Throwing her hand over her mouth, Lana ran for any direction she could find. She couldn't offer excuses, just dropped down her shoulder and barreled through the highest nobility Orlais had to offer. Rounding through a pair of doors, the night air stung her cheeks and froze the sweat percolating across her forehead. She stumbled into a banister and tried to ground herself, to will back the demons knocking about her heart. But it was too late. Bending over, Lana vomited up all the bile in her system over the Winter Palace's balcony. Her inner demons splattered against the ground three stories below her. Shaking and trembling from her shoulders down to her toes, Lana clung tight to the marble banister while the meager food she managed to eat earlier left her. At least no one was directly below; it was a small mercy.

Unfortunately, she wasn't alone on the balcony. "Oh dear, seems the Hero of Ferelden doesn't care for the food."

"Or cares too much for the wine."

"What would you expect from a dog lord?"

There was nothing left in her guts, but she kept her head hanging off the edge in case she was wrong. Cool air washed down her raw throat. She gulped it as if it was a refreshing mountain stream. Slowly, her mind came back from its precarious perch, dragging with it the embarrassing realization of what just happened.

A warm hand ran across her back and she snapped up expecting to find Whitley glowering at her, but she stared deep into amber eyes.

"Are you all right?" Cullen whispered, pressing his face close to hers.

Lana nodded, grateful that it was he who found her and no one else. Then she reared back, aware of the smell upon her breath. "I..." her eyes darted around the other people trying to politely listen in. Whispering in explanation, she gestured to one of the serving trays, "They have oranges here." She doubted he would remember her confession from four years ago, but Cullen blanched. His fingers dug into her shoulders, massaging away the knot she built up in about three seconds.

"Do you need some time?" he whispered.

"No, it's..." Her eyes darted up from the man she wasn't supposed to know to the one she wished she didn't. Whitley stood at the door, another three orange slices in his hand.

"What are you doing?" he shouted, as if concerned another man dared to wrestle in on his claim.

Lana slid back, her behind bumping into the banister. Any further and she'd fall right off the edge to join her meager dinner, but her brain was screaming at her to get away by any means necessary. Cullen turned upon Whitley and sneered, "This woman is ill. Fetch her something to drink. Now."

"I..." his eyes darted from Lana back to the commander who looked about to grab his legs and hurl him off the balcony. "Uh, right away. Sure." He jammed another orange in his mouth and scurried off.

Struggling down a calming breath, Lana returned to those amber eyes. "Thank you."

Cullen's fingers picked back up the massage as he turned his attention fully on her, "Are you okay to continue? If you need a moment or..."

"No, no, I am fine." She swallowed down the panic ringing in every nerve. "Going to have some wonderful nightmares I'm certain." She shrugged through the pain but Cullen grimaced, perhaps aware of a similar outcome in his life. "Maker, I hate oranges." Shaking her head as if that could reset her broken spirit, Lana slapped on smile, "What of the Inquisitor? I have not seen him. It seems my party was delayed outside for longer than others."

"He's investigating some information were received about the servant's quarters. Some disturbance involving halla statues and," Cullen bent low to whisper in her ear, "Venatori."

"Delightful," Lana spoke it with a laugh in her voice, but Cullen caught her true meaning. This wasn't going to be an easy night and it'd already begun on such a high note. His fingers pulsed against her skin three times more, grounding her away from the demons haunting her thoughts and back to the masked ones surrounding them. Her job was to blend in, to overhear what the Inquisition's forces could not and so far all she managed was to make a colossal fool of herself over some fruit. She had no idea what was happening within the machinations behind the scenes, and she wasn't supposed to be talking to the man caressing her birthmark. But she didn't have the strength or will to point that fact out. Andraste's tears, his strong fingers across her skin almost lulled her into a catatonic state. Like drifting away into a warm bath, Lana didn't want him to stop.

"Commander! Here you are!" a woman's high pitched voice screeched through the doors. Cullen's hand slipped off of Lana and he stepped aside, but she didn't miss the scowl knotting up his face.

"Commander," a second woman spoke, her voice even more babyish than the first, "we were so concerned when you vanished. You're missing out on the recent arrival of...Who is this?" Her eyes trailed across Lana and she gave a dismissive snort.

Lana smiled, "A woman of no import, I assure you. Just someone who cannot handle her wine. Thank you for your assistance, Commander Collin."

"Ah, Cullen actually," he said. Lana bobbed her head and she stepped between the two women. Both parted far from her as if terrified she might vomit upon their shoes next. Lana could make their night far worse than they could imagine, but she was in no mood to play their little games. The first thing she needed to find was a drink to clear out her throat, and then it was time she paid her respects to the Empress of Orlais. Word was Celene had a fascination with the arcane arts, and who better to dazzle her than the Hero of Ferelden?

Behind her she heard one of the women coo to the other, "Rather scrappy thing he was playing with, wasn't it?"

"I wouldn't concern yourself. She doesn't even have a mask, no chance he'd affiliate himself with her."

Chuckling under her breath, Lana left Cullen to his own problems.

## Chapter Ten

**The Dance**

Whitley refused to leave her side. He'd managed to scrounge up three drinks from the servants, then tried to get her to consume them all at once. Either the man was truly mad or Cullen's glare withered a section of his brain. Lana paused in thought, the latter seemed likely. No matter how many times she sighed, growled, or elbowed Whitley in the stomach, he would not take a hint and leave her be while they stood in line to greet the Empress. It hadn't moved in over a half hour, but Lana was low on ideas and no one of importance wanted anything to do with her while the toad clung to her metaphorical sleeve.

"Why don't we try a dance or two, my lady?" Whitley moaned for the fifth time.

Lana shook her head, then tried to summon her own glare through his skull. She must not have the same powers as the commander because Whitley shrugged it off and snatched up another canapé off a passing tray. At least it wasn't an orange. Somehow they all mysteriously vanished from the floor. Lana kept a tight watch upon the servants not wishing to repeat her blunder, but sections of the color named fruit were nowhere in sight. Leliana's work?

The floor below them overflowed with the first round of dancers. Skirts frilled out in a defensive posture smashed into each other during turns. Men almost came to blows as a promenade turned into repeated knocks to the back of the head. One couple, so caught up in the twirling, kicked a shoe up into the air where it landed upon the chandelier and remained precariously perched. She'd almost enjoy the spectacle of nobility out playing itself if it weren't for the man clinging to her own skirt like a child the mother never cut off.

A rich voice caught Lana's attention and she turned away from the backs of the line in front of her to spy a woman reclining against the wall. No, not reclining, she leaned as if she owned the entire corner and was only allowing others to share in it. Lana slipped out of line, then turned to Whitley and ordered him to stay put. He pouted, of course, but she didn't have time for him. Rolling her piles of silk up, Lana stepped towards the most noble unnoble in the palace.

"Madam de Fer," she greeted, tipping her head in a modest bow.

"Why, Lady Amell," Vivienne smiled with that viper grin that was never honest and never a lie. "I am surprised to see you attending such a gala. I thought you wardens were more into digging in the ground and things of that nature." Her little posse chuckled from the joke, far more terrified of the First Enchanter turned apostate than some backwater slayer of an archdemon.

Lana smiled at the barb, aware how little it meant. She gestured to the same red frock that she spotted Cullen and later Dorian wearing. "I did not realize that you were working with the Inquisition."

"We all must do our part for...how did you put it? Peace. Such a delightfully quaint speech," Vivienne punctuated each sentence with a jab of a little silver fork rolled between her fingers. No one else in her group seemed to be holding one.

"I'm afraid we don't have elocution lessons in the deep roads. Darkspawn aren't known for their eloquence." A few of Vivienne's entourage chuckled at Lana's joke, but it drifted away as the First Enchanter rose from the wall to knot a hand around the interloper.

"May I ask you a personal question, Lady Amell?" Vivienne said. Her sweet mask slipped away and only the calculating general glittered on her face. Lana bobbed her head despite wanting to keep her personal secrets as far from Vivienne as possible. "Are you aware that your escort, Lord Whitley, has an almost pathetic interest in Duchess Malian?"

Lana's head twisted and she glanced back at the man she'd been trying to rid herself of for the past hour. "You do not say..."

"Oh yes, it's a terribly guarded secret. He lavishes her in flowers, sweets, formal declarations of attention. Practically drowned the poor woman in poetry once. But alas, his station is not so strong as hers." Vivienne's crafty eyes drifted to the side to meet Lana's, "If you hope to keep your most dashing escort away from her, I believe she is camped out in the humidor off the gardens."

She'd never met Madam de Fer before officially, but she'd heard of her. Hard to be a mage in southern thedas and not hear of Vivienne. Lana'd read a few of her books on knight-enchanters and communicated through very formal letters before the circles fell. There was no reason for Vivienne to be offering assistance beyond either despising the man the same as Lana or hating this Duchess Malian even more. "I thank you for your information, Madam de Fer. I will use it to the best of my ability."

Vivienne grinned, slapping back on her invisible mask, "See that you do, dear. Incidentally, given what occurred with the poor fool-hearted rebel mages, it seems you made the right choice in abandoning them all together."

So that was it. Lana heard rumblings of the feud between Vivienne and Fiona which began after the Grand Enchanter elections and simmered over until the rebellion, but she'd never felt love for either of them. As far as she was concerned, her blighted blood kept her out of the circle's business even when it was no longer the circle. Nodding at Madam de Fer, she returned to Whitley. The man was gesticulating at the shoe upon the chandelier and trying to knock it off with his glass.

Lana grabbed his wrist, pinning his arm back behind his head. He tried to throw her off, but she held him fast, her biceps straining against the leather cuffs. After a time, he put his weapon down. She could take the smooth approach to getting rid of the man, slip into conversation about the location of this poor woman, or... "Duchess Malian is located in the humidor off the gardens. Go and annoy her for the rest of the night."

"Malian?" Whitley squeaked, his eyes glazing over like a dog getting his belly scratched. "She's here. At this party. Alone?"

"I don't know if she's...yes, she's alone. In the humidor. Off the gardens. You should go find her. Now," Lana hissed.

Either enough of Cullen's warning remained in that word, or the man's lust broke through the addled part of his brain. Cupping his empty glass to his chest like a baby, he skittered out of line and dashed straight through to the vestibule. Lana about told him it was the other way, but honestly the man lost and wandering the grounds was just as good.

Now to wait alone in a line that seemed to never move. She'd been a great contribution so far to this operation. Lana pinched her nose, wishing she knew anything about Orlesian balls. Her job was to find anything out of the ordinary, but to her it was all odd. The servants kept speaking of food that tasted of emotions. That seemed as if it should be a Venatori thing, but the other Orlesians didn't even bat an eye at the cheese ball of contentment. The fade made more sense than this dance where table were often on the ceiling. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, trying to stretch the muscles in her neck.

A cold chuckle with no mirth rumbled near her ear. Memories of the kokari wilds, crumbling parchment, and a witch's hut pounded against her temples. Lana twisted her head to the side and the blood rushed from her face.

"You always were the type to take the long way around to a problem," Morrigan chuckled. Despite being surrounded by finery, Lana was surprised to find the mage in something other than her rags. Morrigan wasn't the type to do what people expected of her unless she wished it. The dress at least was imposing. Pulling on her glove, she then smoothed down her dress before beaming a yellow glare through Lana.

"I..." Lana started.

"Come," Morrigan waved her hand, "I can get you to Celene, assuming that is what you still wish." Lana stepped out of line with the witch, but Morrigan didn't lead her to the balcony in the far distance where a sapphire dress spun about not intending to speak with anyone. Instead, the witch rounded back through the landing above the dance floor. Whispers followed in their wake, but she was uncertain who drew them.

"What are you doing here?" Lana asked, falling into step beside Morrigan.

"I could ask you the same question. I did not think the Hero of Ferelden ever left those lands."

"It's been a complicated couple of months," Lana said, "but I am glad you are here."

Morrigan's porcelain face cracked and a whisper of a smile broke through, "And I am heartened to see you as well, if only it were under better circumstances."

Lana snorted, "There's no such thing in my life."

"Indeed," the witch slipped beside the banister overlooking the dance floor and gazed down. Normally, this spot was crammed with people watching the dancers waiting for their turn but the section seemed to clear as if by magic, or magical reputation.

"How are you?" Lana asked. She gripped onto the cold marble with her fingers and leaned over. To the world it appeared as if she was enraptured with the dancing, but she kept glancing over at the woman beside her.

Morrigan cast her usual disapproving look over the proceedings. "Curious you show an interest in me given the workings of the world at the moment. But, to answer your question, I am well."

"And your...the boy?" Lana's voice didn't jump; she showed no signs of pain or regret in the question, only honest curiosity.

"He is good, despite his mother's reputation among the members of the court." A few of those members glared daggers at the witch from across the room and Morrigan only stared through them.

"They know then? The court, Celene?"

"That I have a son, the rest...is none of their concern."

Lana nodded, "Smart."

Morrigan's cruel smirk twisted away and she broke from challenging those that dared question her. Those haunting eyes drifted across Lana studying her profile as if she was a curious butterfly about to be pinned to a board. "I admit, you still surprise me."

"Oh? The dress wasn't my idea," Lana said.

"I assumed. Regarding my son, when I proposed my plan to you, I partially expected you to refuse."

Lana broke from her half assed stare across the ballroom to turn and face Morrigan. She was still as beautiful as an ice storm, but a warmness burned behind the pupils of her yellow eyes. Was that her son's doing or time itself? "Why would I refuse?"

"Jealousy, given the circumstances of it. I've found most people become woefully attached to such trivial matters and strike out at any perceived threat to their claim."

"Ah, well, if you remember I no longer had any claim to make at that point," Lana spat out.

"He always was an idiot, that merely cinched the deal," Morrigan said. Lana had to agree with that. She understood at the time, was more heartbroken than she'd thought possible, but she could convince herself he was trying to be kind. But to do it before he even took the damn crown, before they'd defeated the archdemon. It was as if he wanted to enrage her, hoped for her to push him off the tower and end his misery for him.

Morrigan seemed to sense the same thought, "I also feared you would refuse out of a need to strike back against him."

Lana snorted. Even now, when he'd broken her heart anew and into more grisly pieces, she still couldn't hurt him. Not even the way he hurt her. "Do you want to know why I took you up on your request? There were three grey wardens in all of Ferelden. One of us had to survive, had to make sure to reach the archdemon or all of Ferelden maybe even thedas could fall." Lana turned back to gazing over the ballroom. She caught the flash of a red frock coat as the Inquisitor spun about that important woman in white. "It was a simple case of maths."

Morrigan chuckled, "I knew you were practical."

"I try at least," Lana said.

"Well," she leaned closer, "you should know that there are rumblings of an unexplained occurrence in the western wing. Something that would interest the Inquisition greatly."

"Except I'm not with the Inquisition," Lana said.

Morrigan beamed her viper smile at Lana and jerked her chin, "Right, of course not. Just as I am not with the Orlesian court. Still, it would be wise for a person without any associations to look into it." The witch began to slide away from Lana, her gloves running along the banister as if checking it for dirt.

"Morrigan," Lana rose up to face her, "thanks."

She bowed her head, and the yellow eyes flared alive again, "I am only doing my small part." And without any fanfare, the Empress' arcane adviser drifted back into the crowd. Lana could spot her moving through it by the gap in people scrambling to not run into her. Maker only knew what _small part_ Morrigan was playing in all this, but Lana felt more at ease knowing at least she was here. She never had a clue what Morrigan was thinking or even if she was on anyone's side than her own, but as strange as it sounded, she knew she could trust her.

Lana glanced around the crowds, taking new stock on who moved through it. She'd spotted Josephine earlier, who had managed to wall herself off behind five other diplomats all of them comparing notes on how to destroy all of thedas with a single pen stroke. Leliana haunted back and forth around the ballroom, the nightingale singing her own song to charm nobles to the Inquisition's cause. It would probably take her most of the night to flag down her friend, and judging by the urgency in Morrigan's voice there may not be much time. What she needed was...Ah.

She heard the voice sighing above the lull in the ever encroaching din. "No, thank you." Tittering ladies traded elbows as they crowded around the poor man in red backed against the wall. Cullen frowned, massaging his temples, but he couldn't see Lana hidden behind a sea of feathered caplets and complicated wigs.

"Oh, Commander," one of the women giggled her words so terribly she sounded like a mule about to knee a farmer. "You cannot prop up that wall all night."

"I intend to try," he sighed again.

"Come now, one dance will not kill you," another lady spoke up. This one wore one of the filagree masks, but had powder so thick upon her face she may as well have covered it in full. Lana haunted the edges of the group surrounding the commander, unable to find a break in their defenses. Whenever she moved to slip her head through a gap, the women crushed together to block her off. Cullen was too enraptured with staring at the ceiling to notice.

"I'd prefer to not risk it," Cullen snickered. The ladies giggled as if he told the greatest joke in all of thedas which only earned them a slow blink.

_Right, so much for politeness._ Lana cracked into the fade, drawing forth a spattering of energy, nowhere near enough to cause any real damage. She placed her hands next to the women and spread them wide. The women parted like a river meeting a rock and she slipped through them. Both women blinked in shock, struggling to figure out how this insubordinate newcomer snuck into their ranks. Even if they had any sense of magic breaking into the world, her interference was already fading away back to where it came. Lana folded her hands and caught the surprised eye of the commander who must have tasted her magic in the air.

"La...lady, my lady?" he stuttered.

She reached out a hand and he instinctively took it, "Dance with me, Commander."

"Ha!" the women she shoved aside snickered behind her.

"As if he dare waste his time with some turnip farmer."

Cullen glared at the women, then snapped back at Lana. He twisted his head in a question. "You will find it...most beneficial," she said.

"I, of course, certainly." He placed his barely touched drink down on a side table and gave in to her. Gripping tighter to his hand, Lana led him through the woman now tossing their heads as if about to charge at the indignity. Cullen lagged behind her like an obstinate child down the stairs until they slipped onto the dance floor. Couples twirled in terrifying step past them, the music reaching a tempo somewhere in a panicked heartbeat range. Her plan suddenly seemed a lot less wiser than before. She had only managed to learn three, maybe four steps in her time as an Arlessa. The speed with which the others were flying past, it looked as if one could break a leg or shatter a kneecap if you slipped in formation for even a moment.

Then, as dramatically as the song began it ended and a mercifully slow one sang mournfully from the strings. _Thank the Maker._ Lana tugged her partner out into the sea of people hugging the edge. His body, normally under tight control to a fantasy inducing degree, hung awkwardly off his tight shoulders.

"I'm not much of dancer," Cullen admitted, a blush ruddying up his cheeks.

She chuckled, picked up his hand, placed it upon the small of her back, then grabbed onto his shoulder. "Don't worry, neither am I."

"Then why..." he began, but the mournful ballad picked up and together the uncertain pair moved into the churning sea of other dancers. For claiming to have no skills, Cullen kept his eyes upon Lana and his feet from treading on her toes. After a few beats, he fell into the rhythm pulsing through the floor. She felt it radiating up her bones, the bass line dragging her body back to the thrill of directing a vial of lyrium into raw magical energy. This was its own kind of power, the formation of armies, the lock step twist of the nobility fluffing itself out to see who was strongest. And she got to intercede into the display while clinging to Cullen. His arm drew tighter across her back, pulling her body closer to his.

"I suspect your little cheering crowd is planning my demise at this very moment," Lana snickered.

"They will never leave me alone now," Cullen grumbled, then he blinked in guilt, "But, this is nice. I always enjoy holding you and then the dancing. Not so much the dancing part, but..."

Sweet Andraste, she wanted to kiss away his stammer, but that'd put her on a death list for certain. Instead she cut him off, "I didn't drag you out here for my own selfish needs."

"Oh?" a hint of regret threaded through his words.

"Where is the Inquisitor?"

"Investigating a lead from Florienne," Cullen twisted her around in a half circle, but was unwilling to risk anything more complicated. "Why?"

"Morrigan found me. She said there's a disturbance in the west wing of the palace. Something that would interest the Inquisition."

Cullen's eyes snapped down to hers, the blush evaporated away, "The west wing? That's where we're sneaking in our people. No wonder so few are moving in already. We have to get them..." he began to slide away from her, but Lana clung tighter.

"No, no, keep dancing. We have to look as if there isn't a problem in the world, remember?"

He growled, but resumed the dance. "I hate this. There is no point to my being here other than to provide entertainment for the Orlesian nobility."

"Is it so bad?" she asked. With Cullen distracted, another couple swung up from behind them and almost nicked into Lana's shoes. She dodged out of the way by pressing her chest into his. Cullen's arm reached fully around to hold onto her hip upon the other side. It was probably to keep her from knocking him over, but as the couple drifted away, he didn't let go and she didn't want him too.

"It is worse than I described. I've answered repetitive questions about my personal life so many times I fear I've gone deaf from the echo."

"I'm certain they're all well papered ladies up there," Lana pulled their conjoined hands closer to her chest. There was very little room for any spirits between them now.

Cullen snorted, "You make them sound like mabari."

"No, I would never. Mabari are useful." That earned her a proper laugh and those golden eyes beamed into hers. She ached to kiss him, to have his hands thread through her hair and pull back her head. Instead, she shrugged, "I'm certain one of them would make a proper wife."

"They're playing," Cullen scoffed, "prodding into the new toy until the next one comes along."

"Why commander, you are full of surprises," Lana smiled. "It took me nearly three months before I figured out that's what the nobility was trying to do to me."

His cheeks beamed with pride and he slipped lower to whisper in her ear, "Besides, my interests lie elsewhere."

"Corypheus," Lana responded, bobbing her head.

"Ah, right, Corypheus," his body stiffened below her fingers and he stood upright. Duty was the best chaperon they had. Lana glanced over at the women now willing death through their eyes upon the woman who dared to steal the object of their sudden attention away. She smirked, then turned to Cullen, "Spin me."

"I'm not certain if..."

"Trust me," she said. He lifted his arm and gave a rather good attempt at it, but Lana rose up on her toes to smack nose first into his arm.

It wasn't very hard, only the lightest of knocks, but Cullen broke his grip on her to cry out, "Maker, I'm sorry."

Lana rubbed her nose, "It's all right." She grabbed onto the commander and let him get in a few more steps before she pulled her next move. When he stepped a bit too close, Lana yelped and yanked her foot back. For added effect, she hopped up and down on one leg.

"What did I...your foot?" he gestured to her hobbling.

"Pay it no heed," Lana said, returning to the dance.

"I warned you, I am no dancer," he said, guilt radiating off him.

Breaking from the plan for a moment, Lana ran the back of her fingers against his cheek ruffling up that scruff he couldn't bother to shave away from the night. The regret slipped away and he glanced up from his stupor to her twinkling eyes. For a brief second she let her fingers trail towards his lips. Cullen kissed them softly. Drum and bass faded away until only the final beats of the lute hummed through the air. The song was coming to its end. It was now or never. "Dip me." Lana pulled her hand away from his cheek.

"This is unwise," he said, shaking his head.

"I have faith," she assured him. Fingers digging into her spine, Cullen bent her backwards, Lana extending deeper until her fingers could skim the floor.

"Drop me," she whispered. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she felt eyes in the palace swinging towards the woman in a backwards swan dive.

"You cannot be serious," he shook his head, unwilling to break his hold even as she felt him straining from her weight.

"Trust me," Lana whispered. Blood pooled in her brain from the extended dip, causing the edges of her vision to undulate as if in a smokey haze. Cullen lurched forward, his fingers almost breaking contact on accident. He gritted his teeth and released his hold. Lana parted the fade slightly to cushion her fall, but to anyone watching on the periphery it looked as if Cullen's dance partner smashed to the floor. She lay upon it for a moment acting dazed. Cullen extended a hand to her, a thousand apologies dripping from his lips. Lana took it and made a show of massaging her back.

"Why did you...? Are you all right? Hurt? How was...?" Cullen begged for an explanation.

Lana's eyes whipped up to the women who'd surrounded the commander the entire night. They sniffed in disgust at his poor display and wandered off for new prey. Still wide eyed, he watched them then turned back to Lana who was smiling, "You're welcome. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a west wing to investigate."

She slipped off the dance floor and faded into the background while the not-quite-so dashing commander was free to return to his drink unimpeded.

## Chapter Eleven

**Face Me**

Only the glow from the towering windows highlighted the silent courtyard. Shafts of light reflected upon the gilded visage of Hessarian's regretful face bent into his hand. Lana glanced back at the bodies of the guards tossed to the ground, cold blood pooling off their throats into the grout of the marble tiles. Whoever did it made the cut clean and quick but judging from how they fell, the attack wasn't from behind. The guards didn't bat at eye at the person who walked up to them and slit their throats. This party got a lot more complicated.

Slipping the door closed, Lana stepped into the courtyard. Three levels of the Winter Palace circled above her, each balcony walled off by white railing. Ivy clung between them making climbing impossible, not that she was going to manage to shimmy up a trellis in her dress. It'd also cause a horrific amount of noise. Sticking to the shadows, she tried the handle of the first door to her right but it stuck fast, the second beside it the same. Out of all the times she didn't think to bring a rogue... Lana tapped her foot, trying to decide if she should risk the time finding Leliana when a scream broke through the frozen night air. Snapping her hands up and calling forth the fade energy, Lana traced the cry to the story above her.

A shadow flapped against the cloudy night, its silhouette darker than the grey sky. The creature landed upon Hessarian's head and screamed again, the crest of feathers upon its head vibrating from the call. Great, she was sent here to find a bloody peacock that was now shitting all over the tevinter magister. Lana smiled at the fitting image wishing she could frame it for Corypheus. This is what we think of your rise to power. The bird gave the mage who almost roasted it alive no heed as it extended its wings and again cried into the night.

Another scream answered it. Not a mate returning the call, this one was low and tucked into the chest - like someone struggling against a gag - and very human. Gathering up her damn skirts, Lana dashed towards the sound emanating from the opposite side of the courtyard. The handle to the door was melted clean through, re-solidified drips of metal dangling through the hole as if someone used a rod of fire on it. Pushing softly on the door, Lana risked peering only an eye inside. Blackness was all that afforded her on either end. Placing both hands against the door, Lana opened it slowly while trying to minimize the noise. She stepped across the threshold when that cursed bird took wing and flew/plummeted almost into her face. Ducking to avoid her eyes getting scratched out, the peacock didn't care a whit. Its body crashed to the floor with a wallop, but the thing rolled back onto its feet and it waddled away.

"What was that?" a voice called out from the darkness of the hall. Lana dashed to the wall where her fingers found the lip of a table. Cursing her dress and her wound, she shrunk low. The leather corset was having none of her bending over, so she dropped to her knees and scurried under.

"It was nothing." The first man spoke Orlesian but the second was Tevinter. She'd only managed to pick up the tourist version of the language from her quick travels, which was rather pathetic as she read the damn thing fluently. No one ran towards her from the inky darkness, so Lana slipped out from under the table and inched towards the voices.

"No, I heard something, I swear," the Orlesian insisted. Lana froze as the clip of boots echoed across a marble floor. To the left of her down a long hall, the only slip of light peeked out from under a door. She focused upon it while sliding forwards, stifling all noise as best she could. Zevran was good for learning a few tricks. "I'm gonna check."

"Be my visitor," the Tevinter said, or something close to it.

The light under the door broke open revealing a burning fireplace which framed the shadow of a fully armed and armored man. He glared into dark night before him. "I think I see...AH!" the Orlesian shrieked. Lana reached into the fade, tugging at her mana and driving for her trusty ice spells. More boots clattered upon the floor as the Tevinter dashed to the Orlesian's side, a staff in his hands.

"There's something out there," the Orlesian pointed a finger down the hallway.

Lana cursed under her breath. One she could take on easily, but a tevinter mage... She'd only faced them down once before and had had a templar at her side. For the first time in a year, she wished Alistair was here. She shifted her feet underneath her, attempting to rise as quickly as possible, when a scattering of tiny feet clicked down the marble. The Orlesian shrieked again as the full fury of an interrupted and probably libidinous peacock dashed down the hall and leapt for the man's face. He tumbled back, batting at the thing with his hands while the Tevinter laughed.

"You fool, it is a chicken."

"It's not a damn chicken, it's some void spawned bird. Get it off me!" he screamed, talons digging into that meaty face.

"Well, hold point," the Tevinter sighed. He waved his staff towards the bird, but the peacock must have sensed it was about to be attacked and flew off deeper into the room. Both men turned away from the dark hallway into the bright light of the room to chase the bird.

Rising to her feet, Lana slipped off her shoes and padded with a sure stride towards them. With each step she threaded every ounce of the fade into her body, channeling it down to one spell. If she was lucky, she could hit both at once. If she was unlucky...it was best to hope for luck. The Tevinter tossed a few haphazard ice shards where the peacock was instead of where it was going while the Orlesian chased after it, his arms flapping in the air and missing by miles. Both chuckled at their being outwitted by a bird, when the Orlesian hopped up to catch the peacock and landed facing out the door. He must have only been able to see the silhouette of a woman standing there, Lana cloaked in the darkness.

He raised his finger, about to call to the Tevinter. Lana rolled both her hands together and cast the men into a crushing prison. The Orlesian screamed first, his head thrown back in agony. The sound of his bones shattering and popping like kindling on the fire stampeded over the shrieks falling silent as his body compacted down in upon itself. After a time, the neck would snap leaving nothing left to scream. Exhaustion rolled up Lana's legs and across her chest, trying to yank down her arm to cancel the spell, but she gritted through it. Maintaining one crushing prison was child's play, but two. She rarely tried it outside of extreme measures, and the Tevinter was fighting her. While the Orlesian cracked in half like a matchstick boy, the Tevinter twisted his arm around, trying to aim his staff at Lana. She bit down on her tongue and drew forth more power from the fade, enough to light all of the Winter Palace on fire. In a quick move, she dropped the crushing prison, momentarily releasing the men, then smashed an invisible fist from the ceiling into their mutilated bodies. The Orlesian was gnarled, his lips frozen in a scream, the eyes lifeless. But the Tevinter moaned, struggling to breathe through Maker knew how many shattered ribs.

Lana turned away from them to the woman perched upon the floor. Her hands were bound behind her and she was gagged, though she managed to work the towel out enough to let out that first scream. The Inquisition's symbolic eye gleamed off her chest. Snatching up the dead Orlesian's sword, Lana undid the bounds upon her wrists. The woman yanked off the gag, then spat in the direction of the men.

Her wrath didn't fade, but she slipped it onto the back burner while eyeing up Lana, "Thanks. I assume you're Inquisition, too."

"Something like that," Lana said. "Incognito."

The woman rolled her eyes. She moved to stand, but tipped to the side. Lana grabbed onto her hand to help her to her feet. "Bastards had me tied up for near an hour." Steadied now, the woman yanked her stolen scabbard off the floor and unsheathed her sword. "That one dead?" she asked, gesturing to the Orlesian. Lana nodded. "That one ain't." Before Lana could object, the woman kicked the Tevinter mage over. With a quick thrust, she slit his throat. "Fucking Venatori," she muttered. "I swear, their blood's poisoned or some shit. It'll stain your blade fast if you don't clean it." She yanked up the bottom of the dead mage's robe and wiped his own blood back upon it.

"What's your name..." Lana's eyes hunted over the uniform for a sign of rank, "lieutenant?"

"Andrea, ma'am. And I was supposed to see our people into the palace. Easy and quick job until these jackasses popped up."

"Lana," she pointed at herself. "What can you tell me about them?"

"Venatori, at least six. Maybe more. We sure as shit weren't expecting an attack and they caught us blindsided while shimmying over the gate."

"You climbed the gate?" Lana thought back to the twelve foot tall iron fence circling the grounds topped with proper Orlesian spikes.

"Weren't nothing," Andrea shrugged. "Not until it's all ice this and fire that. Mages," she spat, then blinked at Lana, "excusing present company."

Lana chuckled, "Oh, I'm far worse than them. Do you know how to fight Venatori?"

Andrea narrowed her eyes at Lana and she slapped back on her scabbard, "Aye, why are you asking?"

"Because I haven't encountered them before. I need you to tell me every single trick they have." Lana kicked over the body of the mage and picked up his staff. It was fancier than she preferred, indentations carved into the handle for fingers to fit and whittled through the middle to give the illusion of a shapely column which rendered the integrity of the core brittle. Pretty to gaze upon, but ascetics didn't kill darkspawn. She hovered her fingers over the top searching for any hidden curses built in by the owner but nothing popped up. Either the Tevinter didn't believe anyone would defeat him and steal his staff, or he cheated the carver. Twisting it around in her arms, Lana got a feel for the staff. There was no blade, only a weighted edge bulging off the bottom. With enough force it should crack a few bones.

"This will do," she pronounced. "Take me to the rest of your people."

"Of course, but," Andrea jerked her finger towards the edge of the room, "what should we do with the bird?" The peacock screamed at them in response then haphazardly flapped up to land upon a bust over the door.

"I suspect it's just as happy as we are to have the invaders gone." Lana bowed slightly to the bird, earning a sigh from the lieutenant, and dashed back into the hall. She slipped on her shoes while Andrea directed her down the blackened hallway, around the corner, down another light-less hall, and past a statue of some famous Orlesian.

"Hold up here!" Andrea tugged on Lana's dragon wing sleeve and shout-whispered. "Last I saw they had our people tied up outside this door."

"Why weren't they killed?" Lana asked.

Andrea shrugged, "Dunno. Not gonna question their great big plan if it keeps my people alive, though. They wanted me to give the signal to the others, send 'em all through so they could pick 'em off."

"What'd you do?"

She smiled wide, her teeth glinting in the scrap of moonlit, "Bit one's nose off, kicked the other in the knee. Was aiming a bit higher, but you take what you can get. Since I wouldn't play nice, they bundled me off to their little parlor while trying to convince the rest of my people they killed me."

Lana glared through the dark night trying to see past the wood. Why wouldn't the Venatori slit everyone's throats? It made the most sense to knock off the soldiers fast unless...unless they planned to blame the Inquisition for the Empress' death. Perhaps not enough for a proper conviction in any court but it would seed chaos among a mourning country. "We have to get them back, all of them."

Andrea eyed her up, "That was my plan all along."

"Right, good. Venatori, what's their main school of magic? Entropy? Primal? Spirit?"

The lieutenant blinked slowly at her and leaned back, "Fire."

"Fire?"

"Lot of fire, one of them does this sprint spell that leaves a wake of fire behind him. Melts the boots if you're not quick to leap away. Damn pain in the ass. Do you have any idea how expensive resoling is?"

Lana slipped her eyes closed and leaned into the door. A sound echoed through the wood, but it was muffled and incoherent. Could be Tevinter, but was just as likely to be two lost Orlesian party guests taking a piss in the bushes. What she needed was a view of the surroundings to plan the attack. "Could you...?"

"Find a vantage point? Yeah, I've already got an idea." Andrea unearthed a dagger from her belt and jabbed it into the mortar between bricks. _What was she doing? That would take hours to dig out enough..._ The brick lifted upon her blade and carefully the lieutenant drew it back, exposing the courtyard beyond the door. "They always leave peepholes around these places. Orlesians and their games. Here, have a look-see."

Lana scooted to take Andrea's place, dropping to a knee to eye up the courtyard. It was much the same as the one she spotted the peacock in, though this had a statue of Andraste bathed in flame. Rather fitting. Trussed up at her feet were Inquisition soldiers, their heads bent as if in defeat but she suspected they were trying to share signals without their captors catching on. From her narrow window she could only see the taloned shoes of two Venatori pacing in front of them. One carried a staff which he kept banging into the ground every other step. Good way to completely destabilize the aura. Lana clicked her tongue at the bravado then tried to lay flatter upon the ground to get a look at the upper floor.

"Damn, I can't see if there are any archers."

"Three on the roof, though one of 'ems always facing the south," Andrea repeated. "What? I was just out there."

"Three archers, one soldier, and a mage."

"There's another mage, that one's hiding by the fence trying to coo the others over." Andrea shook her head then slipped into a Tevinter accent, "Oh, please Inquisition soldiers, I am one of your own who's talking real funny because I'm new and have a terrible cold cough cough. Won't you come and play with me?" She spat at the ground, "Twat."

"Do you think you can get to the roof?" Lana asked.

"Sure, if you give a minute to find the ladder. Got a plan, do ya?"

"Yep," she bobbed her head. Maker, if Cullen ever found out she'd never hear the end of it. "I'm going to be the bait."

The lieutenant skittered off into the dark, leaving Lana alone with the hope that the woman would make good on her promise. She seemed prepared to fight the Venatori to the death if it came to it, but Lana counted on her fingers the dozens of ways her plan could fail. In the distance, the splat of something smacking into the wall echoed through the dark room. The lieutenant was either climbing the ladder or building a stack of bodies to get to the roof. Rising to her feet, Lana tested the balance of the staff again. She'd only get one, maybe two seconds before they'd all come at her. Dipping into the fade, she threaded the beginning of a spell along the staff's core. It wasn't the wisest of moves as it could reset an entire enchantment leaving the staff drained and little better than a piece of wood. But she'd taken to storing spells in her own for years, aware of how far she could push the limits of magic before it snapped back. Still, she yanked her fingers away before putting the last touches upon it. Given how lightweight the wood felt, it seemed unwise to trust the staff to contain any magic that powerful.

Smoothing down her skirts that were now wrinkled beyond repair, Lana placed her hand on the door and shoved it open with all the certainty of a drunk noble wandering through someone else's home. Both Venatori snapped up at her intrusion, but they didn't run right for her.

"This area is off limits," the sword one shouted.

"Oh, sorry. I seem to be terribly lost and..." Lana's eyes drifted down towards the soldiers tied up against the statue's base, "wandered into a side party, I see."

The mage hissed something in such a thick accent Lana couldn't translate it. But judging by the way his eyes lit up, she could about guess it amounted to 'kill the intruder.' They were never very creative. "No, she might be connected to the duchess," the one with the sword said.

Lana lifted up her hands, holding the staff by a barest grip and stepped backwards, "I'll just be going now." Damn it, she needed to stall for more time. The archers should have hit the roof by now. Lana didn't glance back at them, but she could feel the pairs of eyes digging into her back.

"Hold a moment," a new voice oozed around the corner. This Venatori towered above the other two, her blonde hair knotted around her neck like a snake. She sized up the tiny woman and sneered, "Why are you carrying a staff?"

"Is that what this is?" Lana yanked the staff towards her face, and eyed it up. "I stumbled across it on the ground and thought this would make a lovely decoration for my..." _Shit, what idiotic thing do the nobility decorate to waste space_ , "stick room."

"A likely story," the woman sneered. Her fist crackled with fire. At least, Andrea got that one right. She lifted it high to aim for Lana, when a man screamed above them all. His body slammed into the roof and slid bumping along the tiles until it splattered against the stone tiles beside the Tevinter's feet. "Someone is above us!"

_Show time._ As the two mages aimed for Andrea, Lana yanked out her half spun spell and wrapped it together with the rest. Before they could even break into the fade, she smashed the first mage and the swordsman with a blast of ice powerful enough to freeze golems. Most of the force broke against the mage, dousing his flames instantly. Enough scattered along the side to freeze the man's sword. Redoubling her attack, Lana threw ice shards at it, shattering the sword. Metal splinters erupted from the hilt, flying through the air. Three dug into the frozen man's face, the last impaling his eye.

"Kaffas!" the female mage cursed. She raised up her fist and tossed a fireball at Lana. The first rolled off her barrier, but she felt the heat of the second light up her cheeks. She hadn't fully frozen the other two, but if she didn't raise up her barrier anew, the next fireball would blister her skin. Glaring at the mage, Lana rolled her shoulder around dragging the staff with and directed an ice bolt directly at the Tevinter's hands. The woman dashed out of the way, missing the brunt, but Lana's attack extinguished her fireball sending flame skittering across the cobbles. Another body screamed from on top of the roof. Two archers down, one more to go. Lana had to hold up her end of the bargain.

Dipping deeper into the fade, she cut off her ice and smashed down upon the frozen men. The swordsman crashed to the ground, broken beyond belief, while the mage bounced back from the fade fist. Lana flipped her staff around and aimed at the female mage protecting him. She fired off two bolts, but the woman responded in kind with her fire. The first seared along the ivy behind Lana but the second caught against her skirts. Smoke burned up her nose and strangled her lungs while heat blistered up her legs. Rather than panic, Lana turned her staff down at her feet and fired. The ice wiped away the fire, leaving charred edges along the silk of her borrowed dress.

"Oh, now you're dead," Lana hissed. The woman chuckled, unimpressed by her rather wimpy display.

"Yes, I am certain one little mage will defeat the Venatori."

"I don't have to kill the Venatori." Lana tugged upon that darkness inside everyone, the edge she'd only touch when backed into a corner. It split open her soul and poured forth the magic she needed, the one that could easily tip her another way. "I only have to kill you." The woman re-enforced her barrier against magical attacks, but Lana didn't toss ice her way. Instead, she dashed at the woman, her head bent downward to redirect the blow to her shoulders.

"By all the..." was as far as the Venatori got before Lana's momentum plowed her directly into the fence behind. The Tevinter's head knocked against the wrought iron knocking free her own spell. Clinging to the woman's bent shoulders, Lana poured every ounce of death hex into her body. Lana slipped back from her victim and watched. At first the Venatori only shook her head, trying to dislodge the song buzzing through her thoughts, but then the pain increased, her panicked heart beating faster and faster as it struggled against the impending doom shredding apart every fiber of her body. The woman tossed her head back and screamed. Her fingers reached into the fade, trying to dispel what Lana burned into her veins, but every attempt was met by another throb of pain.

Lana weighed the staff in her hands, but the damn thing was so light. Reaching along the ground, she picked up one of the sword's shards glittering in the moonlight like puddles. The woman roiled upon her knees, trying to claw her hair out to stop the pain. Lana knocked her head back, exposing her throat. "Sorry," she said and slit the jagged edge across it. The metal snagged upon her larynx, sticking in place, but blood gushed from her veins blanketing the marble tiles that portrayed Andraste's betrayal.

Stepping back from the mage bleeding out, Lana breathed to steady herself. Her wound twitched below her corset, the pain throbbing through her dry throat. She was going to need a long bath after this night. A sound broke through the night and Lana flipped around. The no longer frozen mage stood behind her. His arms were extended above his head, about to bring his staff across Lana's skull. She tried to dodge out of the way, when both his arms fell, the staff tumbling to the ground. He plummeted to the ground and clattered to his side, an arrow embedded in his back.

"Hey," Andrea called from the roof. She tossed aside the stolen bow and inched closer, "I see you got yours."

"And you got yours," Lana called back waving.

"'Course I did," she scoffed. "Check on my people while I try to find a way off this damn thing."

Lana saluted the woman who already vanished from sight. Using the same edge she had to cut the Venatori's throat, Lana broke the soldier's bonds and helped them up. Thanks were passed around like candy, each soldier massaging their arms and working out the cricks in their neck. No one spoke a word against her magic, though maybe they were becoming used to fighting beside a mage. Strange times.

As Andrea skidded around the corner, she slapped her hand to her chest, "Look at you all, lazing about. We've got a dance to infiltrate." The soldiers looked ashamed while they dug out their weapons and slotted them back into place.

Lana wiped sweat off her forehead and leaned against the flames of Andraste. Her own skirts were in quite a state, the sides burned so high a slit came up to her thigh. _Josephine was going to kill her._

"If you're done being captured," the lieutenant continued, "we need to be finding the Commander. Hop to it!" The soldiers saluted their brash leader, then fanned out towards the doorway.

Lana rose off her lean and gripped tighter to the staff. Something told her whatever was about to happen in the ballroom wouldn't afford her an easy evening. "It never ends," she said to Andrea.

The woman laughed, "Of course not. We're trying to save the world here."

Lana entered the ballroom at the back of the press crowded around Celene. The Empress towered above her subjects scattered around her in various states of adoration. She glowed from the moonlight's ray spotlighting her sapphire gown, more than likely a specific choice from the Empress. Rising to her tiptoes, Lana tried to find anyone of the Inquisition hiding amongst the throngs. She spotted Andrea and her group emerging through the side door, each one armed for a battle that had yet to appear. Somehow they became separated dashing down the maze of corridors, putting Lana an even further distance away until she doubled back.

A flash of red flitted through the crowds and then the Inquisitor's voice rang out above Celene's. "Stop Floriene! She means to kill the Empress!" Pandemonium struck. Lana lost sight of Celene and the Duchess as smoke bombs deployed across the entire ballroom. Nondescript guests yanked off their dancing gowns to reveal harlequin outfits hidden below. The plumes of smoke hung in the air stinging her eyes and trying to claw down her throat, but Lana wiped it away with a flick of her wrist. Through it all echoed screams from guests terrified of the smoke or the daggers slipping into kidneys. She had to get to the Empress, see what she could do to help or defend. Tipping her shoulder down, the little mage barreled through the crowd like she was a rampaging druffalo. _Maker, she wished Hawke was here. Her cousin could pick her up on her shoulders or grab one of the clowns to use as a battering ram._ Panicking orlesians shrieked nonsense in the first tongue they could think of all around her. The cacophony rattled her brain rendering any attempts to hear orders mute. Some grabbed onto Lana, begging her to solve the problem, others tried to knock her away as if she was another harlequin stabbing indiscriminately to create chaos.

She peeled off a set of fingers, only to whip around towards a harlequin driving her daggers through a soldier's thigh. Lana snapped ice at the woman's hands, sending the first dagger skittering through the air, but she held tight to the other and pirouetted in the air towards at the mage. That disturbing mask betrayed no emotion as the harlequin passed her blade from hand to hand trying to intimidate Lana. She drew it back, ready to strike, when a sword slammed into her ribs, the point prodding out of the skin tight suit.

Andrea yanked it back and kicked the harlequin's body to the floor. "Ugh, who invited this lot?"

"I need to get to Celene!" Lana gestured at the stampeding nobles funneling them away from her endpoint.

"Got it." The lieutenant turned back to her soldiers, "Gonna need a five-tenner. You up for some running?"

Lana kicked both her shoes off and nodded. The only good thing about the skirts being burned, at least she didn't have to pick them up anymore.

"All right, let 'er go!" Andrea shouted dropping her arm.

Soldiers shot a pair of flares into the air. The explosion did little more than char the paintings on the ceiling, but they drew every single person's attention for a few moments. Lana ran past the horde paused in the attack leaving just enough room for the little mage to slip by. Her staff whacked into arms, legs, heads, any body part in the way, but she didn't have time to apologize. Rounding past an older woman with a dress wide enough to act as the lock on a dam, she spotted the Inquisitor chasing after the Duchess through the balcony gardens. He had his companions on his heels, all of them prepared for battle.

His final fleeing message echoed above the mass hysteria, "Cullen, guard the Empress!"

Dressed only in that red frippery, the commander faced three harlequins rounding upon Celene. The Empress was wise enough to fall back behind him, but he needed protection and fast. The first harlequin attacked boldly, aiming for his unshielded arm, but the commander blocked it with ease. Daggers rarely defeated a sword unless pressed for space, and Cullen had plenty if he kept his feet moving. The problem was the other harlequin notching her bow.

Lana didn't pause in her running as she threaded together the spell. The edges were wonky, leaving a few gaps in the final product, but it didn't need to be perfect. It needed to work, and she needed to be close enough to cast it. She leapt over what almost looked like Whitley cowered in a ball on the floor just as the archer released her arrow. Cullen turned from the harlequin's blades to spot the arrow aimed for Celene. He threw himself in the way but the arrow stuck in mid-air, straight into Lana's barrier. She'd made it, barely. Another inch and it wouldn't have worked. Cullen turned to face her and nodded his head in thanks. She responded back the same, grateful to have not wasted any time.

The harlequin only tipped her masked head and released a rain of arrows upon the barrier. Lana dipped deep into her pools, pouring all she could into it while the damn clown tried to whittle her down by pieces. _Just try it_ , she sneered throwing both hands at her barrier expanding outward from Celene and Cullen. _I've got..._

"Ah!" a dagger slit across Lana's arm and embedded into the banister. Growling in pain, she followed the path to the third harlequin who drew back another to finish off the exposed mage. Keeping her focus on the barrier, Lana snatched up the buried dagger. The blade was warm almost to the point of fire in her fingers from its trip through the air. Tipping it behind her head, she threw it back at the woman. _Sweet Andraste!_ The dagger actually stuck deep in the harlequin's shoulder, scattering her other throwing knives.

"Maker, how did you...?" Cullen asked, his eyes wide.

"Total luck," Lana admitted. Another arrow stuck into the barrier, this one from across the room. _Shit!_ "More on the other side, Cullen!"

"I see them!" he shouted back. Grabbing onto the acrobatic harlequin with his free arm, he pulled her close while also driving his sword in. Without any time to spare, he kicked the clown away to free his blade. "Remain here," he ordered to Celene and then Cullen exited from Lana's barrier. The commander waved at his remaining people to finish off the harlequins, orders and numbers flying through the air. But it was easier said than done. Andrea rallied her people towards the pair taking aim at the barrier containing Celene, but the party guests managed to clog up the staircase and landing. People screamed, running for any exit they could find, giving ample room for the two archers to twist their aim from the Empress to the mage protecting her.

"I'm getting real tired of sighting down the wrong end of an arrow!" Lana screamed. Her rage drew forth what remaining mana she had as she heaved ice across the void of the ballroom. It lanced in the air, freezing one arrow in place against the bow's string. Freezing cold to the point of burning, the harlequin chucked her now useless bow at the ground where the wood snapped. The other released too early to freeze in place, but Lana's spell was enough to throw the arrow off course where it stuck into the shoe on the chandelier. Both shoe and arrow tumbled to the ballroom floor.

Lana's shoulders sagged as she watched the harlequin notch another arrow. There was nothing left in her pool, no other spells to throw, and if she turned from the barrier Celene was dead. Lana faced down the inevitable, glaring into the eternal abyss always waiting for her. The harlequin twisted her head in comical joy and launched the arrow. Her aim was true, the arrow honing right for Lana's heart. She tried to dodge out of the way, but there was no time. It was going to strike her no matter what. Lana braced herself for the pain when a shield of fire erupted from the ground, flame consuming the arrow.

"What the...?" Lana flipped around and spotted Morrigan snarling at the clowns, her own hands extended in rage.

She lifted a lone eyebrow at Lana and said, "I have Celene protected. Go. Finish them."

Lana yanked off her barrier, but another more powerful one remained in place. Mana no longer directed into protecting the Empress flooded her system. She twisted her fingers and cracked her neck as the power danced through her parted hands. Lana drew forth every ounce of ice in her system and pointed it at the ceiling. The clown tipped her head at the mage filling the roof with an endless stream of ice, no doubt confused by the tactic. She drew her bow back, prepared to end the troublesome mage. As the harlequin readied her finger to fire once more upon her, Lana cracked her ice spike in half. The massive spear slipped from its precarious perch and raced through the air. The harlequin looked up just as the spear shattered into her skull, the force cracking through every bone and pulverizing her body to goo.

_So much for..._ Another dagger whizzed through the air, this one clunking into the banister and skittering to the ballroom floor. Lana whipped her head back at the harlequin chucking knives like confetti. Beside that one, the second continued to fire a never ending supply of arrows, as if that next would finally pierce through Morrigan's barrier. Lana gripped tighter to her staff and stomped towards the dagger thrower. The harlequin hopped onto the balls of her feet, dancing back and forth while the tiny mage bared down upon her. Extending her proper daggers, the clown swung first, leaping into the air. Lana threw her hand up, the force of the fade catching the harlequin and hurling her towards the dance floor below.

But the damn agile thing snagged onto the banister. She yanked herself up and perched upon it, the head cocked to the side. Lana swung around to the archer and fired an ice fist without thinking. It shattered through the arrow intended for her and straight to the woman's mask. Blood trickled through the nostril holes and the archer staggered back.

"Right," Lana raised her staff at the dagger thrower. "One clown left." She shot off three ice bolts but the harlequin dodged each one, somersaulting and twisting about like it was all a charade. "Hold fucking still!" Lana cried.

The clown refused to obey. She scrabbled up the sapphire banners dangling from the ceiling ten feet into the air and hung off one by a single hand. Reaching into her pocket, she unearthed something Lana couldn't make out. "Oh shit!" Lana didn't turn away fast enough as the smoke bomb tumbled through the air to crack against the ground. White smoke raced to fill her vision, blanketing everything from her sight. Lana blinked through the tears, struggling to cough up a spell. Somewhere above her was a harlequin waiting to pounce. There was only one solution.

Waving her fingers quickly, a blue sphere burst from beneath her legs and reached all around her for ten feet. She snapped her head up and spotted the harlequin, daggers thrust forward, hanging in midair. Lana smiled at the woman trying to scrabble against the mage's manipulation of time. Stepping to the side, Lana yanked away the magic. The harlequin tumbled the ground now without any mage in the way to break her fall. Aiming for the harlequin's unprotected head, Lana swung her staff end around. It smashed into her shoulders, but the force was too strong for the staff and the entire end shattered apart, kicking wood splinters through the air.

"For Andraste's sake, this is why you rebar the inner core!" she screamed at the clown.

"Lana!" Cullen shouted. She whipped her head up as that damn archer tried to get cute. Morrigan picked off her attack, but strain was showing on her friend's face.

With the staff broken, it was of no use to her magically. Instead, Lana chucked it at the archer. The woman dodged out of the way, which pushed her closer to the man whose red finery was coated in the scarlet blood of her fellow sisters. Cullen grabbed her arm and a snap echoed above the blaring din. Screaming in pain, the archer fell to her knees, no longer a danger with a broken wrist.

Then the damn dagger clown went and moved below Lana. She twirled around on the floor and lifted her legs up, about to kick in both of Lana's knees, but the mage flicked fire across her skin. The harlequin reared back, covering her face from the flames. They weren't powerful enough to finish her off, the fire already skittering away across the marble. Lana bent over and picked up one of a dozen fallen swords. She stepped closer to the harlequin trying to squirm out of the way.

Drawing the sword across the woman's chest, Lana paused. Rage and adrenaline pumped through her body, all of it winnowing down through her arm to the point of the sword. She didn't rear back to finish the blow, only tipped her head down and screamed at the harlequin. "I have withstood slaying an archdemon. I have crossed swords with men out of legend and been the only one to walk away. I wear the hide of every high dragon I've ever slaughtered, but if you think a clown can finish me off...then dare to get up and face me!"

The harlequin froze, the eyes blinking frantically from behind the mask. Slowly, she released her grip on her daggers and extended her hands for mercy.

"That's what I suspected," Lana sneered. She drew the sword back as Inquisition soldiers grabbed onto the downed harlequin and bound her hands for a later trial.

"A rather bombastic if not earned threat," Morrigan chuckled, her own voice stressed from the eternal draw of mana.

"Sometimes it helps to be overly dramatic," Lana sighed. Every rush of battle fled from her body leaving only exhaustion behind in her depleted veins.

Morrigan shrugged off her barrier and went to her Empress' side, as did a few others of the court now that the immediate danger passed. Pain hissed up Lana's arm and she turned to inspect the broken skin where the dagger split it. Little more than a red line, it shouldn't take much to bandage up. Her eyes darted away from her injury to Cullen. The commander was down upon a knee; to everyone else he looked as if he was inspecting the ground, but Lana caught a grimace on his face. Stepping close to him she placed her hand along his back, gently caressing the curve of his spine.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, not that she need to have bothered. Conversations erupted as people ran about trying to find salves and healing for the injured or the imagined injured, while everyone else stood around screaming 'What happened?'

"I need a moment, is all," he insisted through a stubbornness she knew all to well in her own reflection.

Reaching into the softer part of her mind, Lana infused him with a whisper of the spirit's energy. Not enough to mend broken bones, but it should at least give him a few more minutes to look all commanding before he could take a break. "What did you do?" he asked. More certain in his movements, he rose from his collapse. Those warm eyes danced across hers. She extended a hand to help him and held it.

"Oh, let's see - I stabbed a clown, iced one, shattered a nose here, threatened another, protected an Empress. And I haven't even told you what happened with the Venatori in the west wing."

Cullen chuckled from her quick and dirty list. He slid closer to her, his arm swooping around her naked shoulder. Suddenly the doors to the front gardens burst open. The Inquisitor climbed up the stairs and shouted, "Duchess Floriene is dead!"

A cry of joy broke out through the crowd who only a few hours earlier greeted the dead woman like a best friend.

## Chapter Twelve

**Possibilities**

Abrasions across the back and most of the shoulder, a gash into the thigh near a major artery which - by the grace of the Maker - didn't nick it, and a swollen eye. Lana pushed what had to be the final drops of her mana into the wounded man. The eye and the abrasion could heal on their own with time, but she was concerned about the gash. Infection was a practical guarantee at this point, and harlequins loved their little bottles of poison. Probably hemlock knowing her luck.

Her patient sat upon one of the marble benches lining the room with another injured soldier's feet stretched across his lap. On occasion, he'd lightly rub the soldier's legs but the woman was numb to the world for another eight hours. "There," Lana pronounced, pulling her hands away from the man's leg. "It will be best if you rest, and in the morning I'll check the eye. Someone will check the eye."

He nodded, his one good eye scrutinizing her as she kneeled before him. They hadn't said much about the not technically Inquisition mage administering healing, but everyone was wary. Given what happened with the Venatori tonight it was understandable. Lana tipped her head and slid away, when the man grabbed onto her tending fingers and gave them a soft shake. Then he returned to his fellow slumbering soldier and shifted her legs so she'd be more comfortable. What had once been the cloak room was overstuffed with wounded scattered across every available surface. The worst were given benches and tables. One rested his head upon what was supposed to be a cake, the blue frosting mashed into his hair. But it cushioned his head from a neck wound and stemmed the bleeding from his nose.

The rest were upon the floor in such a haphazard manner it was almost impossible to cross it without treading upon a finger or toe. Lana fell to her knees to tend to the wounded, inching along by her hands and feet to knit back together bones and close off skin. Another three non-mage healers moved among her, applying bandages and calling out if any magical assistance was needed. After what felt like an hour, the final wound was stitched and she could settle back for a break. The muscles just below the skin of her fingers ached like she'd frozen them into a block of ice. Too much magic snapped back at her from beyond the veil, the mana growing wilder with each dip back in. She bunched her fists up to try and return blood flow, but she knew she wasn't going to be doing anymore magic for awhile. Not without risking a few angry energy bolts across her body, anyway.

Every muscle in her body begged to be cut free - for Lana to collapse into a heap on the floor next to those she tended, but the corset wouldn't allow it. She was pinned and sewn in so tight, sitting was impossible. The best she could do was take her weight off her knees and put it upon her hands. Laying her hands out upon the floor like she was mimicking a mabari, Lana redistributed her weight. She was beyond the realm of exhaustion and into the almost euphoric state of giddiness that follows right before total collapse. And under it all, her side ached. No blood pooled below the corset or onto her skirts, which would just add to the mess she already made of the dress, but the throbbing warned her that it needed attention. Which would require rising and finding somewhere private to get out of the damn dress.

"What's the situation with the wounded?"

Lana glanced up from her hands into the commander's weary face. He still carried his sword as if he feared another attack from the shadows, the blade extended downward. After the Inquisitor arrived in the ballroom informing the Empress about her would-be assassin's death, it was all speeches and drinks, then more dancing and merriment. While the big swords played the game of acting as if everything was under control, the rest of the soldiers gathered up the wounded or carted off the surviving harlequins for a later trial. Lana had no idea who was in charge of removing bodies or scrubbing up blood, but judging by the unperturbed expression on the servants faces, they'd probably seen worse.

"All done up," Lieutenant Andrea rose from her position. She'd been nursing a few of her people, telling 'em stories and keeping them distracted while Lana reset bones. "Least, I think so," she turned to the mage still resting upon her knees.

Lana nodded, rising up to the closest she could approximate a respectable stance, and wiped her hands, "As well as I could. Some of them will require tending through the night, and that man there might lose a..." The world washed to a pastel pink as a ringing resounded in her ears. Lana grabbed onto her forehead to steady herself before she fainted dead to the ground. "Sorry," she shook her head casting the ringing away. Taking in a few breaths, she glanced up at Cullen with a doleful smile, "Been a long night."

He skirted around the people stretched upon the floor to reach Lana. The wounded groaned from pain, but the woes were background now, no sharp cries from fresh agony. Placing the sword down on the bench, he slipped both hands under her elbows and helped her to rise to her feet. She'd lost her shoes somewhere between running to get to Cullen and slaughtering clowns. If they were ever to be found again, she suspected there'd be some fairy story invented to explain them involving a chronically late princess who murdered clowns. The frozen stone nipped at her exhausted toes, but it felt good to be back up, her knees especially grateful. Cullen didn't release his hold on her arm, his amber eyes staring into hers.

"You should rest," he said.

Lana tipped her head back and forth, "In time."

He sighed at her obstinance then turned to Andrea, "Lieutenant, can you handle things here?"

"Oh, sure. No problem. Antim there's thinking about starting a round of Wicked Grace," she gestured to the man with the black eye.

"We don't have any cards," Antim pointed out.

"We'll fake it, no problem," Andrea shrugged it off. She twisted her braid back around to her other shoulder and wiped at the sweat staining her brow and the sides of her face. Behind, she left a blood swipe reminiscent of Hawke's. It'd been a long night for everyone.

"Warden?" Cullen gestured to the door, his other arm still around hers.

"You win," she mouthed. With Cullen propping her up, she padded around people barely aware of her existence and moved out of the door. Once in the hall away from prying soldiers, he slipped an arm around her back and pulled her closer. Grabbing onto his shoulder for support, Lana followed on his trail.

"Shouldn't you be back with the Inquisitor reveling in the toasts and accolades?"

Cullen shrugged, "I'm certain Josephine can handle it. She has a knack for laurels." He led them both down the well lit hallway and through a set of Orlesian glass door. Pushing on the handle with his free hand, the doors opened upon the back gardens. Lana sucked in a breath from the crystal beauty of this hidden treasure. Inlaid sapphires coated every statue around the garden giving them an ethereal glow in the moonlight. They almost appeared like the spirits of the fade, hovering through the garden to watch over the blue bonnets, crystal grace, and other similar shaded flowers overfilling crystal pots. A lone fountain sprayed water in a circle through a hole in a massive blue crystal at the top spire, which scattered water droplets onto the flowers and anyone who drew too close. The chill of the night combined with the fountain created a creeping fog obscuring the path. It gave the illusion they were walking upon clouds through some magical sky garden.

"This is magnificent," she breathed. "And...you had no idea it was here," Lana snickered from the same awe on his face.

"No," Cullen admitted, "I'd thought it was merely a shortcut."

"To where?" Lana turned in his grasp. He wrapped his arms tighter around her shoulders to try and protect her from the cold.

"Anywhere away from there," Cullen said. Pulling her even tighter to himself, he placed a kiss against the top of her head. Lana snuggled against his chest, the rise of his breath, the thump of his heartbeat calling to her. This was a strange serenity; blood clotting on her hands and smoke ravaging her throat, but in this crisp oasis while wrapped up in his arms she felt peace.

"I'm surprised you're not dancing in there, Commander. You're a big hero and all," she smiled. "Saved an Empress. Very impressive. You're likely to get a medal made of tin and some scrap of land with half a mule on it."

Cullen chuckled from her assessment of royalty's temperamental gratitude. "I'm not dancing because it seems someone convinced the nobility I possess two left feet and cannot be trusted anywhere near a ballroom. For which I am eternally grateful," he whispered the last sentence into her ear. The intimacy revived her wilting form and something other than pain stirred in her stomach. "You were as much a hero as I in saving the Empress," he continued. "Shouldn't you be fending off attention from nobles left and right?"

Lana laughed at the idea. "Ha, a strapping man with a strong sword arm and..." she leaned back in his arms so her fingers could skirt along the cut above his lip, "tempting scars is a far better prize than the same in a woman. They see the marks displayed upon my shoulders and are terrified of what I could do."

His fingers pushed aside some of her fallen hair to gently trace the path of one of her old wounds. There were so many carved against her collar bones, her shoulders, her arms it was a wonder she could remember their source at all. "You were formidable long before you got those scars," Cullen muttered. His touch radiated across her skin as he rubbed up and down her arms to keep her warm. Other men would have tried to smoothly counter her by saying she was pretty because of her scars or that she couldn't see her own beauty within, but not him. He found her attractive because of the force that drove her to get the scars in the first place.

"Those women have no idea what they're missing out on," Lana sighed. Her fingers threaded through his hair, the waves soft as silk.

"Trodden toes and snapped ankles, you mean?" he joked.

"You were doing fine until I...interceded."

He pushed back her hair and drew his fingers across her cheek, "I was terrified I'd injure you. I know my limits when it comes to dancing."

Lana smirked, "Really? Were there lots of templar dances while the mages slept?"

Cullen's shoulders shook in a soft laugh, "Could you imagine? It'd be a massacre without a single blade drawn. No, my sister. Sisters, actually. They were always trying to teach my brother and me, bully my brother and me. Being the eldest, Branson managed to wiggle out every moment he could, but I..."

"You couldn't say no." She snuggled her arms around him and ever so slightly swayed with his body. It wasn't the kind of dance to win anyone attention on a floor, but her heart beat in a rhythm quickly matching his. She hoped this dance wouldn't end.

"I am a pushover when it comes to Mia," Cullen said. He plucked another kiss against Lana's head then asked, "Do you have any siblings?"

She swallowed and nuzzled her cheek against his chest. For once there was no metal to impede her, only the wool of the uniform and then his muscle flexing from holding her tightly. "I...don't remember much. Before the tower, I mean. But I had a brother, older by a few years. He was what you'd expect in older brothers. Ornery, loved to hide dirt clods in my shoes. He'd also sneak me treats when our mother's back was turned. Said I was the perfect height to slip over his shoulders and reach apples on the trees."

Cullen's fingers drifted down her shoulders to circle around her upper back, quietly waiting for more. The soft memory drifted away as reality rose back. It was a very old wound, one she was glad to have closed years ago. Lana frowned and looked up at him. "They were not rich, nowhere near the connections Hawke's Amell line had. So, they...turned their focus on the child without magic. The not Maker-cursed child. I never heard from any of them after I was...found."

She knew she was lucky in the end. So many other mage children upon the first sign of their powers were castigated, tossed into the world with nothing to their name, some killed outright. And who knew how many were out there right now alone and terrified with nowhere to go, nowhere safe to harbor them. The circles may not have been the solution but they were at least something in a world full of nothing. Cullen's eyes hovered in hers as he searched for anything to say. "Lana, I'm..."

"No one ever called me by my full name. I was always Lanny or Lana, or Lamby from my father. He said I reminded him of the little lambs in spring. My hair was rather poofy as a child. Solona was too long of a name for such a tiny girl. I'd never even heard it until I'd..." she blinked against the burning in her eyes, "templars appeared at the house. I remember it was summer because there shouldn't have been ice under my bed, frost climbing the trees. Two of them filled the doorway in their gleaming armor insisting Solona Amell come with them. I've hated that name ever since." Cullen's thumb wiped her cheeks, catching the few disobeying tears that dared to escape. She shrugged her scarred shoulders and swallowed. "I...don't think I've ever told anyone that before."

"Do you," Cullen's voice cracked in the cold of the night, "is there ever a time you wonder what your life would be like without magic?"

Twisting her fist around, Lana brought forth a small portion of mana, just enough to light an orb upon her finger. She watched it dance across each finger spinning like the ladies in the ballroom she'd spent half of her life banished from ever seeing. "Sometimes. If I hadn't been taken to the tower, if I hadn't been recruited into the wardens..."

"No one would have ended the blight," Cullen breathed, his warm voice coating her cheek.

"Oh, I'm certain Duncan would have found another warden to light the beacon with Alistair. I was in the wrong place at the right time, a place another could have easily stumbled into. After that it was just fixing all the problems in thedas, recruiting an army, stopping a civil war, and ending the darkspawn scourge. Rather easy." She passed her exploits off as little more than excursions because it was easier than facing how close she nearly came to death and ruin in that year.

Cullen gripped tighter to her, his face burrowing into her neck. It wasn't until he squeezed his hands into her arms that she remembered her path as a warden wasn't as nonchalant for him as she played it. Raising that army took her back into his life at perhaps both their lowest points. She'd never cried harder than that night after exiting Kinnloch. Far from camp, curled up in a stand of ferns for the hope no one would see or hear her, she bawled for every friend she'd ever had then lost and the horror of finding them again. It was her home, her family, and they weren't just killed, they were mutilated beyond recognition. Alistair found her a few hours later, her fingers raw from the carving blade slipping across her staff. She'd gotten only a quarter of the names in, but she couldn't do anymore. He'd sat in the bush beside her, didn't care about the prickers in it, just plopped down and patted her leg until dawn. Neither said a word, but both shared in the survivor's guilt they'd bear for the rest of their lives.

Lana shook off the old memories and slapped on a smile, "Besides, if I hadn't been touched by magic I'd probably be bored out of my mind and married off with four or five kids in the way."

Cullen spoke into her neck, "Married, huh?"

"Most likely to maintain the family business. That's what marriage is, right? Monetary ties and contractual obligations to keep names in order? I'd probably work it to be tied off to a traveling merchant so I'd never have to see him." She spoke the flippant words as if they were a death sentence. In truth, she rarely played the what if game with her own life. If she regretted every decision she ever made, she'd never rise from bed. "What of you? What would your life be like if you'd never joined the templars?"

Cullen pulled back from her neck and rose, his lips turned in thought. "I...I suppose I'd be in Honnleath farming. Or..." He shook his head from a sour taste. "No, I was Maker awful at it even as a child." His head dipped low and he eyed up her shoulder to whisper, "Perhaps I'd be a traveling merchant with a wife grateful she'd never have to see me."

"Oh no," Lana placed her hand against his cheek and lifted those mournful eyes. "Any wife of yours would be certain to travel forever at your side." His lips lifted in a grateful smile, and Lana leaned forward to pluck a sweet kiss against them. As she broke away, she smirked, "And she'd probably come armed to keep the competition at bay."

Cullen chuckled from her fair assessment. "This has been a trying night in many respects."

Clinging tighter to him, Lana shook off another bout of pain throbbing from her stomach. She thought he missed it, but Cullen arched an eyebrow from her wan smile. "I need to..." Lana sucked in a breath from another round, "inspect my wound, but I'll have to find a servant or handmaiden to help me out of this dress. They sewed me into this thing before pushing me out the door."

Cullen's fingers drifted around her ribs just above the bruising from the wound, "I could cut you out. I might know my way around a sword."

"It's all right, I..." Lana tipped her head back from a new wave of pain and she shook it wildly, "Nope, I'm liking your idea more. My room is...somewhere on the other side of the palace. I think." She pointed towards a black spec surrounded by another dozen dark windows in the far distance. There hadn't been much time to settle in before everyone was dashing around readying for the ball. It seemed unlikely she'd even find the right one on the first go.

Cullen caught her hand and cupped his fingers around it. "Mine is much closer. Here," He slipped his arm under hers and lifted her up. Together, they limped through the lit but mostly empty halls of the second floor. A few servants flitted through and the occasional party guest raced to get back to the festivities now that most of the murdering was done. No one paid them any attention, they weren't important.

After opening up his door, Lana inched her way into the room. Someone took the time to stoke the fire, the hearth large enough to hang a cauldron upon. A woman with pinched cheeks and slits for eyebrows glowered down upon them from a painting over the fire. Cherubs in gold leaf circled the four poster bed, each one aiming to shoot the one in front of it in the ass. All in all, it was the kind of room to induce nightmares in anyone, though the wainscoting was very nice.

Lana gripped onto the bedpost while Cullen closed his door. "You're alone in here? This place is palatial," she sighed with jealousy. "I have to share mine with three other women from...I want to say Jader." She tried to stretch out her side, willing the knot of pain away but it wasn't going to bow to her whims again. It was probably the last clown that pushed it.

"Here," Cullen placed a hand on her hip to steady himself as he attempted to find a way into her dress. "Let me try and...uh," a dagger glinted in his hands. He frilled up her burnt skirts, his fingers caressing her exposed thigh. "I'm uncertain where to begin."

Lana chuckled, "There are two pins in the back along both sides, yank those out first. And for the Maker's sake, be careful!"

"Why?" he asked even while cautiously removing the left pin. The side of her corset expanded offering a bit of wiggle room, but not enough yet. "It's not as if you haven't already destroyed the skirts."

"Because," Lana sucked a full breath into her lungs as he undid the second pin. She'd missed that feeling most of all while fighting. "This dress is either Josephine's or Leliana's. I'm uncertain which." Her fingers pushed up the now gaping bodice as Cullen moved around to face her.

"Andraste! Well, um, perhaps the charred skirts give it character. A realistic turn to the fire."

"Battle scarring to a dress?" Lana chuckled, "It'll be the next great trend in Orlais, I'm certain."

Cullen smiled in response, then raised his dagger up for attention. "Now what?"

"There's a long thread running directly through the back half. Cutting it should let out the last of the slack," Lana explained.

With more finesse than before he knew whose dress it was, Cullen's fingers parted through every scale on the back. The warm leather caressed her skin from his exploring, stirring that hungry part of her she'd thought exhaustion tamed.

"I believe I've found it," he crowed.

"Good," Lana nodded her head. "But before you cut it..."

Her thought leapt off a cliff as the eager man nipped the thread apart. In one swoop, the dress opened up from the back exposing her skin. The corset slipped from her fingers, dragging the fire skirts with it to land in a leather and silk lump below her bare feet. She felt Cullen's fingers settled upon her naked back, shock catching him by surprise. Then he yanked his hand away as if her skin was blistering.

Lana spun around and folded her arms across her chest, "I was going to say to warn me because the dress would fall apart, but..."

Gulping, he bored into her eyes while his fingers fiddled with his dagger. He was too terrified to let his vision drift any lower than her chin. "I'm, I didn't mean to, or know that."

Leaning forward on her toes, Lana pressed a kiss to his apologizing lips. Cullen's stammer froze along with the rest of his limbs. She heard the dagger tumble to the floor and she opened an eye to see it had missed the dress. Caressing his cheek once more, Lana smiled. He gulped back his embarrassment from her touch, the pair of them taking a moment. Then she pushed back her breast to inspect the wound on her stomach. The skin was pocked in yellow and green from internal bruising, and where the dagger bit a jagged strip of red remained, but there didn't seem to be any pus oozing free.

"Does it look infected to you?" she asked, her eyes darting from the wound up to Cullen's.

"I..."

"You can see better than I can," she said.

He bobbed his head like a ship adrift on the sea, "Right, of course." Slowly, he descended to a single knee. His eyes bored into her skin while, with a whisper touch, he pushed upon her wound. Pain chewed through her side, but it was duller than the sharp knot she'd felt earlier. Maybe it was the lack of mana in her system that did her in.

"I'm not seeing anything immediate, though a salve would assist in...in, uh," Cullen glanced up from her stomach right into her naked breast. From Lana's viewpoint his face was eclipsed by her nipple which made her chuckle as his face turned the same shade of red as his coat.

She placed her hand against her side, drawing forth what healing power she could manage while Cullen slid back to his feet. He kept his eyes drilled into the floor even as she sighed from relief flooding her veins. She forgot how nice not being in constant pain was, even if the feeling was fleeting. Floating from exhaustion and the balm, Lana wrapped her arms around Cullen and nuzzled close to his chest.

For a moment, his arms remained stationary at his side. "This isn't how I anticipated tonight going," he gulped. "I'm...you are so tempting but..."

"Cullen," Lana slid back from him and smiled, "after so many clowns all I want to do is crawl into bed and fall fast asleep."

Relief flooded his face and he bobbed his head. "Right, of course. I shouldn't have- Wait a moment." His fingers rose to unknot the multitude of buttons along his finery, trembling slightly from the nearly naked mage watching. After a time, he managed them all, the jacket dangling free. He slipped it off his arms and placed it upon the chair, then yanked his undershirt off over his head ruffling up his hair more than battle managed. "You could wear this to sleep in," he said extending the tan tunic to Lana, but she was the dumbstruck one now.

Four years and she still remembered the curve of those taut pecs atop his rib line. That firm stomach that trailed down to his narrow hips prodding above his trousers. The v was softer than she remembered, age catching up, but she wanted to grab the padding even more. Knead it through her fingers. To slip her hands around to his backside and pull him down on top of her. His skin was so pale it radiated in the firelight. Most of his scars were the same ones she remembered from the deep roads, but there was one along the left side of his chest that caught her. The cut was in a c shape, curving across where Lana wanted to lay her head. It wasn't as faded to white as the others, the scar still a stinging pink. Her fingers drifted across his skin, and _Maker_ his warmth washed over her.

Still holding onto the tunic, Cullen wrapped his arm around the small of her back. He watched her stroke his own scar for a minute longer before explaining, "Haven. I was struck by debris when we were fleeing Corypheus."

Lana nodded her head. She tossed back her hair and touched a scar running the length of her shoulder, "Haven, from the dragon worshiping cult. The dragon herself broke my arm in two places." His strong fingers caressed her own scar, the shared intimacy curling her bare toes. He dipped down to kiss her lips, this one as slow as a summer's afternoon floating on the river. The warmth wrapped up through her toes as his lips kicked up more fluttering butterflies in her stomach. She sighed in the back of her throat from a rare moment of perfection. Then a cursed yawn broke through their festivities, dragging away the bliss and replacing it with exhaustion.

"I don't know if I can last another minute," she admitted.

"Here." With his help, Lana snuggled into his undershirt, the same one he'd been wearing all through the night. It smelled of every inch of him, his earthy musk more powerful than it ever was on the grey warden tunic, but there was also a spicy cologne layered over top. When she smelled it, she smiled slyly at him. Cologne, changing his hair, just when she thought she had Cullen figured out...

"Without a dress, it'd probably be best if you spend the night here," Cullen said pointing to the bed. "I can rest in this chair, you take the bed. You, put in far too much tonight already."

Lana caught his pointing hand, "Cullen, don't be silly." Without any resistance, she pulled him to the bed. Lana hopped up and slid over the top of the blanket. "There's plenty of room for both of us."

He fluffed up the back of his hair and sighed, his chest expanding in an instant distraction as he flexed his biceps. "Are you certain? I wouldn't want to impose upon your...decisions of honor."

Yanking back the cover, Lana was partway under it when she stopped and rolled her eyes. She patted the other side of the bed. "Sleep beside me."

Unable to offer up another excuse, Cullen collapsed to the bed. He wiggled off his boots, tossing them to the door as a cheap alarm, and curled up under the blanket. The bed was narrow for two people, so Lana flipped onto her side. Cullen followed suit, his hand sliding below her neck while the other cupped her stomach. It was much the same way he'd spent a few hours speaking to her in Skyhold before she fell asleep and he slipped away. And now, she could spend the whole night with him curled up around her.

Lana sighed, sleep mushing her brain to goo. With barely a whisper she said, "Later, we'll figure out sleeping with me."

## Chapter Thirteen

**Dreams**

Chittering erupted in the back of her mind. No. The chittering crawled along the walls! Lana threw a fireball towards it, breaking apart the eternal darkness. In the flare, a multitude of teeth glittered in the deep, each fang snapping in rage. Baring down upon her, every darkspawn in the deep roads raced to finish the job. She tried to reach her arms back for another spell, but it was too late. Her tongue lolled to a standstill, her fingers locking in place as the darkspawn leapt off the ceiling towards her.

Lana bolted awake gasping for breath. Her body trembled from the memory, no, was that one just a dream? Was it both? With each year it grew harder to tell reality from the fade. She blinked in the soft grey shadows, gulping to bring sense to her tumultuous brain. Unable to make out anything in the room, Lana shifted uncomfortably on the narrow bed. The room felt wrong, the grey shapes and shadows unfamiliar. But she hadn't been anywhere familiar in a year. Her entire life was abandoned for...what life did she even have before she turned to the deep roads? What life could she have?

Placing her head in her hands, Lana sat up in the bed and waited. She could feel another presence in the bed beside her, but Hawke wasn't speaking up. No matter how deep into sleep her cousin got, any moment Lana was roused by nightmares Hawke would always mumble out, "Are you a blood mage?" And upon Lana insisting she wasn't, she'd roll back to sleep as if it was that simple an answer.

Lana waited another breath before casting a minor spell in the fireplace. It wasn't enough to catch the log, only lift a few embers to life and return a hint of color to the grey world. She gazed down at the form beside her and the past night walloped her memory. Cullen fell asleep exactly as he held her, his hand still curled under her pillow, the other pulled back to his own naked chest. Andraste's tears but he was so heartbreakingly perfect while asleep. The peace of slumber wiped away his worries leaving behind so much of that young man she knew in the tower before everything changed. His eyelashes fluttered from a dream and Lana slid back down onto the bed. This time she faced him, her hands curled up under her head.

One of his waves disobeyed the new order and curled in on itself, twisting until it scattered across his forehead. Those golden brown eyes stayed shut tight while his lips huffed a breath in deep sleep. _Maybe you need to accept you have a type, Lana._ After she left him in Kirkwall, she questioned what drove her to give in to her temptations in the deep road. She knew it would never be a relationship beyond a few days, but she pushed it as much as he did. In the dark of night, when her mind refused to release her to sleep she thought back to what she'd considered only a minor infatuation with that awkward templar in the tower. At the time it had seemed childish fun, nothing more. But upon being freed from the circle, who was the first person she fell into a foolish love with? A blonde, brown eyed man with a sweet heart and lofty ideals. She worried that she was trying to replace one with the other, but she wasn't certain who was the replacement and who the original. It was a foolish concern either way. Alistair was...in the past now, forever. Nothing would change that. And Cullen, he had his duty, always filled his heart with...Maker, she knew better than to hope for more.

As if sensing her thoughts, Cullen's lips rose in a smile and his hand ran along her shoulder. He didn't open his eyes but whispered, "Are you awake?"

"Yes."

"Is it morning?"

Lana glanced out the window and saw no hint of a rising dawn on the horizon. "No, I...had a bad dream."

Now those honeyed eyes opened and his once blissful face filled with concern. "A darkspawn one, or the other kind?"

"The other kind, though there were darkspawn in it so it's not easy to tell," Lana forced a smile, not wanting to heap onto his worries. Nightmares were so much a part of her that even Hawke grew immune. Though the first time it happened, her cousin sat bolt upright and threw a carafe through the window.

Cullen didn't rush to fix her, didn't offer suggestions for how to keep the bad dreams at bay. He only opened his arms wide and encouraged her to slide into them. His tunic tugged against her skin, the thick fabric catching upon the mattress as she scooted into him. Snuggling deep into his enticing trap, her fingers traced along his back, the muscle's unbending below his skin. What she wouldn't give to run her nails down it, arching her spine in...Lana shook the thought, willing away that nugget of desire. Time and a place and facing the end of the world was not it, even if she was the one to begin it all again in spite of the facts. His fingers tried to untangle her rat's nest of hair clumped at the back of her neck, but she was going to need a bottle of oil to attack it head on.

"Do you still get the bad dreams in the deep roads?" he asked. Lana crumpled into his chest, shame riding up her legs. "I didn't mean to, I'm..." Cullen's detangling fingers paused and he drew his fingers across her cheek.

"It's all right," she mumbled into his skin, her lips pressing against him even as she tried to curl deeper into a ball.

"Lana," he pulled her face up to his. No one liked her broken, no one wanted to talk about her being broken. It was easier to ignore it, frame it as a momentary lapse that would drift away given time. So she put on the mask and pretended all the other wardens didn't hear her screams at night. The lie was simpler. Did Cullen do the same, wave away any questions or concern because people don't like to think their heroes are vulnerable?

Sighing, he cupped her soft jaw as a hundred thoughts drifted across his eyes. "Why did you come to, uh, in the deep roads, when you returned to be with me?"

She blinked a few times, "I hadn't expected that question."

His eyes drifted away and he shifted on the bed as if it grew uncomfortable under his hip. "It's been in the back of my mind for awhile, since - well - it occurred, I suppose. I'd given you no good reason to...um," the blush burning up his cheeks as he tried to dance around speaking the word touched her heart.

Slipping forward, Lana caught him in a whisper of a kiss. It was just enough to draw Cullen from his awkwardness and he returned it in kind. Her fingers parted his stubble and she smiled, "In truth? I did it because I wanted to. It seemed like you did as well, so..."

"Because you wanted to?" he scoffed at her simple answer.

"I've spent a lot of my life not doing what I wanted, I suppose I wanted to rebel. For a little while anyway." She stared back through the years trying to find an explanation that never seemed to exist. Yes, she was attracted to him even before setting out, that much she was certain of. But something changed in the deep roads, whether it was in her or him she couldn't say. She just knew that if she never took that opportunity she'd regret it. "I didn't get you in any trouble with the templars, did I?"

"No," Cullen shook his head against the pillow, "no one knew and you weren't a mage of the circle, regardless. I-I never told anyone."

"Neither did I," Lana confessed, "though that's true of every warden mission. We are a secretive and tight lipped bunch."

"Sometimes, I wondered if it even happened, or if I dreamed it all."

Lana laughed, she felt the same alone in her room in the Vigil. "I believe it happened, but the dreams are nice too," she said. Her fingers drifted down his biceps, circling the power restrained within.

His eyes slipped shut from her touch, but then they snapped open and a sly look darted through them, "That's right. Hawke mentioned something about dreams."

Her smile folded to a sneer, "Hawke talks too much." Laughing at her response, Cullen's fingers arced down her back. "So, maybe," Lana drifted around through her memory and brain, trying to find a way to not lie, "on occasion I dream about you. Occasionally." She didn't have to touch her cheeks to know they were burning now. Hawke was going to feel her wrath when she returned to Skyhold.

Cullen ignored the embarrassment charring her body. In a smooth voice, he whispered, "What sort of dreams?"

"You've been thinking upon this for awhile," Lana cut back. He shrugged from her insinuation but wasn't about to give up his curiosity. She could fake exhaustion, slip back to sleep, pummel Hawke later, and never speak of this ever again. But...a memory stirred in the depths of her brain. Perhaps it was the healing draughts still floating in her system or the fact she hadn't eaten anything in nearly a day, but she wanted to give in to the momentary insanity.

"There is one in particular that I...I was in Vigil's Keep. Alone, in my room at my desk. There's a knock on the door and of course I'm thinking it's either invasion, darkspawn, or both. I open it up and you're standing there, no explanation, no reasoning for it, you're simply there. Wanting me. You run your fingers through my hair and tip my head back for a long awaited kiss."

Cullen's hands caressed up her face and dove into her knot of hair. Tugging upon it, he tipped her head back so he could lavish that kiss of her dreams upon her. _Sweet Andraste!_ His lips parted, allowing his tongue the freedom to tangle with hers. Every nerve in her body woke from the heat coursing between them. He broke away and rose up from his pillow to whisper in her ear, "What did I do next?"

"You, um," a new blush coated her cheeks as she fought to find the ability to form words, "caressed my, uh, breasts."

"Hmm." His free hand slipped lower down her shoulder, gently rolling his pads against her muscles. The anticipation dug up through Lana's stomach and she squirmed wanting, no, needing him to. Cullen pushed his lips to hers as his hand cupped around her breast. At first he only teased the underside, curling his palm up and down it to push her further into agony. Then his fingers threaded across her nipple prodding below his shirt. Barely a nub, the attention drew them out of hiding. Lana's entire body curled up, savoring every cautious twist across her breast, while begging for more. Leaning into him, Lana moaned in the back of her throat.

Whispering beside her ear, Cullen said, "Please tell me I took your shirt off next." She wasn't certain if she could form sentences anymore, so Lana only nodded. "I'm enjoying dream me," Cullen chuckled. His hand slid off her nipple and down her stomach to land upon the hem of his shirt. "Um..." With both of them still on their sides, it wasn't going to be easy to get off.

Lana sat up and kicked the blanket away. With bemused eyes, Cullen leaned back as she reached over with her leg to straddle him. He kept a close hold on his shirt, and after she settled on top of him - her thighs pushing against his sides - he pulled it over her head. Now it was his turn to moan, his fingers gripping onto her hips as he took the time to enjoy her naked body.

"No more denial?" Lana asked. She felt a bit foolish being on display but Cullen only opened his eyes wider and smiled. Pinned below her, she felt one of his better features rising to attention.

"What...um," he swallowed, "what happened next?"

Diving forward, Lana placed her hands astride his head as her lips met his for a heated kiss. Breaking away, she whispered, "You ran your lips across my birthmark."

Cullen smiled, "You know me well." He kissed down her jaw, crisscrossing her neck before he landed at her collar bone. Gently, he pressed his lips to every petal of her birthmark, his breath cooling the skin only to have him return heat with another kiss. Maker, she'd never found the skin discoloration so erotic until he stroked it, kissed it, pressed his all against it. Now goosebumps rose across her arms from his fingers spreading across her skin.

Arching her back, Lana cried in pleasure as his hands took up both of her breasts. Circling the nipples and drawing them out, he increased a bit of pressure while watching her quiver above him. "You've gone off script," she moaned.

"Forgive me," he smiled, "I couldn't avoid the swell or any other part of your breasts." She laughed from the old joke when he took her nipple into her mouth. Softly sucking at first, his tongue teased around her skin as if the two were playing a game of tag.

"Gentle nipping," Lana instructed. His eyebrow rose for a moment, but then he did as ordered. When his teeth grazed across her, every pleasure center in her brain lit up, all of it driving right down to her own fun bits rubbing against his. Lana rocked her hips back and forth, lost in his teeth upon her nipple and his cock against her lower lips. Even with pants and his trousers in the way, she could still feel him bulging.

Cullen shook below her, his own moan punctuating against her skin. He shifted his legs to try and slide away from her grinding. "Now what?" he panted.

"Um..." the dream mashed in her mind with what she wanted right now, and that was all contained in his pants. "You removed my trousers."

His head tipped down below her stomach and he eyed up the fact she was wearing none. Slipping lower down the bed, his fingers reached around to the front of her stomach and he pretended to undo a button that didn't exist. Slowly, he slid his hands along her backside, stopped to caress each cheek of her cushioned ass, then dipped down to her thighs to remove the invisible trousers. "I'm afraid that's as far as I can reach," he whispered to her stomach.

"Why must I do everything myself?" Lana joked and she made a show of shaking her legs so the imaginary trousers would slip off. Cullen rose higher to kiss her, his hands sliding back up her legs. They curled underneath her smallclothes, pressing into her butt which he kneaded in a massage.

"I think I can guess what comes next," he said. With a single finger, he slid aside the edge of her smallclothes and teased her outer lips. Only circling through her pubic hair, he grinned over her squirming as she tried to press him deeper. _Maker, he was going to drive her mad before he ever..._

Cullen dipped a finger into her, shallow at first and twisting to drag some of her wetness all across her lips. Well lubricated, he trilled his fingers against her clitoris and every control in her body exploded causing the fireplace to roar to life. _Oh Shit!_ He paused for a moment watching the logs hiss from her unexpected mana dump, then he smiled, "I'm guessing that's an endorsement."

Balancing her weight on one hand, Lana cupped his cheek and kissed him while moaning, "Maker, don't stop."

A seriousness flooded his face and he spoke with conviction, "Never." Cullen slipped off her smallclothes to her knees. Lana was uncertain if she could shake the real things off but it didn't matter. With enough space, he circled three fingers around her lips then drove them deep inside of her. While his thumb rolled against her clitoris, his fingers curled and stroked every delectable inch inside of her. She swallowed down another burst of mana building along her arms, but that only drew it deeper into her core, the core he was expertly stoking alive. _Maker, don't burn the room down. Don't burn the room down._

Pleasure flooded out up her stomach, across her hips, and down her thighs, the rush so magnificent her legs began to shake. "Andraste, I..." Lana moaned. Her arms collapsed, dragging her face into the pillow beside his. His lips danced up her exhausted arm while one free hand caressed her breast.

Lana shuddered again, the man obeying his order and not stopping his own magic. But any strength she had left in her upper body vanished in the night. She slipped further down, pinning his hand against her chest as she collapsed on top of him.

"Problems?" he smiled, speaking in between kisses.

"I don't know if I can move," she admitted, then added as an aside, "It was a lot of clowns."

Cullen's chuckle warmed the skin of her neck as his lips pressed against her ear. "Hold tight," he whispered. His hand wiggled out from between their chests, while the other slipped away from inside her. Knotting both around her ass, he used his legs to tip her over on her side. Lana giggled from the simplicity of it, but he wasn't finished. Rolling her shoulder back, he rose to straddle on top of her, his hands now pressed beside her shoulders.

"By all the..." Lana breathed while watching his biceps strain from the weight. With the lightest of touches, she caressed up and down his muscles, squirming from the taut power within.

"I fear I am at your mercy," Cullen said, watching her grow giddy from his body.

Her eyes broke away to stare up into his, and she grinned with such mirth he paled for a moment at placing her in charge. Inching along the bed, Lana's hands traced down his chest, her fingers padding against every turn like she was slipping under a cave. The sexiest cave she could imagine. He wasn't vain enough to devote the time to hone his body to appear perfect, but it was solid, every dip of her fingers stumbling against a muscle that prodded back. A strip of almost white blonde hair ran down the middle of his chest. She trailed it with her fingers, fluffing it back and forth while dipping lower down the bed until reaching the hair fanned out near his hips. Too bad his trousers remained in the way.

They shouldn't be too much trouble. Her fingers picked up the waistband at the back and slowly she circled them towards the front. Cullen shifted his weight, either afraid he would crush her, or growing excruciatingly impatient. Judging by the state of his pants, she could guess which. The commander had three buttons, each one she undid by first kissing his stomach, sliding apart the fabric, then dipping a bit lower. By the last one, the pants broke free revealing what she suspected all along.

"Still no smallclothes," she smirked, her words smothered by his lower half.

Cullen struggled through a sigh and a laugh, "No. Oh, Maker." The latter half was probably from Lana curling her fingers down the bottom of his shaft and ever so carefully sliding them upwards. She cupped her palm around the head of his cock and rolled over top it like wishing upon a crystal ball. _Ah yes, speaking off..._

Sliding the trousers off, Lana caressed his backside, paying special attention to that turn under the cheeks that wasn't quite thigh yet. Cullen's body shuddered above her, and he raced to position his arms before he crushed her. She slipped even lower down the bed, shoving the trousers with her until they fell around his knees. With a gentle peck, Lana kissed the tops of his thighs. Her ornery fingers maintained their dance up and down his cock, taking a moment to cup under the balls. But when her lips moved towards that indentation where thigh met torso, Cullen groaned. Here was where the curly hair went, his pubes twisted in on each other like soft brambles. She parted them, knotting a finger around in circles while breathing against his skin. Closer, ever closer. Her tongue came in from the side, swirling up the head of his cock.

He cried out something that sounded like a canticle, but then followed it up with, "Wait, wait, I...Maker, I don't know if I can...um. And I'd really like to. With you."

Lana released her kiss upon him and she scurried forward, but not without letting his balls gently touch against her skin as she did. By the time she reached his face, he was blotchy from an internal strain. The same damn one he put her under. It was only fair. But by the Maker, did he look adorable, struggling to keep his balance and also apologize. Lana kissed each word away. She wanted every inch of him as well.

Her legs wrapped around his stomach, the thighs pulling tight against him as she danced her tongue against his. Slowly, her fingers drifted down his back, the nails reviving his skin. She pressed her own lower lips tighter against him, grinding to drive back the pleasure through her body.

"Maker, I want you," Cullen moaned into her mouth.

Without answering him, Lana's fingers slipped down off his back and wiggled between her legs to grab onto his cock. While watching those honey eyes, she guided him inside of her. _Andraste's tears, it had been a long time._ His cock pressed against every inch of her neglected body, that sweet pressure driving her fingers to dig tight into his shoulder and throw her head back into the pillow.

Cullen thrust softly at first, only his first few inches slipping in and out. Each one relaxed her more, the pain giving way to her preferred exquisite torture. Lana's legs slipped lower, knotting behind his ass so she could meet him thrust for thrust and take even more inside. Even with his arms trembling, he continued at a soft rocking, pausing to press his lips to her forehead before beginning again. _He didn't want it to end. Maker, did she?_ Wrapped up below the man every woman seemed to want, screwing away in a gilded bed in an Orlesian Palace, Lana found herself believing in the Maker's side. Though, it was hard to think it could possibly be any better than this.

Moaning, he yanked his head back and swallowed, rising up from her. Lana rose up on her elbows, her chest bouncing from her own staggered breathing. "Now?" she asked.

"Now," he answered. Cullen grabbed one of her legs and pushed it forward until her ankle rested upon his shoulder. The second dug around his back, opening her up to take him in. Thrusting faster than before, Lana struggled to rise higher, trying to line her own throbbing parts against his pubic bone. But then she shook her head at the simpler option. Cracking open into the fade, she drew forth a rather easy spell upon her fingers. It was a gentle pulse designed to get someone's attention, and it could be placed anywhere on the body. Cullen watched curious as she slipped the pulsing spell onto her middle finger, then, sliding her hand between their bodies, touched her clitoris. The throbbing was immediate, knocking against her already inflamed tissue. She squirmed, arching higher into him. Lana's eyes flew open to see a hunger growling across his face. His hips began anew, thrusting every inch of himself deeper and deeper inside of her. With the pulse working its magic, she felt like his cock was boring her out in the best way possible. Grunting from his own build up, Cullen slipped his hand under Lana's backside and lifted her hips higher.

_Sweet Andraste!_ That final move pushed her off the cliff as every fiber in her body shattered into a million pieces. The warmth walloped up her stomach and down her thighs and she groaned through every internal wave of her vagina wrapping tighter against him. Lana's fingers reached for anything to grab and dug into Cullen's shoulders. He hung on for another three thrusts before his own body tightened and he threw his head back.

"Maker's something," Cullen moaned, every muscle inside him collapsing. Lana landed against the bed, and he nearly crashed on top of her, but she held him up, her hands pressed against his chest. "Oh, Maker," he sputtered, blinking to return to reality.

She released her hold as Cullen had enough sense to keep himself suspended above her, though his eyes were still dewy, his body slick with perspiration. Wrapping her hands around his chest, Lana pulled him to her and caressed down his back.

"That was..." he tried again.

"Sex?" she threw out, getting a chuckle.

"I believe it was that, true," Cullen lowered to his elbows so he could part the hair stuck to her forehead. His skin glowed from the firelight which was now roaring in the hearth. She bit back a frown from losing so much control, but Cullen didn't notice. Didn't care. He placed another kiss against her lips, then her forehead. "You are, I still can't believe you're here."

"For a few hours, anyway," Lana said. "Until they kick us out for being turnip farmers."

Cullen smiled, but he brushed off her jibe. "Lana, I..."

She cut off his comment with a kiss, her fingers curling along his jaw, "You're amazing."

"No, I'm fairly certain it's you who deserves the honor. I'd forgotten how..." he twisted on his legs and glanced down at her own knot of pubic hair, "What was that throb you added?"

"Ah, a little spell. An attention pulse you can leave for signals or set to...you probably don't want its full history," she blushed, but his fingers cupped her cheek, a heartwarming grin on his face.

"It was like nothing I'd ever felt before."

Now she smirked, "There are perks to sleeping with a mage."

He dipped down to kiss her sweetly. As he pulled back, he whispered, "Only you." Gently, he twisted his hips lower, removing himself from her. She was almost sad to lose that last part of him. Lana sat up on her elbows to watch, when exhaustion yanked her back.

"Maker, I'm going to need a week to sleep off the clowns, and another two to sleep off that."

Cullen tossed his trousers off the end of his feet and climbed into bed beside her. Slipping to the side of the bed, Lana yanked up the forgotten blanket tumbled to the floor. Returning to him, she pressed her head to his chest while he draped the blanket across both of them. "I'm glad to know I can beat out clowns."

She was never one to crash right after sex, though Alistair was practically mid-sentence awake and then boom head on the pallet, ass in the air gone. But now sleep haunted through her mind, trying to coax her down into its tendrils. His hands dug into her shoulders, their warm and sweaty bodies chilling in the cold air in spite of the blanket. Through the fog, Lana dampened down the fireplace until only a hint of light sparked from the embers. A strange feeling gurgled up inside of her and she started upon realizing it was happiness. How did she forget that?

"Cullen," she sighed into his chest, "it was worth it."

* * *

"...And you say you discovered this information from a crystal?" Vivienne's crisp words drifted around the table, her elbows expertly dipped below the lip as she sawed into her breakfast tart. How Madam de Fer could hack apart something that could collapse a hurlock's skull with such dainty grace was beyond Lana. They were some of the few people gathered at one of the many recovery nooks scattered across the Winter Palace. After sneaking out of Cullen's room before dawn, Lana found her original room. She dressed quickly in her old traveling clothes and stumbled across Madam de Fer laying into the spread the servants placed upon the table.

"It wasn't a crystal, precisely," Lana explained while prodding at the runny yolks of her eggs. "But blood that'd been crystalized."

"Blood magic," Cassandra breathed. She was out of her 'idiotic finery' and back in her preferred Seeker outfit. Despite the long night, the Seeker seemed alert and unaffected by the festivities save the arm she kept thrown across her eyes.

"Ancient elven blood magic," Lana corrected. "It seemed to mention Arlathan itself."

"Of course, I should have anticipated such," Vivienne huffed. "What else could contain so much information but blood?"

The three women broke from their conversation about Knight-Enchanters at the sound of a man crashing through a side door. "So sorry, don't seem to be able to open my eyes this morning. Or most mornings," Dorian's silky voice apologized to the servants he ran into. Despite the claims of pain, he glanced down the small stairs and grinned upon the trio at the end of the table. "Maker's breath, I'd thought I'd be the first to rise."

"Ha," Cassandra laughed. "I've been awake since dawn."

"By all that is good in thedas, for what purpose?" Dorian whined as he yanked out a chair. Practically collapsing into it, the man banged his forehead into the table and sighed. Unable to move it, he motioned for the servants to set the table around him.

"Why, my dear Lord Pavus, are you suffering from a bit too much celebrating?" Vivienne asked.

"Of course I am. They wouldn't stop toasting us, then they had to toast the toasting. And it would be rude to not toast to the wine itself, no matter how dreadful it may be," Dorian's mumbling earned a nod of agreement from Vivienne. He picked his head up to stare at his fellow heroes of Orlais and groaned again, "Why aren't you two in the same sorry state as me?"

"Pentaghasts never suffer from hangovers."

"Really?" Lana leaned forward, "Is there something tied to your dragon hunting blood or..."

"No, we simply never start drinking, or never stop. Either way," Cassandra shrugged, a whisper of a smile on her lips.

"But I know you were deep into the wine, Vivienne," Dorian continued needing anyone else to suffer along with him.

"Oh darling, the first thing one learns at court is how to pace oneself lest you become the fool who spends the night with vomit upon his shoes."

Dorian threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling. He looked so pathetic, his ramshackle hair plastered to a sweaty forehead, she almost wanted to heal him. But to do so unasked to another mage was impolite and could be construed poorly. Instead, she stirred her eggs some more wondering if she had enough control to cook the runny mess with her fingers.

"And what of our Warden friend here? Didn't see you at the after-death party. Were you busy drinking behind the scenes?"

"I was too busy healing people to do any drinking," Lana admitted.

"You and Blackwall are tried and true exemplary specimens of Grey Wardens - a teetotaling puritanical bunch who'd probably blush at the sight of an ankle," Dorian stung back. Lana only shrugged, she had nothing to prove to him or anyone else for that matter.

Climbing down the stairs into their little nook came the Inquisitor wrapped up in his own discussion with Cullen. The pair were in as heated a talk as one could get over waste extraction for armies, but Cullen broke for a moment to smile at her. Lana grinned back, then wiped it away, her focus turning back to her eggs. She didn't want to appear the blushing maiden in front of everyone. The Inquisitor's fingers lingered for a moment upon the back of Dorian's chair before he guided himself to the one beside it.

"Nice to see us all awake, long before the rest of the court," the Inquisitor said.

Cullen rounded the long way around the table, a noticeable limp as he favored his left leg. Odd, she didn't remember him limping after the battle. Pointing at the commander, Dorian called out, "Too much exertion fighting off a few harlequins?"

Yanking out his own chair beside Cassandra, Cullen lowered himself to his breakfast. For a brief moment his eye caught Lana and a guilty pleasure glittered in them. _Oh, so that was it._ Turning away from her, he inspected the offerings and snatched up a hunk of bread, "Something of that nature."

"What do you do with templars when they age past their usefulness in the South? Put them out to stud?"

"Dorian," the Inquisitor whispered a warning.

Cullen shook his head and glowered at his breakfast. "I'm too exhausted to argue. Just continue with whatever you were on about and leave me to eat."

"Did we miss anything important?" the Inquisitor continued. His fingers danced near the tevinter mage's without actually touching them.

"Yes, I was trying to delve into the backbone of the Grey Warden order. Determine what drives such a force to run head long into what most people would wisely run away from," Dorian crowed. His obstinance seemed to blot away the pain of his hangover. "Seems our warden friend here is against drinking."

"I never said that," Lana interjected.

"And now I've moved on to the question of other peccadilloes the wardens resolve from their nature."

"This should be interesting," Cassandra sat up higher in her chair, her boot banging into the table.

"Duty bound, devoted to the cause, forsaking every temptation and all that," Dorian continued, "very noble. I find myself curious if wardens have also abandoned the sins of the flesh."

"Dorian!" the Inquisitor hissed.

"What? We all know no one's getting through that mat of bear fur we occasionally call Blackwall. I wonder about our warden friend here. She seems to clean up all right. Is the celibate life more a feature of the Grey Wardens or a choice."

Lana shifted in her seat, blisteringly aware of every eye burning through her from the mage's sudden interest in her social life. She didn't look up from her breakfast, terrified she'd glance in Cullen's direction and give everything away. Rifling through any option to get rid of Dorian's fascination, it was the Seeker who came to the rescue of the mage.

"For the Maker's sake," Cassandra snorted, "you don't need to keep showing off. We all know you two are involved," she gestured to Dorian and the Inquisitor, the former who beamed and the latter that blushed, "we simply don't care."

"You, um," the Inquisitor for once seemed lost for words, "ah...Dorian?"

His lover shrugged, "I never said a word, Amatus." The Inquisitor knocked into Dorian's shoulder, but his eyes smoldered - he was in deep. _Enjoy it while it lasts_ , Lana thought. She felt Cullen's eyes trying to pierce through her, but she kept her head bowed in contemplation. Only a tiny smile played against her lips, giving away that she had every intention to replay the events of last night once they were away from the Winter Palace.

"So," Dorian continued, "whose sex life do we discuss next?"

## Chapter Fourteen

**An Olive Branch**

Skyhold's great hall bustled as Josephine directed a stack of crates originally bound for the stables, but someone got their missives crossed and the linens meant for the dining tables wound up being fed to horses. It was a mark of her grace that the ambassador maintained her cool instead of strangling the shrugging carter with her half digested tablecloth. Lana'd been watching the display for awhile waiting for the ambassador to snap. A few people tried to intercede on Josephine's behalf, but most were moving further and further away from the merchant all sending the blood about to be shed. Lana hovered in the corner while clinging tighter to her staff. Devoid of its blade, it blended in as a walking stick but she hated having it out in the open, having her out in the open.

Sure, other mages waltzed through Skyhold as if it was a circle's courtyard but even they left their staves in the armory. No one wanted to be the errant flame loosed in a barrel of powder.

"Ah, Warden," the Inquisitor's pinched voice called from a door. Varric's head swooped away from the ambassador waving the hay in people's faces and calmly explaining how it was not linen. The dwarf's eyes danced from Inquisitor to Warden, but whatever the Inquisitor wanted couldn't compete with a man trying to press the hay to the wall and pretend it was sticking.

"You asked for me," Lana dipped her head to the Inquisitor.

"Forgive me, I was speaking with...um," and that steely resolve snapped for a moment. She knew exactly who he was speaking with, though it was doubtful much speaking was involved. Not that she was going to call him to task for it. "I see you brought your staff. Excellent."

Her fingers rolled through the deeper indentations pricking against old names she feared to forget. "Yes?" Her 'as you asked' went unsaid.

"As I understand it, your early tour of Skyhold was less than satisfactory." The elf's grey eyes brightened to an almost pale blue in the light from his stained glass windows. He shook off that glumness that plagued his sinew like knocking dust off the hay linens during spring.

"It has been confined more or less to my room and the dining hall," Lana admitted. After returning from Halamshiral, she ventured out with Hawke a few times under the pretense of exploring and yet with each trip they wound up in the tavern. Hawke seemed to be under the illusion she could drink the qunari under the table once she discovered his weakness. Lana suspected his only weakness was sneaking in on his blindside and redheads.

The Inquisitor bobbed his head, "I thought, given your performance at the Winter Palace, that it should be rectified. Please, follow me." He guided her deeper into the great hall and past his throne.

"My performance?" Lana asked. As far as she knew it'd ranked somewhere around satisfactory. Well, as far as the Inquisitor was concerned. The commander gave a hearty endorsement.

"I heard about your initiative to rescue my people, and your endeavors in the ballroom saved even more lives," he threw open a side door on his right and stepped down a giving staircase. Lana followed after and the sight knocked a breath from her. She leaned upon her staff to find her balance. Blacksmithing tools sang throughout the undercroft, furnaces buffeting out smoke while whet stones honed blades for the next mission. That wasn't surprising to the old Warden Commander who didn't start the day without a trip through an armory. What gave her pause was the missing back wall revealing a bright blue sky broken up by the jagged teeth of the white mountain. And below them all was the eternal rush of a waterfall pounding through the crevices to thunder miles deep. She wanted to scamper over and hang her head off the edge, reach towards it and feel the force of every drop against her hand. _Why was Skyhold perched over top such power? Was the waterfall used for some hidden devices in the Keep, ancient elven devices?_ She hadn't seen any mills in the area, though it would make sense to implement one with the growing army. They'd mentioned elves having created Skyhold before humans even came to thedas. Would they have needed the waterfall to...? Lana shook away her eternal questions; if there was an answer someone else in the hold was probably working on it right now.

"Impressive?" the Inquisitor posed, smiling over his domain. She bobbed her head appreciatively, then nodded a few more times. Despite missing out on most of the game in the Winter Palace, Lana felt she was dancing to a new tune now with him, one that could backfire if she failed in a step.

The Inquisitor lightened up considerably surrounded by the crash of steel, his wary eyes lifting in an almost smile. "Seeing as we are about to approach the Western, well, Approach." He blushed from his verbal fumble and Lana began to understand what the brash tevinter mage saw in him - raw vulnerability buried under his formal armor. Shaking his head, the Inquisitor began anew, "An update to your weapons and/or armor might be useful."

"Ah..." Lana's fingers ran up and down the length of her staff. She'd had plenty of time and opportunity to switch it out over the years. Wade had crafted a thing of beauty for her out of dragon bone. But, no matter how many powerful staves she kept locked in her armory, this was the one that carried her into battle. The one that carried her back out.

"Our blacksmith is a professional," the Inquisitor continued, as if needing to impress her. He gestured to the man working the forge. The smith only grunted in response and returned to his work. "A new staff blade could help, or our arcanist could work in a more powerful rune."

"You have a tranquil to enchant items?" Lana asked. She gazed over the handful of people working the forge, but couldn't see anyone with the sunburst burned into their forehead.

The Inquisitor tapped his fingers against his collar bone and gazed up, "Not precisely. Our arcanist is not what one would expect, but she's amazing. Dagna!" He called the name out into the undercroft, his voice echoing above the waterfall's din. _Why did that strike a chord inside her brain?_

"Yes? Oh, you're back! I hoped you'd be back because..." a dwarven woman prodded her head from around a stack of boxes. She smiled at the Inquisitor then turned to the mage standing beside him. That's when the woman squealed a pitch high enough to blanket out the whine of whetting blades. "By the paragons, and ancestors, and anyone else super old listening in. It's you! It is you? It has to be you! I never thought I'd ever see you again!" She flew up the side stairs and ensnared her arms around Lana with such force the mage almost tipped backwards.

"I, uh..." Lana was dumbstruck by the attention and bit down an instinctive urge to pat the head of the woman burying her head into her stomach. From beside her, she felt the castigating eye of the Inquisitor drawing across her.

"You don't remember me, do you?" the woman said, but her eyes and cheeks didn't stop smiling. "It's okay. You had a lot going on, world changing stuff really, with blight, and dwarven politics, and that whole war thing. But I'll never forget you. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

Lana blinked, the whisper of a memory elongating, "Dagna?" Then it clicked. "Dagna! The dwarven girl who wanted to study magic. Maker, what are you doing here?"

The dwarf squealed again and spun around in a circle, "You remembered me! How could you, we only spoke five and a half sentences? Oh, but of course you would. You probably remember everyone you meet."

"That's not entirely..." Lana tried to get a word in, but Dagna was too far gone.

"What am I doing here? Exactly what you helped me to do. Magic! Well, enchanting. You know I can't do magic. Not the way you do, with the ice and sparks all over the place. Pew pew pew," she squeaked in awe, her eyes glazing over, as she waved her hands around like casting magic.

The Inquisitor coughed, breaking up the adoration, "I take it you've met the Warden before, Dagna."

"Met? She's the one who got me into the circle. Helped me to study magic. The only reason I'm not stuck in Orzammar right now bored out of my mind in the smith class."

"I see..." the Inquisitor leaned away from the dwarf catching up with an old friend. Lana could sense the door she'd creaked open with him slamming shut, and she had a pretty good idea why. At the Winter Palace she didn't interfere in his plans, deferring to the role of side soldier and little more. It kept the line of command simple with no one else gawping at the great hero, and now...

Dagna grabbed onto her hand, her eyes dissecting up and down her weapon as her fingers caressed it, "Is this it? The same staff from the Blight? Ancestors, I'd expect this to be in a reliquary or something fancy for people to pray to. Hm, solid core no doubt, and you've kept good care of it but everyone could use an update. What about something from everite?"

"That's quite all right," Lana interceded even as she let the dwarven woman keep a hold of her staff. "I don't need anything new."

"Oh," Dagna slapped her forehead, "of course, what you need is a rune. And not just any rune. I've been working on something that'll... Wait until you see it. It's probably my best work ever. And it'll be perfect for you. Please?!" Her eyes opened wide as she begged to show off to Lana.

Unable to crush her heart, Lana gave a, "Go ahead." Dagna yelped and dashed away to her workstation, Lana's staff in her hands.

The chill off the Inquisitor was evident and grew as Dagna began to sing under her breath. "My spymaster is an old friend of yours. You are related to the Champion of Kirkwall and have some undivulged history with Varric. I later learn you have a connection with the Arishock Iron Bull also answers to. And now it comes to my attention that I owe my arcanist's talents to your machinations." His steel eyes cut through her, causing Lana to stiffen. "Is there anyone else in Skyhold who owes their allegiance to you?"

"None of them would..." Lana began when Dagna broke from her work to wave at the warden with such fervor her elbow smacked into a pile of shields, scattering them to the ground. This wasn't helping her case.

"Right," the Inquisitor shook his head. "Do not think I am unaware of my precarious perch. To have the humans, with ties to the chantry, place so much power in a dalish elf's hands is unheard of. It is not beyond the pale to suspect them to yank it away from the elf savage at their first opportunity."

"I'm a mage," Lana cut in. In the scheme of things, she ranked above him in the eyes of the nobility, but not by much.

"A mage who has already saved the world once, built up alliances across thedas including the entire kingdom of Ferelden, if I am not mistaken."

"Don't let the name fool you, I don't command any armies there." She shifted back to Dagna to keep from wanting to knock those inspecting eyes out of his head. He lived up to his title well.

"No? But the rumors tying you with the King are..."

Lana's fingers bunched up into fists. Despite Alistair taking his perceived high road all those years ago, of course people spread lies that the Hero of Ferelden was seducing the new king, bedding the new king. How else would he stand a chance in power if she wasn't the one behind the throne? She'd shook them off as nonsense knowing that no matter what she wanted, she'd never touched the man when he was king. At least, she hadn't until...

"They are ancient," Lana responded, her own voice ice. "Ask your Spymaster if you don't believe me."

"Who would have no reason to lie, of course," the Inquisitor continued.

She could be enraged at his constant needling of her, but she understood. In this game, you watched everyone. Allies of convenience could turn even more deadly than enemies once the winds shifted. And her insisting she didn't want his job, didn't wish to taste his power, would only seem like a pathetic ploy to throw him off the scent. Leliana could handle herself, probably better than most. Hawke wouldn't care, assuming she'd even notice. Lana knew nothing of the Iron Bull, but if the Inquisitor truly thought she had any command of Sten then he needed to learn more of the world and quickly. Dagna was scrappy, unlikely to let anything stick upon her. No, there was only one concern for where Lana's undue influence lay, and she wasn't about to endanger him.

"If you wish to question me about something, have at it. I've been more than reasonable, more open than most other wardens you'd find." She didn't glare at the Inquisitor, only blanked her face and waited. For a moment, his calm broke, revealing a hint of his own pressures building behind him. She only had the wardens to worry about now, he had the entire world perched upon his shoulders. It was a feeling that still haunted her dreams at night, along with every other problem in her life. If they weren't at odds she'd almost want to offer up her own advice for how to live through it.

"I am asking you now so there are no more surprises later. Is there anyone else in Skyhold, anyone else loyal to the Inquisition whom you have aided or befriended in the past?"

She curled her hands around her stomach and thought, "I believe I once bought a horse off Master Dennet. Though that was ages ago, and it's doubtful he'd remember me now." The Inquisitor's eyes hunted over her face as he bobbed his head, her relation to the horsemaster apparently acceptable. Lana turned away and faced out at the waterfall. Her curiosity was dampened about it now thanks to the politics in the air. "Ah," she snapped her fingers as if suddenly remembering, "And your Commander, I heard he served in the same Circle as I for a couple of years before I joined the wardens."

The Inquisitor smiled, "That should be no problem. I can understand why he would not say anything."

"Oh?"

"His severity in the order is well known. And it's not as if templars and mages make for good bedfellows."

She didn't swallow in guilt or glance over at him, only grimly nodded her head. Mages and templars weren't supposed to be close, weren't meant to get along. But she knew more than her fair share of both sides who defected in the night. How would he, a Dalish no less, understand the complicated world of the Circle? To anyone outside the towers it appeared simple enough. The black chess piece facing off against the white, an eternal struggle where battles are won but never the war. No one ever wondered what happens on the board when the game isn't being fought. The quiet times when the black and white pawn find themselves falling for each other across the few squares in spite of every rule against it. Sometimes, it seemed like it would be easier if they did only hate each other.

"Hey!" Dagna waved her hand again, then ran towards Lana with her staff. She passed the wood to the mage's arms while chattering, "I can't believe you managed to get three enchantments into this."

"It took some doing, and a lot of research," Lana admitted, cupping her hands around that extension of her. Mounds and mounds of research while traveling across most of thedas done during her rare quiet moments. She'd been attending to other matters, but there was always room for improvement for both herself and her staff.

"Well, it's at four now."

Lana started, her head snapping up to Dagna. "Four? Andraste's grace, how did you get four into this?"

"By recalibrating the thaumic energy from your frost rune, I could divert the flow past that, uh darkspawn slaying one of yours. This opened up enough space for me to slot in what I've been working on," Dagna pointed to an indentation she made in the head of the staff. Most mages would have a crystal there, but Lana sacrificed it for the enchantments. Though, she did take the time to carve a small griffin into the end. She wasn't entirely beyond aesthetics. Reaching into her pocket, Dagna unearthed a rune and slotted it into place. The staff hummed to life, power reverberating up and down the core of the wood. Power she'd normally have to work her own mana into it to achieve.

"Maker's breath, Dagna, this is brilliant!" Lana beamed. The dwarf jumped up, clapping her hands in joy, and then she caught the mage in another hug. "What is the rune you inserted, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Ah, it's one of the corrupting ones," she still clung to Lana like a proud child.

"Corrupting ones?"

"Thanks to the Inquisitor's work, I've been whipping them up left and right. They use red lyrium to corrupt any uncorrupted individuals into corruptedness. Corrupting all around." Dagna chattered ecstatic about her invention, but Lana's smile froze. Red lyrium. She'd been tracking the stuff for a few months with Hawke and Anders on her heel. They didn't travel everywhere together. It would have raised suspicion and with each passing day Lana feared she'd finally make good on her promise to end Anders. Maker, she forgot how annoying that man could be, even with Justice knocking about in his head. By the time she thought she had a breakthrough, Corypheus attacked the Temple and everything in the world changed.

"I see..." Lana said, twisting her staff around. She was less than thrilled about the power inside of it now.

"Do you like it? I hope you like it. Please tell me you like it," Dagna sputtered out.

Plastering on a smile, Lana nodded at her, "It's perfect. Maker only knows what I'll face soon. Thank you, Dagna. You've done amazing work."

"She has indeed," the Inquisitor spoke up. Dagna blushed from all the attention, but Lana caught the edge of the threat. The dwarven arcanist did the work only at the behest of the Inquisition, no one else. Lana slipped her staff back and forth in her hands, getting a feel for the imperceptible change in weight. Most wouldn't notice a three gram rune tacked onto the top, but she'd lived with this staff for ten years. A raindrop changed her form.

The Inquisitor watched her, his own arms folded up, "You best prepare yourself. I hear a storm is coming."

Lana squared her shoulders and nodded. She was ready for whatever storms thedas would dare throw her way.

## Chapter Fifteen

**Storms**

Frozen rain splattered against her face and she raised up her barrier, but even that could only block a quarter of the force of nature raging against her. "When he said a storm, I thought he was being metaphorical!" Lana screamed in the wind to her compatriot. Hawke shrugged. She began the night with a shield but it didn't last long. Hawke seemed to be allergic to the things.

The final vestiges of a vengeful winter blasted across Skyhold. Normally, it would require everyone to hole up in their rooms beside the fire listening to the howl of the wind and setting up for a round of babies in nine months, but this wasn't any storm. Perhaps it was because of the tear in the sky, or the increasing movement of people flocking through the mountains that created winds roaring enough to tip towers back and forth. Ice sheets formed within an hour over doors and windows, trapping the faithful inside.

"He said we had to get the main gate closed. Or was it open?" Hawke screamed. All of the mages assembled in the great hall once the storm began. The orders came from the Inquisitor that they were to use whatever magic was at their disposal to combat the storm and keep Skyhold in one piece. Soldiers slipped in and out of the chattering robes to accompany the mages at the behest of their commander. The mages weren't happy about it, but Cullen explained they weren't there to control them, only to provide cover and protection. Even Lana thought he was speaking half truths until she got into the wind. Hawke had to pin her arms down and cling tight to keep Lana from whipping away over the wall.

"We are to close the gates without destroying them!" Lana screamed. She didn't bring proper winter gear with her to Skyhold, certainly nothing to survive this blizzard. If it weren't for her maintaining a constant internal burn across her skin, she'd be as frozen solid as the winch upon the battlements.

"Right!" Hawke wrapped her hands around the massive gear, "Tell me when to turn."

"Maker, help me," Lana moaned. She peered over the edge to spy the great chain leading down to the door. Right now the open door was creating a dangerous wind tunnel churning through the courtyard. If they didn't get it closed, who knew how much damage this storm could inflict. Swiping snow out of her eyes, Lana twisted up the fire inside of her and aimed it at the metal chain. Fire was never her friend, not the way it was for some mages. She could manipulate it, call it into being, but it fought back and using it so close to wood set her teeth on edge. Twisting her fingers as far from the landing as possible, her flames coated the chain. The icy buildup began to melt, dripping away from the gears.

"Try it now!" she cried at Hawke.

Putting those muscles to good use, her cousin leaned into the winch. The chain rose a few feet, taking the drawbridge with it. Lana kept a constant spray of fire aimed far from both of them, her fingers freeing the chain that Hawke hauled upward. It was working and so far she hadn't set anything else on fire. "Wait!" Lana shouted, and Hawke grabbed onto the wheel before it all spun back. "We have to get the other side!"

"How's that gonna work?" Hawke shouted back through the howling winds. "This ain't gonna hold."

"If we don't do it together, the chain will snap," Lana explained, waving her hand towards the other winch on the far battlements.

"Why don't those two handle it?" Hawke gestured to a pair of men inching their way towards the high wall. One was an elf, his bald head slick with ice and snow, the other...Lana blinked and shook her head. For a moment he looked like a bear growling into the winds, a hand thrown up against them as he leaned into it. "Hey you!" Hawke tried to lift her voice over the wind but there was no chance it would carry. Mercifully, the men appeared to have the same idea as them.

While the probably not a bear heaved onto the winch, the elven mage directed his own fire at the chain. Slowly, their side lifted to join with Lana's and Hawke's. "All right!" Hawke cried, "Let's get this door open!"

"Closed," Lana sighed.

"Whatever!" Hawke screamed back, having the time of her life despite the threat of frostbite and high mountain winds chucking them off the walls and to their deaths. Lana directed the next blast of fire at the chain while Hawke did what she did best. In fact, she did it so well, Lana had to call for her to stop on occasion so the men would catch up.

"Are you showing off?" Lana asked, shaking her head. She could only see Hawke out of the corner of her eye.

Her cousin shrugged a shoulder while keeping her grip on the winch, "Wouldn't you?"

It took a few more turns of the wheel, but by and by, the drawbridge shuttered, closing off the gap with a final thud. Almost instantly the wind died down in the courtyard. People rose up from their hunkered down stance to run for it, no longer fighting against the wind to try and secure the horses and tents. At least someone thought to move the injured off the ground and into shelter before the true storm began. The only remaining job was sealing off the winch. Hawke reached for the lock, but it wouldn't budge.

"Uh, cuz, you think you can unfreeze this too?" she asked, pointing at the lock.

Lana twisted around, certain she could do anything, when she spotted the lock buried inside a wooden beam that connected to the scaffolding running down to the door. Shaking her head, she zipped away any fire inside her, even blanketing down the burn. Cold thundered against her skin, the ice nipping like tiny insects across her face and fingers. "So, I just stay here until the storm passes then?" Hawke asked.

"I have another idea." Lana rolled her fingers and called up her old friend ice. "Slip to the side, please," she ordered. While Hawke reached as far as she could without letting go, Lana unleashed her own winter storm upon the winch. Ice sheets piled two, three, four meters thick, coating the winch in an impenetrable shield. Hawke yanked her hand away as Lana finished her dome, sealing the lock until summer or someone with a better control of fire came along.

"And that's why we call you Snowflake," Hawke cooed, wiping her hands against her pants.

"You don't call me Snowflake," Lana answered back, exhaustion swirling through her arms.

"How about him?" Hawke pointed behind her and Lana twisted around to follow it. On the higher level, Cullen stood alone trying to hack his way into a door.

"What about him?" She shook her head, trying to keep up with the conversation, but her eyes didn't drift from the lone man struggling against the winds. Her fingers ached to throw a barrier around him, but it'd never reach at this distance.

"Do you think he needs help?" Hawke asked.

Spinning to face her, Lana nodded, "No idea how we'll get up there."

"I've got something. How're your climbing skills?" Hawke asked. She dipped down to a knee and bundled her hands together like a stool.

Warily eyeing up her cousin, Lana stepped into it. Her fingers tried to find a grip on the champion's armor that was coated in ice. "They're shit, why?"

"Then hang on," Hawke shouted. Like she was chucking a log during a competition, Hawke threw Lana into the sky. She wished she could say she didn't scream, or curse her cousin in every language available to her, but as her body flew through the stinging night air her brain crashed to panic mode. It wasn't until she was on the downward trajectory that Lana realized she'd have to catch herself or risk a broken leg. Reaching forward against the wind, her hands managed to snag the end of a ladder someone began to pull away from the edge. Her feet dug into the icy rock and she hung just off a fall over the cliff's edge. Whispering a curse and thanks, Lana scrabbled up to the next level.

After making certain she wasn't dead, she turned around and shouted at her cousin, "Why did you do that?!"

"Because it worked, of course."

"Sweet Andraste, take me now," Lana muttered. She wiped her face off, reviving her internal burning to shake off the ice. Gathering what strength remained in her wobbling legs, she chased after Cullen along the battlements. His sword was doing little by way of getting into the door because he kept pausing to check the snow threatening to slip off the roof.

"What do you need?" Lana shouted behind him.

Cullen twisted partially around and nodded at her, "There's blankets and other stores inside that might be useful, but..." he gestured to the snow above him.

"Got it," Lana steadied herself against the winds. This high up, they were no longer an annoyance but a real threat. If she lost her footing, she was going over the wall where a crushing death awaited her. Digging into her mana, Lana called up a spell. Cullen continued his way into the door now with wild abandon. He didn't glance up at the snow drifting ever closer to him with each slash against the hinges, trusting she'd handle it.

The door cracked, bending to his whims, when the snow made a move. Gritting her teeth, and with the force of the fade, Lana shoved every flake of it off the door, over the battlements, and onto the cliffs below. Blinking from her display, Cullen turned around, "I thought you were going to set it on fire or something."

"That'd burn the whole room down."

"Right." He gestured to a pair of soldiers clinging desperately to the wall, "Get in there, take what you can. I need to check on the other side. You up for more?" His wary eyes warned her she didn't need to risk it, but she smiled.

"Only if you are." Lana tossed up a barrier between them. Taking the lead, Cullen relied on his body to block the snow and ice, but the wind was winnowing to a small squall in his wake, one that tossed Lana back and forth across the slippery stone. She inched closer and closer to him to combat the gale forces, until her fingers gripped into the back of his armor plate. Bending her head low to fight off of the ice, they slid around the battlements.

"What are we looking for?" she shouted.

"Anyone else in trouble," he called back. They passed in front of one of the block of rooms that'd been left in disarray. Holes in the roof were now plugged by the torrential snow, which was building higher and higher. It had to be at least two feet that'd fallen and climbing fast. How was so damn much moisture in the air up here?

A crack sundered through the roof snow, and both of them looked up at it. "I'm sure it's fine," Lana said. The overhang ended right at the edge of the doors, meaning if it did fall they'd be buried in it.

Winds snapped against the snow piles again and the roof shifted forward. Lana dipped into her mana, preparing the spell, when the minuscule grasp the snow had on the roof gave out. She tried to aim anything up at it, but it was Cullen who bull rushed her out of the way of the impending avalanche. His weight carried them against the door which burst open on aging hinges, and together, they tumbled into the room while a ton of snow splattered into their only exit. Pain cracked into her spine from the fall while the frozen armor on Cullen's chest piece almost smashed through her sternum. Lana's eyes rolled up at the man pinned on top of her. He'd thrown his arms out in time to keep from completely crushing her, which was nice. She'd be in an even sorrier state if he'd continued on to the floor with her in between.

Without any fanfare, Cullen jumped back to his knees and rose up. He spun to face the door bouncing against the wall while Lana rolled to her side, her fingers prodding against her back. She hadn't severed anything, but she landed upon a book in the middle of the floor. "Hard in Hightown, volume 9," she read aloud off the cover. "These things are everywhere."

"Do you think you can melt this?" Cullen gestured to the fallen snow blocking the door almost to the top. Drifts of it scattered into the room, but most decided to flatten against the doorframe, the ice storm quickly shifting it to a frozen blockade trapping them inside.

Lana rose to her feet and an involuntary groan rolled out of her throat. There were going to be new bruises, she was certain. Slightly guilty, Cullen turned to her and tried to offer help but she shook it away. Massaging her back, she inspected the snow pile. A powerful burst of fire would melt most of it away, except the entire frame of the door was in the way. And that wood connected to other wood all along this face of rooms filled with Maker only knew how much kindling. One errant breeze, and she would be the one to destroy Skyhold.

"I don't think I should risk it," Lana said. "Not a full blast anyway. The entire place could go up like tinder." Shame twisted up her stomach and she turned away, "I'm not the best at controlling flame. Sorry."

Cullen's gloves ran across her arm, squeezing as he spoke, "It's all right. We'll think of something."

"I can try small bursts," she said. While Cullen stood behind her shoulders, Lana snapped her fingers knocking a spark of fire in the middle of the snow. It flared briefly before the dripping snow extinguished it. She tried again, getting the same result. "This may, uh, take some time."

Cullen chuckled and threw his head back, massaging his cheeks with his fingers, "Do not bother. At that rate, the snow will have first melted from the summer sun."

"I'm trying..." she shuffled her feet, wishing she'd mastered a primal beyond ice. Sure, fire and lightning were flashier, but cold sang to her in a way the others never did. Now, ice was the last thing they needed.

His laughter sloughed away, and Cullen reached out to her. Caressing her cheek, the snow on his gloves melted against her over-warmed skin. "Oh, no, I...you're doing fine. Better than anything I could. I was only thinking how sadly hilarious it is that we're trapped here in our own damn keep because of a bit of snow."

"That's a bit? Maker, how long have you been on this mountain?" Lana reared back and Cullen chuckled again.

"Not long enough for a contingency plan, I fear. Still..." he gazed around the room. Like many of the other abandoned rooms in Skyhold, piles of shattered wood lay where furniture once stood. A pile of bunk beds crashed and rotted in on itself centuries ago, the moldy straw heaped in the middle. "There are few I'd rather be trapped with."

"I'd pick a fire mage first, then Hawke."

"Hawke?"

"She'd dive head first through that, probably eat a tunnel for us," Lana giggled at the image and Cullen joined with her, his fingers running along her shoulders and digging into her muscle below the cloak. Unclasping the hood, Lana tugged it off, snow tumbling to the floor about to become water. An antler hung suspended above the doorframe. After shutting the door, she dangled her wet cloak off it and then shimmied out of her boots.

"They're certain to come looking for us once the storm's passed," Cullen said.

"In the mean time, I guess we stay put." Lana's eyes hunted over the room that became an accidental prison. A small hearth claimed the west side of the room, so they could have heat assuming they find a source of kindling. Luckily, the rotted interiors of Skyhold provided more than enough. Pointing at the fireplace, Lana said, "I'll get a fire going if you can pry apart some of the old furniture."

Cullen nodded. He walked towards an old end table shattered into three pieces with a tree climbing through the middle, when he paused. "There isn't much point to wearing all of this now." To the antler, he added his furred surcoat beside Lana's cloak.

"How can you stand that much metal in the middle of a snow storm?" she asked while watching him strip out of each armored piece and lay them next to the wall beside her boots.

Shrugging, he yanked off his own shoes, "I barely notice it. It's not much heavier than the templar armor...um, was." Cullen stood only in a tan tunic - the unknotted ties revealing hints of his chest hair - his breeches, and a pair of wool socks.

Lana jerked her head to the scabbard flush against his hips, "Think you'll need that?"

He tapped the pommel of his sword, "How else will I hack apart the wood?"

"That's a good way to ruin your blade."

"I'll be gentle," he said earning a hearty laugh from her. Cullen got to work trying to use a sword to saw apart the table, while Lana dug through piles of wood scattered in a heap above something promising. She collected the smaller and mercifully dry pieces in her arms; they should make for acceptable firewood at least. After depositing the first pile into the hearth, she paused to watch Cullen abandon his sword before it was beyond repair. Gripping onto the legs of the end table, he pulled with all his strength, gritting from the strain to get them to pop apart. Lana mentally cursed the tunic obscuring every muscle flexing from the effort. It wasn't until the wood cracked and Cullen turned to her that she realized she'd been staring slack jawed at him.

"I, uh, should get back to...the wood, other wood. For fire stuff," she mumbled, covering her face with her hands. _Why are you acting like you're seventeen around him? For the Maker's sake, you've already taken him inside you, more than once._ She berated herself a few more times, but secretly delighted in the loops her stomach twisted in while he tossed the liberated table legs into the hearth. Lana never thought she'd feel those butterflies again.

"Do storms of this magnitude happen often in Skyhold?" she tried to start a conversation to pull away from the blush on her face.

"I wouldn't know," Cullen said, "this is the first."

"Really? Given how prepared and organized everyone was, I assumed these were a monthly occurrence." She yanked up a pile of molded wood and tossed it into the corner. Completely useless. "Even the mages were saluting and answering orders. Andraste's tears, it's easier to herd cats than get mages to fall into line."

"They, uh, they've served the Inquisition well," Cullen gulped. He prodded at the hearth, trying to break up more of the table into kindling.

"I know, I was...it's strange being around them again. They don't know what to make of me, not that I blame them. I'm an outsider, worse than that, I didn't fight in their rebellion. And..." Lana paused in her work, her head hanging down, "What do you think will come of the mages here?"

Cullen started, the table scattering out of his hands. His fingers massaged the back of his neck in thought, "I am uncertain. For now we're focused on Corypheus."

"Come now, Corypheus is gone, the world is saved. Hurray. What then?"

"What would you like to have happen?" he batted the question back at her.

"I'm so far removed from the equation now, I don't think I have a right to answer."

"And I have any better standing?" Cullen continued to dodge it. She shouldn't be picking at this, she knew that. They really did have the whole world ready to crumble from a mad man who maybe created the blight. And yet...

Lana walked towards him, her arms loaded with the last of the wood. After tossing it across the rest of the reclaimed wood pile, she wiped her fingers across her pants. Cullen remained crouched on one knee while snapping apart kindling. Her fingers curled against his shoulder, massaging apart the knot buried in there.

After a moment, he sighed into his chest, "You will not leave this be." Tossing the last of the brittle pieces into the hearth, his fingers cupped hers. "I do not relish the idea of mages being free to put others in danger, but the circles did not work. I saw more than my fair share of proof in Kirkwall. I let it..." He shook away the fault on his lips, but she knew he still bore it in his heart. "Given how things seem to be working here, perhaps a mixed service or healing clinics, pairing templars with mages not at odds but coming together to solve...It is only an idea." His shoulders sagged out of her grasp, deeper towards the ground from the burdens heaped upon them.

Falling to her own knee, Lana scooted towards the hearth and tried to catch Cullen's eye but he was too busy boring into the floor. "It's not a bad plan. I..." She dug into her own shoulder while glaring up at the ceiling. A few tiles were missing, but at least it was mostly intact. "I should not have asked. What's the three things to never talk about? Magic, Politics, and Sex?"

Cullen chuckled into his chest, "So, your thoughts on Celene maintaining her grip on the throne are next then?"

"I was only there to shoot ice at clowns, that's all on the Inquisitor or Orlais as far as I'm concerned," Lana turned to the hearth and flicked fire at his kindling. It took up a treat, flames licking up the wood as warmth coalesced across their faces. "I'm done putting asses on thrones."

With the fire roaring, thanks to a little coaxing by the mage, the pair of them settled on the floor beside it. Cullen sat rigid, his hands pressed against the stone ground until Lana picked one up, placed it upon her shoulder, and snuggled into his chest. His heart beat rapidly at the contact, the muscles in his body tightening as if afraid this was all some test, but after a minute he let himself relax.

"There are still snowflakes in your hair," Cullen remarked, his fingers trying to dig them out.

"Hm...I guess my warming spell doesn't work on hair. Actually," Lana twisted her head away from the fire to catch his eye, "that's curious. Why wouldn't it work on hair? It's a part of the body, the spell should work on living flesh, but does hair not count as living? Is that it? What about nails?" She turned her fingers about, wondering if her broken stubs behaved the same. "Oh, I uh..." embarrassment burned up her cheeks as she realized he probably didn't care.

But then Cullen picked up her thread, "You can pass that warming spell to other people? Or so I've seen. Would it affect someone else's hair?"

"I have no idea. Maybe. Maybe not."

"Here." Against all common sense, he reached for the melting snow piled by the door and dropped a handful onto his own head. "Try it on me."

Lana smiled at the commander of the Inquisition with a tuft of snow plopped on top of his head like a dollop of cream, but she placed her fingers upon his hand and willed a bit of her magic warmth through him. Not much in the already cozy room, but it should be enough to melt frozen water. A flush rose along his cheeks from her contact, but when he touched the top of his head it came back with clumps of frozen snow.

"Still ice cold."

"That's fascinating," she picked at the snow in his fingers, then leaned forward to knock the rest of it off his head. Her fingers tousled through his hair dampened from the snow and Lana lost herself in his compassionate eyes. She took him in a kiss, one almost as pure as the snow she knocked off him. Before it grew to anything more, she slipped back and smiled. "You didn't need to do that with the snow."

Cullen shrugged, "Maybe, but you made me curious as well."

Snuggling tighter into him, Cullen wrapped his arm around her shoulders while they watched the fire hissing against what used to be someone's table and nightstand. "How long do you think we'll have to stay here?" she asked.

He glanced out the slit of a window where white continued to flit through the night's sky, "Judging by the rate of accumulation, we may be here until morning."

"At least we have a bed at our disposal," Lana said gesturing to the one she unearthed from below the scattered remains of Maker only knew.

Cullen rose up beside her and tried to inspect it. The mattress was clearly made of straw, but anything was preferable to a stone floor. Someone was kind enough to leave a fur blanket stretched across it, though the frame itself bore similar signs of mold as the wood Lana chucked to the corner. "It doesn't appear sturdy."

"Sturdy?" Lana scoffed. "Is that an issue? What were you planning on doing in it?"

"I, uh, hadn't been planning on. I mean, not that, if you'd..."

She kissed him again, unable to restrain herself. "If you break the bed, we can always move the mattress to the floor."

Cullen twisted around and guided Lana to sit in between his legs. As she leaned her head back against his chest, he wrapped his hands around her stomach, guarding her from any errant embers out of the fireplace. A contented sigh rumbled in his chest and he placed his chin atop her head. Her fingers softly traced the stitching along his shirt's arm. After a moment, his voice rumbled, "I wasn't certain if the Winter Palace was, if there'd be a repeat of...to presume. It'd only been a few days since our return."

"Yes, I wanted to, attempted to...have you ever tried to duck Hawke? The woman is a blighted blood hound in armor. She found me when I was on the roof of Leliana's rookery. How? I have no idea. No one could have seen me from any vantage point, but Hawke knew."

Dipping his head down, he pressed his lips against her throat and spoke, "While I'm not ecstatic about her interference, I'm glad to know she's looking out for you." Lana was glad too. After so much of her life spent as the one people looked to, it was nice to have a person she thought of as an equal. An infuriating equal certainly, but a friend instead of a subservient. Cullen's lips paused in their gentle kisses as his hands pressed tighter against her stomach. She felt his body stiffen behind her as he shifted away, something rising in his mind.

"There's, I should have asked before if you, um...that is. Maker, why is this so difficult?" Lana waited, her fingers running up and down his arm. Taking a few more breaths, Cullen dove into what he needed to ask, "When I, uh, with you, did...do you need any, um, help?"

"Help with...?" Lana shook her head, far beyond lost.

"Not giving a, carrying a, birth?" he spat the incoherent words out quickly, then buried his face in her shoulders.

"Oh," she tried to not chuckle at his obvious discomfort. "No, I...it's of no mind."

"I know of the, uh, potion and the other spells..."

"You do?" She turned in his arms to catch his eye.

He glanced up at the ceiling, his adam's apple bobbing as he steadied himself, a beautiful blush warming his cheeks. "The Tranquil would often brew and sell it. I'm fairly certain that was a greater source of income for the circles than any healing draughts at the rate it kept... that doesn't matter to this. If you needed access to...I could arrange a-"

Lana cut him off by brushing the back of her hand against his cheek, "It's okay, Cullen. It's not an issue. Grey Wardens we're...um, we're sterile." She didn't mean it to sound like a confession, but she winced at the word. It shouldn't hurt her. She'd accepted it long ago, found a comfort in knowing that no matter how bad her life could get at least she'd never drag another innocent into it, and yet...that was the reason she'd had her heart broken the first time.

"Oh," Cullen became inscrutable for a moment as he digested what she was telling him. No children, no family, not the possibility of a future. That's all she could promise him; no real promise at all. After a breath, he squeezed tighter to her, his arms forming a blockade around her midsection. "Well, that saves on potions."

That drew a laugh from Lana and lifted a weight from her heart. It shouldn't matter, would never matter, but maybe he deserved to know. Or maybe she just wanted to tell someone and not have him run out the door. Not that he could at the moment. Trapped together by the storm seemed the most inopportune time for confessions, and yet. "Cullen, I...have my own rather prickly question that's been on my mind for awhile. To ask. When, um, we were together in the deep roads, that wasn't your first time, right?"

"Ah," he buried his chin into the back of her neck, "No, it was not."

"Good," she sighed. It hadn't struck her until she was long out of Kirkwall that the duty bound templar might have been even more inexperienced than she'd previously assumed. "I mean, I didn't want to with you and then to leave. It would have been...I didn't want to make it worse."

His lips pressed against her nape for a brief moment before breaking off. "What of you?" he asked, "it only seems fair."

"No, I had been with someone before that," Lana's voice drifted away, the end of her sentence falling to a whisper.

Cullen's fingers danced up and down her stomach meandering close to her wound but never touching it. Gathering his thoughts, he gripped tighter to her while confessing, "I was seventeen, nearly eighteen, and about to become a full templar, which meant transferring away from the training grounds in Denerim to the Circle."

"And there was a girl," Lana spoke for him, smiling from the familiar tale.

"She was fascinated with me, but I...I mean, I liked her well enough and," Cullen's words dropped to the ground and he buried his face in her shoulder. She felt his shame burning up through her own skin. "I didn't love her, I wished I had."

"You were young," Lana tried to soothe him.

"I've always feared I used her to try and confer a sense of adulthood before moving on to being a full knight. It..."

Now she spun fully in his lap and perched upon her knees, her arms knotting around her neck. Cullen's head hung low, his chin dipping into his chest. _How did she keep falling for these types? How did they even exist anymore?_ Cupping her fingers along his jaw, Lana pulled his eyes to hers. "And now she can brag to everyone that she was with the Commander of the Inquisition. For all you know, she used you." She ruffled up his scruff, her finger darting along the scar above his lip. Cullen scoffed at first, but then he turned in her grasp and pressed a kiss against her palm.

Blinking from their strange confessions, he asked, "Did you love your first?"

Lana tried to not rear back, to keep her face neutral. She wanted to lie, a lie would make him feel better, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. "Yes."

"That's good."

"I don't know. It hurts more," she drifted off her knees and twisted back around to face the fire. Cullen's arms lay slack upon his thighs until she grabbed both and wrapped them around her like a cloak. Talking about _him_ , thinking about _him_ was the absolute last thing Lana wanted to do, especially with Cullen. It should have stayed in the past where it belonged.

"Well," Cullen broke their awkward silence, "that about covers every subject one never wants to discuss."

"Give me time, I'm certain I can insert my foot deeper into my mouth," Lana chuckled, but the mirth was forced. She sat up higher, her back against Cullen's chest, but her head drifted away from him.

"I doubt you can out maneuver me in that matter," he whispered to the air. "Josephine's all but chased me from the throne room whenever people with more than two titles in front of their name are visiting."

She could see the ambassador waving a broom trying to shoo the commander after he accidentally insulted some Bann or Viscount. Or maybe Josephine just lifted an eyebrow, pointed with her quill, and a dozen shadowed diplomats would fall from the ceiling to drag him away. "Oh, that's nothing," Lana spoke up. "When I first became Arlessa of Amaranthine, I had a party sprung upon me. Everyone was supposed to swear fealty and it was super important I guess, but I walked off before they finished. There was no precedent so they had to go back over it all again."

"I called a Duke a shrill, pompous windbag to his face."

"Which Duke?"

Cullen shrugged. "Does it matter?" which earned him an even greater laugh as she twisted in his grasp to face him. Laying her head upon his chest, Lana hugged her arms around his back, pulling herself closer.

Her fingers danced against his tunic, wishing she could feel the bare skin below instead. "How did we wind up in the echelons of nobility?"

Cullen pulled back the hair off her neck and caressed her cheek, his fingers trailing down her skin towards her birthmark. "A joke of the Maker, I assume," he whispered to her. "Why should life ever be easy for me?"

"Or me..." she sighed. In her marrow, Lana knew she shouldn't complain. For the Maker's sake, she was alive counter to every horror thedas could conjure. She'd survived countless battles, fights where people with better training didn't come out the other side. And yet, maybe she'd be a better person if none of it had ever happened. If she didn't have the scars on her skin or across her mind.

Strong hands held onto her marked shoulders. Was he thinking the same, feeling the same? Atonement could only get a person so far when the person still castigating you was yourself. Cullen pulled her tighter to him, his chin knocking against her forehead as he whispered, "How are you here? I don't, I never deserved..."

"Shh..." Lana's finger pressed against his lips and he tipped back, his amber eyes turning down towards her. She shifted her finger to the left lining it up with his scar. "We have until the end of an entire storm to be alone before...all of that comes back." Lana gestured out towards Skyhold, Orlais and Ferelden, all of thedas itself. Every person needing another piece of them, chipping it away until nothing remained. But right now she could have him all to herself; no duty, no threats of imminent death from darkspawn, no clowns.

Cullen caught her change in demeanor, his fingers sliding off her shoulders as Lana wrapped her hands around his neck so she could stretch her back above him. Catching his lips in a deep kiss, a heat rolled through her body that had nothing to do with magic. When she came up for air, she whispered in his ear, "I think we've wasted enough time."

His eyes hunted across hers, curiosity and lust burning in them. Lana stretched herself higher, her fingers digging through his hair as she kept up the assault on his lips. "Um..." Cullen broke away for a moment to glance at the minor fire roaring in the hearth. "Is it going to be...?"

She bit down on a grumble at herself and carefully pulled back on the flames until only a few embers lit up the room. Soft shadows flickered across his face, smoothing away the worry wrinkles beside his eyes and along his brow. "Better?" she asked, unable to hide her small shame. She hadn't meant to lose it before, didn't want to, certainly not with a templar in the room. It was dangerous to... Lana gritted at that thread in her brain. He wasn't a templar anymore, she had to remember that.

Fingers curled around the small of her back and glided below her shirt. Lana's eyes slipped shut as Cullen kneaded against her muscles, his own lips pressing up and down her neck. _Forget all that doubt, just be here in this moment. Maker only knows how many more there will be._ The fingers slipped around to her stomach and reached up to cup her breasts. Lana moaned, her hands flying out to grasp onto his shoulders. The motion caused her eyes to flutter open and she beamed into an amused grin upon his face.

"Weren't expecting that?" he asked while his hands slowly circled around her chest as if wanting to massage away the sore muscle there as well.

"I think it's my turn now," Lana yanked at the collar of his shirt and tried to pull it up. Accepting defeat, Cullen guided his hands out from under her clothes and lifted them in the air. With less grace than she'd like, Lana yanked his tunic off and tossed it towards the rest of his armor. His skin was even warmer than she remembered as she drew her fingers down the knot of his shoulders, across his chest and right towards his belt.

"Ah..." Cullen caught her fingers and picked them up to place upon his shoulders. Lifting the hem of her shirt an inch he shrugged, "It is only fair."

Lana smiled and dutifully lifted her arms over her head. She expected him to yank it off, but the man curled down and planted a kiss upon her stomach. He raised the tunic another couple inches and kissed above his last spot, then higher still, pressing his lips against her sternum. Ignoring the obvious distractions on either side of her cleavage, his mouth rose up her sternum until he found her birthmark.

"I might have known," she snickered. While removing her shirt, Cullen lost himself across her collar, his hands smoothing back the skin of her waist while his lips plied her birthmark. "Maker's breath," she shifted in his grasp, her lower half begging for more attention.

Taking her hands off his shoulders, Lana grabbed onto the belt again. While she tugged on the loop, his hands rolled over her breasts, the fingers teasing out her nipples and making it very hard for her to remember how the blasted buckles worked.

"Troubles?" he whispered to her neck.

"You are no help," she joked, when the belt finally gave way. Lana whipped it out of its loops with such passion, Cullen's exploring fingers paused.

As she tossed it aside, his honey eyes met her, "Should it concern me how well you wielded that?"

Re-shifting her weight, Lana smiled down at him, "Depends on what you want me to do with it." Now her fingers were free to slide down his naked stomach and slip underneath his trousers. He tried to meet her delighted eyes but when she circled around the head of his cock almost peeking out of the top, Cullen tossed his head back.

"Wait, wait..." he called, her fingers slipping away. Cullen kissed her on the lips as he slid out from under her. Rising to his feet, he stepped towards the bed. Lana propped herself up on her hip curious to see what he was up to, and also enjoying the full salute in his trousers. He grabbed onto the fur on the mattress and yanked it off. Returning to Lana's side, Cullen draped it against the stone floor.

"So we don't damage the bed," he explained, still standing above her.

Lana eyed the blanket, then turned back up at him and a grin cracked her cheeks, "A bear skin rug, in front of a fireplace? Maker, no one is ever going to believe me." A delightful blush crept up Cullen's cheeks as he realized the cheesiness of his suggestion, but Lana slipped over onto the blanket. With her arms leveraged behind her, she planted her feet in the fur and waved her knees back and forth waiting for him. "Well? This is your plan."

Cullen steadied his breath gazing down at her, "I suppose it is." A soft smile lit up his face as he fell to his knees. Without any fuss, he slipped off her trousers and got her smallclothes in one quick grab. The coarse and thick bear fur brushed up against Lana's ass and then her back as Cullen dipped her down to the floor. Leaning down on a knee, he reached a leg over to straddle her.

He drew a few more kisses from her before she pulled a leg forward and snagged her toes on his pants. "How come you're still wearing these?" she complained, trying to tug them off with the power of her feet.

"Because," he kissed her lips then began to slide down. "This is my plan." Each word was followed by a kiss moving slowly down her body. The 'plan' ended just before her pubic hair. Cullen rested his head upon her body and his hungry eyes gazed up at her.

Lana squirmed, suspecting she knew what his plan was, "You don't have to, if you don't want to. It's not..."

Fingers massaged into her sides, careful to follow the swoop of her hips, "I've dreamt of it for a rather long time."

Trying to not squeak in terrifying anticipation, Lana bit down on her tongue. She spread her knees further apart, giving Cullen ample room to slip down and come face to face with the rest of her. Concerns nibbled through her mind, but they obliterated to dust when his tongue slowly slurped along her inner lips. _Sweet merciful Maker!_ His tongue danced back and forth across every inch of her, lapping her up for dessert. Slipping his hands underneath her butt, Cullen lifted her higher to meet him as he increased the speed of his licking. Gentle gave way to a tenacity that vibrated up from her core down her legs. The back of her throat fell slack, all the pleasure shooting through her body numbing her brain.

Spurred on by her heavy breathing, Cullen slipped a couple fingers inside of her while his lips sucked upon her clitoris, bringing the shy bit out for attention. Stroking forward with his fingers, he switched between soft sucking and furious licking. Lana felt the concept of time, magic, even her name all slip from her brain as the growing throb pulsing inside of her crowded them all away. Suddenly, Cullen paused, his tongue silencing, his fingers falling slack. Lana bared down upon him, both a whimper and growl in her voice. He only waited another second, but to her it felt an eternity, before sucking one last time upon her. It tipped her off that endless cliff, every inch of her body shaking as the orgasm unleashed upon her. Lana arced her back, digging her head deeper into the rug while the last of her pulsed around his fingers. Her legs involuntarily shot up in the air, knotting around his head. She could feel him chuckling from between her thighs.

"I take it that's a good sign?" Cullen asked.

Lana balled up her fists to try and summon back her mental presence, but it seemed to drift a few feet above her, as untouchable as the stars. Nodding, she struggled to sit up when his lips met hers. She could still taste herself upon him, which only pushed her deeper off the cliff. How could she get this wet and not die of dehydration?

"You, I, um," Lana tried to form a coherent thought, then laughed, shaking her head.

"Don't worry," he ran his fingers across her chest, then dipped down to gently graze her nipple. "You said we had all night."

He picked up her limp fingers and guided them to his trousers. Finally, she could yank them off him, though he made it tricky by remaining upon his knees above her. Once freed, Cullen dipped his hips down, his cock skimming across her stomach while he kept kissing her. _Maker, the teasing was liable to kill her._ She began to reach for him, when he caught her wrist and limply held it between his fingers. A fire burned in Lana's eyes and she threw her hands back over her head.

"Hold me down," she instructed. Cullen twisted his head, confused. She gestured to her wrists, "Pin my arms down while you're inside of me."

"Oh." His strong fingers gripped easily around her wrists, and he pressed them down into the ground. A primal ecstasy zapped through her body and she wrapped her legs around his hips, trying to pull him inside of her.

Cullen kissed her, his cock obstinately remaining a few inches away. He pressed more of his weight down on her wrists, causing her to writhe. Yanking his head to the side, Cullen gulped a breath. Lana blinked, trying to lift her head to see his. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course," he gritted his teeth and dove back for her lips, but there was a different urgency now. She couldn't name it but she felt it flowing through him, his body rigid. Cullen's fingers dug into her wrists and then his whole body shuddered. Not the good kind, but as if his own skin reviled him. "I..." he broke away from her lips, and gasped for more air, "I'm sorry. I can't..." His fingers released from her wrists and he struggled to his feet. Lana let him go, watching as he dashed to the corner and stared out the window slit, his naked back turned to her. Cold seeped into the room that had nothing to do with the dampened fire.

_Maker, what did she do now?_ Lana sat up, and a rush of blood knocked against her head. She shook it off and struggled to her legs. He stood stock still in the corner, one hand digging into the masonry. Grit rained down off the bricks, the filth scattering into his hair. Muscles across his back tightened from an internal conflict she couldn't understand. Lana wanted to reach out to him, to soothe away the knots twisting around him, but she had no idea what was wrong, what she could have done to him.

"Cullen..." she began. He didn't shudder from her voice, but his head dropped lower.

"I shouldn't be, I..." he whispered into the corner, his voice shattered. He sounded like a man who'd fresh walked out of battle, his mind still stricken numb. "I'm sorry. I should be better, be more, but I don't want to..."

"You don't have to do anything," she assured him, trying to wipe away any hurt in her voice. But she must have not been successful as he spun away from his corner.

Red circled through his eyes, but there were no tears, only pain gnarling up his face. "Maker, no, it's not you. I... Why must I keep failing at this?" Cullen's head dropped down and he glared at her feet.

"Talk to me. Explain it, please," her hand glanced across his shoulder. She held her breath, scared of his response, but he leaned into her touch as if he needed it and she gripped tighter.

"I keep thinking I'm past it, beyond it, but when you..." he sucked back a wobble in his voice and tried again. "When you asked me to, when I held your arms tight I couldn't stop thinking of every other mage I'd helped capture, had to bind, or..."

Lana smacked her head and cursed herself for being so stupid, "Andraste's ass! This is all my fault. I shouldn't have put that on you. I should have thought..."

He shook his head, either not hearing her, or not wanting to hear her. "I've, the things I've done, they're... I don't want to do it to you. Ever." Twisting his head up from the ground, his eyes raged with an internal fire.

"I know," Lana's hand caressed his cheek, but he turned away from it.

"You don't. I don't want you to. How could you look at me if you..." his words faded as he gasped for a breath, his chest shaking from the effort. He whispered to the floor, "You were always more than a mage to me, but--"

"I've done things too. Things I'm not proud of. Things that haunt me at the most inopportune times," she pleaded with him, but he shook her off again. "Cullen, I shouldn't have asked it of you. Not then, not when... It was brash and stupid. I'm sorry."

"I try to forget sometimes, when I'm with you. Forget that...that--"

"That I'm a mage," she said, shrugging her shoulders. She expected it.

"No," Cullen shook his head, "that I was a templar. That I could have ever hurt you. That I'd even think of..."

Lana wrapped her arms around his hung head, pulling his face to her cheek. "You're not a templar now," she said, her fingers scurrying around his shoulders, trying to envelop him as far as her reach would allow.

"It will never leave me. The memories, the bare fact of what I did because I was to arrogant to face my own anger." She didn't know what to say so she stroked his cheek, laying his scruff flat against his face. "There's a void where that anger was, and I fear what may fill it."

"You're not the monster you make yourself out to be. You weren't even him before Kirkwall fell."

"Lana..." his slack arms slipped around her back and he pulled his head to her chest for a hug, "I needed you to be special. To be," he snickered, "the good mage. If you were incorruptible then maybe, maybe the others deserved a chance. But even then, even then I almost... Maker, forgive me."

"I asked you to kill me," Lana said, her own body beginning to shake. She tried to will away the tears stinging in her eyes, the memories of her failure with White tied to fear and shame in equal measure. "And you refused, you had enough faith in me, in mages to not strike me down."

She hoped for him to see common sense, but a new guilt radiated off him. His fingers dug into her skin as he clung to her for sanctuary, for clemency, "No, not then. I nearly killed you before that, for no other reason than you suffering a nightmare. I'm so sorry," he moaned, burying his head deeper into her chest.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, ruffling up the waves as she weighed her words carefully. Lana opened and closed her mouth a few times before she spoke, "I knew."

"You did?" Cullen stood up now, his tears streaked across his cheeks and down her breasts.

"I've spent most of my adult life expecting assassins in any corner. I spotted your hand on a dagger the second I woke. But," she shrugged, "I also thought you'd do the right thing and not cut me down."

"Maker's breath," he shook his head, his fists balled up tight against his. "Assassins? And you thought that I, you knew I'd, and still... Assassins?"

Lana shrugged. "You really think any Banns are going to be happy having a mage above them? Ordering them around? Deciding their laws and enacting justice? The assassins were how I knew I was doing a good job."

She played it off as light hearted until she caught Cullen's eyes as stripped bare as the rest of him. It wasn't pity in them but a depth of fear for her that she kept forgetting to have for herself. Lana swallowed and stumbled back, turning to face away from him. One of the many dams in her brain cracked and her iron will crumbled. Amaranthine was an experiment, one that she'd tried to survive at, tried to do right by, but... Crossing her hands, Lana gripped onto her arms as if she was frozen solid. "I tried, I tried so damn hard to be both Arlessa and Commander. Played the stupid political games, rendered verdicts I thought were fair to the Banns whether they helped me or not. And..."

Throwing out her fist, Lana watched ice spark across it - the frozen water building off each of her fingers until it merged into a point. "I'm...I'm cursed by magic, shunned by the Maker, a sin. They were never going to listen to me, no matter what I did. No matter what I sacrificed. I," she flared up her other fist with fire and melted away the ice spear, "I'm a failure before I even tried."

Hands drifted across her shoulders, at first only grazing against her naked flesh, then the fingers dug in. "Lana..." Cullen's broken voice whispered. A few noises fell from his lips as he tried to find the words. She shook off her fire and gripped onto his fingers while glaring at the snow still melting in the doorway. Her own sins beat against her heart, tearing down every failsafe she put up to keep herself going.

"I-I don't think you're cursed by the Maker," he said.

"You don't know what I've done," her voice was dead, all fight beaten out of it from her own brain.

"You don't know what I've done either," Cullen answered back.

"Amaranthine, I...I let it burn. It was overrun with darkspawn, the blight more virulent than normal. I thought the only hope was to return to the Vigil and take the enemy head on. But," she bit on her lip to stem the tears, a warble slipping into her voice, "returning back to the city I burned, walking through the streets. There was no amount of rebuilding, no coin, no digging in the rubble with my bare hands that could make up for what I did. For what I chose."

Cullen's fingers dug tighter into her, so tight he pinched at an old nerve. Instinctively, she tried to slip away from the pain, which caused him to moan. Lana turned around to find his head dangling as if someone cut the strings. He whispered softly, "I could have stopped the purge of the circle. Before the fighting broke out in the Gallows, I..." He swallowed, his hands hanging limply at his side, "I questioned Meredith, questioned her use of the Rite of Annulment, but I didn't stop her." His fractured eyes broke into hers as his lips breathlessly repeated, "I didn't stop her."

Lana wrapped her arms around him, pulling her head into his chest for a one sided hug. His own stricken arms continued to dangle, as if he couldn't stand the idea to touch her. "It wasn't your fault, it was mine."

"That's not possible," a raw anger drifted into his voice. "You weren't even in Kirkwall when it happened."

"I knew Anders was," she spat. "I never thought he'd...never imagined, but I could have gone for him. Could have drug him back to the Vigil for..." She pulled in a breath and started over, "I told you Nathaniel was the third person I recruited into the Wardens, Anders was the first. Even knowing him from the tower, knowing his proclivity to running at the first chance he had, I hoped, thought with an opportunity he'd-he'd become... Andraste's tears, I am an idiot."

Now Cullen's arms enveloped around her and he pulled her so tight the skin of his chest stuck against hers. There they stood, stark naked with their sins exposed to each other. The question was who would blink first. Who would realize that there was no excusing the choices, no looking past the insurmountable? "I knew of Anders existence, and I was in a better place to stop him than you," Cullen whispered to her shoulder.

"You must hate me," she said. "For all that alone, I..."

"Never," he twisted his head against her, "never."

"We've ignored this for too long, haven't we?" Her fingers dug even tighter to him, rising onto her tiptoes to press her head against his shoulder. "It'll always be there. The...past, the regrets. I--"

Cullen's throat constricted as he swallowed back his own tears, the sound pushing more grief from her. "I've been scared to tell you the truth, certain that you'd never be able to look at me again."

So had she. No one in all of thedas but her knew the full extent of her life, the measures she'd taken to stay alive, to protect those that needed it. No one in all of thedas could ever look at her again if they did, could ever love her. She was certain of it, it burned through her soul like a hot coal. But... Lana slipped back from her tight grip. He let his arms go slack, prepared to let her go forever, but she moved one arm up behind his neck while the other pushed back the curls clinging to his forehead.

"Ask me...ask me what you fear would make you stop caring for me and I'll tell you the truth."

His nostrils flared as he sucked in a steadying breath from her request. The amber eyes danced across her face then back to the floor. It took a few more moments before he opened his mouth. Even then no sound came save a squeak or two until he finally voiced a question, "Have you ever made a deal with a demon?"

"No," Lana shook her head. "Never." Relief blanketed his face, his taciturn lips lifting out of their deep frown. "Have you," Lana shifted on her toes, unable to watch him as she asked what she knew she had to, "taken a mage against their will?"

"Taken a mage?" Cullen repeated her words in confusion, then it dawned upon him what she meant. "No," he shook his head wildly, disgust curling his lip, "Never. That's abhorrent, I'd..."

"I know," she caressed his face, "I hoped anyway, but I had to ask."

His anger abated quickly and he hung his head, "I understand, given...I understand."

They stood like that, wrapped up in each other asking for the answers to their own deal breakers for what felt like hours, both terrified of the answer but needing to know. Needing to find that maybe they could come back from that cliff's edge. After a time, the questions turned a bit less serious. When Lana asked, "Have you ever stolen from the chantry collection?" the dour mood finally broke. Cullen snorted, then tossed his head back in a vehement no. "Really? Not even as a child?"

"I'd have feared the ground would split open and swallow me whole if I even entertained the thought," Cullen admitted. His eyes were still red, probably as red as hers, but a small smile lifted his cheeks. "What about you? Have you ever...taken candy from a baby?"

"Of course not," she chided, gently swatting at his naked chest at the absurdity. "Though," Lana paused in thought, "the qunari traveling with me did once steal cookies from a child."

"A qunari stole cookies?" Cullen twisted his head around, not believing a single word of it.

"It's true, he was mad about them. In fact, if you ever plan on forming an alliance with the Qun tell Josephine to send a batch. I think chocolate chip were his favorite," Lana remembered back to that giant grey man who questioned if she was a woman but swore a loyalty to her so severe she thought it could only be matched by the mabari. A chuckle rumbled up her stomach from the sight of Sten, stone faced, draped in that pink and yellow sweater Wynne knitted for him. She even took the time to add little decorative swords around the middle. No one said a word about the pompoms.

Out of nowhere, a chill crept along the stones and without a crushing depression to damper every sense in her body, she realized they were both naked while a winter storm raged outside. Cullen caught her shivering. Breaking away from his hug, he leaned down and yanked up the fur blanket. Tossing it around her shoulders, she snuggled into it, then pressed deeper into him.

"We should probably get some sleep," he said staring at the rickety bed. Despite it being his idea, she saw regret stinging in his eyes.

Lana reached down to catch his fingers. Threading hers through his, her thumb rubbed the back of his hand. That brought a small smile back to him. "Don't worry, there's always tomorrow."

"For?"

A sly smile twisted up her cheeks, "For me to even the odds. You're not the only one who's dreamed of me taking you in my mouth." While Cullen's cheeks turned bright red, Lana dragged him to the bed for sleep. For now.

## Chapter Sixteen

**Morning**

"Lana..." She snuggled deeper into the enticing warmth enveloping her body. Light tried to pry open her eyelids but she wasn't having any of it. "Lana..." the voice tried again. Pressure landed somewhere near her hip, but it was cushioned by-

_Oh no._

She rolled one eye open, then the other, and glanced up to a not quite amused but not quite peeved Cullen. His hands were wrapped around his naked chest to try and combat the cold seeping into the room. The fire died long ago with no more wood and no mage to stoke it. She tried to reach an arm out to him, but found they were both pinned to her side from the blanket she ensconced herself in over the night. Only her head and a sliver of her shoulders poked free from the fur wrapped around her. "Damn," she whispered and began the excruciating task of twisting her body around the bed to try and free herself from her personal Lana roll.

Cullen grabbed onto the edge, helping to yank sections of the blanket away from her as she rolled. "In listing your sins, you somehow forgot to mention you are a blanket thief," he chuckled.

"Notorious, I'm afraid," she admitted. Her rolling put her on top of the last of the blanket, which Cullen extracted out from under her legs. "Hawke learned to grip onto the edge with a hand. I doubt ogres could pry it free from her, though I've certainly tried." He laid one edge atop his own body, then despite her evil banditry, pushed the rest over her.  Cullen slid closer to her, his hands gripping onto her side while his feet, his frozen feet, knotted against her calf.

"Maker's breath!" Lana yelped as the rest of his cold body suckered onto her, "You're freezing."

"That," he smiled, burying his head into her shoulder, "would be your doing."

"I'm sorry," she tried to roll to the side to apologize again, but Cullen clung tighter to her, his head drifting down her chest.

"Well," his lips pressed against her skin with a few kisses, until a cheeky smile lifted them away, "you'll have to make it up to me."

Now her own lips rose in an ornery grin. "Is that so?" She flipped over fast, her knee almost colliding with Cullen's nose. But Lana caught the edge of the creaking bed and pinned him beneath her. Lifting the blanket, she tented it around her shoulders and stared down at him. Most of the morning's light was blocked by her amateur fort, but she could watch his golden eyes - hazy still with sleep - begin to burn. His own hands curled up her hips, his calloused pads kneading against her waist. A tickle bloomed through her skin and she couldn't bite down an undignified snort escaping as a laugh.

"I love that," he sighed, his fingers trying to draw out another one from her. "When you lose all pretense, all control, you give this small noise from your nose. It's a bit like a pig rutting for dinner."

"I do not," she cried indignant, and gently swiped at his chest. "Heroes do not make pig noises!" Her lips twisted across her face as she tried to keep back the smile. This was serious, very serious.

"Very well," Cullen gave in to her soft pawing across his pecs. "Heroes may not make rutting noises, but..." He sat up and locked his arms around her back, tugging her down to the bed. That same cursed grunt escaped from her lips along with a shocked laugh as she crashed on top of him. It had to hurt taking all her weight, but Cullen only trailed his lips across her nose and down to her lips. Her hands were trapped between their chests, but she gave in to his pull, her body practically melting in his grip.

Coming up for air, he smiled at her and finished his thought, "But I know one beautiful mage with a deadly fire in her belly who does."

"I should argue with you," she shook her head. It didn't take much of their rolling around to catch all of his body's attention, the staff rising higher as his hands drifted down her back and caressed across her backside.

"But you won't, because you know it's true," he smirked, planting a few more kisses on her, "All of it."

"Maker's breath, I thought you were the serious one," she laughed.

A hungry growl reverberated from his gut, the primal need driving her own lust wide awake. His eyes glittered in the light as his fingers drifted lower, squeezing each of her cheeks. "I am."

Lana kissed him with enough fervor to relight the fireplace, her body squirming on top of his. She managed to wiggle one hand out of the trap and run her fingers up and down the side of his chest. Slipping into the divot between each of his ribs caused Cullen to sigh in the back of his throat. But what she really wanted was to...

Cracking broke from outside the door. Lana's tongue paused and she lifted her head up. If she shut her eyes she could almost hear what sounded like a voice on the wind whispering beyond the snow trap. Then, at the same time, both mage and templar tasted the mana dumped into the world. She didn't know if Cullen could spot it, but she smelled the tell tale ember of fire cast from the fade. "It seems we've been rescued," she sighed, not rising off him.

"Perhaps they're clearing the last of the snow off and will pass on by," he threw out hopeful. He wrapped his arms tight around her back, holding her deeper into the bed as they both held a breath. Maybe if they were lucky, they'd still have a chance to...

A fist knocked against the door, "Hello? Lana?"

_Shit, it was Leliana._ Now Lana leaped off Cullen, leaving the poor naked man exposed, but he looked as stricken as her while both searched for wherever they left their clothing. Leliana continued, her voice cheery, "We recieved a report that you were locked in here during the storm. Are you awake? The door appears to be jammed."

"What should..." Cullen began but Lana shot him a warning look. She knew Leliana had ears that could hear through stone walls.

"Ah, I'm in here, but...give me a minute," Lana scooped up the first pair of trousers she found, knotted the drawstring, and wiggled into her tunic. With her foot, she shoved the rest of the shed clothing behind the bed away from the view of the Spymaster. Cullen stood frozen, still naked and uncertain what to do. Lana waved him to flatten against the wall, if she only opened the door an inch or two Leliana wouldn't see him. It was her best hope short of stuffing him up the chimney. He grabbed onto the blanket and wrapped it around his hips, then shrunk beside the wall.

Lana tried to lift the latch from the inside, but it wouldn't budge. Then she spotted the lock that must have fallen into place. Willing down the flush along her cheeks and the guilt etched into her eyes, Lana threw back the door. Bright blue skies greeted her, any sign of the storm's rage long obliterated. Leliana's red hair flamed in the late morning light.

"Sorry about that," Lana said, "the lock must have slid into place and...thank you for finding me."

"For Andraste's sake, how did you wind up trapped in here?" her friend smiled wide, her eyes only able to see Lana through the slit of the door. This might actually work.

"I was moving along the battlements, helping to thaw rooms when snow fell off the roof. I'd have been buried if I hadn't have ducked into this room," Lana smiled widely, her body nonchalant, then her eyes wandered behind her where two pairs of boots leaned into each other. _Shit!_

"Good timing. You keep ahold of that old luck after all," Leliana smiled at her, her fingers pressing into the door.

Lana held it tight and slipped her foot behind it, "What was the damage?"

"Minimal, thankfully. A few torn roofs, some lost chickens. And we've most of everyone accounted for..." Leliana's words faded away as she rose up on her feet. No matter how tall Lana tried to stand, she couldn't block the Spymaster's view. The woman trained in the art of the game was now looking over the disheveled room that held an unexplainable sword and scabbard, as well as a breastplate tossed near the hearth. Her easy smile slipped away and Leliana pushed on the door. Lana slid her foot away, but still tried to halt the Spymaster's steps inside.

"That's good, to not lose anyone and..." Her head collapsed as Leliana paused in the room and eyed up Cullen struggling to rise as dignified as possible while wearing a tattered bear fur knotted around his waist.

"Commander," Leliana's voice was unreadable.

"Spymaster," he said back, his words steady but a blush charred up his chest. His naked chest. This was not going to go well.

"I see we don't need to bother tracking you down then. That is good," Leliana said. Her cold eyes hunted across the room, drawing her own quick conclusions of what happened during the storm. When she turned back to Lana, she only shut her eyes and softly rolled them. "When you are...when you've finished in here, we have a few matters to discuss prior to your mission."

"Uh, right, of course," Lana pawed at her forehead, either trying to knock her hair out of the way or pull it forward to obscure her face.

"Good morning, Commander," Leliana called, swooping out of the room.

He banged the back of his head against the stone wall, but still managed a somewhat cheery, "Morning."

Lana chased after Leliana, "I, this is, I know what it looks like, but there's a..."

For only a second Leliana's crystal face cracked and a whisper of a smile curled up her lips. But by the time Lana blinked it was gone. "It doesn't require much thought to discern what that was. I will be in my rookery when you wish to talk," And Leliana turned away from the door, her porcelain fingers lifting her hood back up. "By the way, you're wearing his trousers."

Lana glanced down at her legs and cursed with every expletive she knew.

 * * *

When she threw back the door to her room, Lana didn't expect to find Hawke sitting in the chair with a book in her lap. It wasn't that her cousin wasn't the reading type, she simply required numerous breaks in between pages. Breaks that tended to involve breaking things. And her only time spent indoors was when sleeping or during deluges. Even average storms couldn't keep Hawke back, they had to be reaching near on hurricane status. She'd watched Hawke race around in rain, the water drenching her clothes flat, just to work off her energy.

"Hey, you're back!" Hawke shouted. She closed the book without bothering to mark it and tossed it on the pile.

Lana grumbled something noncommittal and slammed the door shut behind her. Her visit to the rookery went not as badly as she feared - at first. Sure, every inch of her skin was burning with a shame she shouldn't suffer anymore. _For the Maker's sake, it's not as if she's some 18 year old caught sneaking off with a..._ But that was what she did. She slipped away with a templar, ex-templar. Regardless, the man in charge of an entire army. Lana was certain she'd hear the never-ending spiel about how dangerous it was to distract him, to risk the certainty of the army for her own selfish wants.

But Leliana continued to surprise her. After giving her the formal report on the Western Approach, and introducing Lana to a few of the Nightingale's most respected spies, Leliana made no mention or drew no attention to what she discovered. On occasion she'd pause, glance over to make certain Lana managed to dress in her own clothing, then continued with her speech. It wasn't until she dismissed her people, when Lana was about to slip out the door that Leliana glanced up from her table.

"You and the Commander..." she began. Lana sighed, steam almost hissing from her nose. How could she think she'd get out of this without a proper denouncement?

"What of it?"

Leliana tossed back her hood, and for a moment all the spying, the dark shadows and night games, all her work as the Left Hand vanished. She was the little, red-headed Sister Lana tripped across in a tavern in Lothering, before she tripped over people trying to kill her. "Are you certain that this is wise?"

"I know that stopping Corypheus is important, the most important factor here, and the army-"

Leliana waved her hand, cutting her off, "The commander is more than capable to handle his soldiers, as he's proven. A few...distractions are unlikely to throw him off." Now she stood up, her pale hands grabbing onto Lana's slack ones, "My concern is only for you. He is, was a templar."

"I am aware of that."

"He was in Kirkwall."

"I'm aware of that as well," she clenched her shoulder blades back as if standing in formation. Opposition was a certainty in her life, even if it was her private life, but why could no one wrap their mind around a mage and a templar?

"And..." Leliana tenderly bit her bottom lip with just the tips of her teeth, preparing her for what she had to say next, "he bears a striking resemblance to Alistair."

"Of, for all the-" Lana slipped her hands out of Leliana's grasp. "No, that isn't why, it's not...you're leaping to conclusions."

"I've noticed you tend to avoid invoking the King of Ferelden's name. Last I heard you two were friends, even good friends at times. But something has obviously changed."

"That's because...It has nothing to do with-" she balled her fingers into a fist and slammed it against the table. Some of Leliana's scrolls shook from the force, but nothing dared to fall off. "What happened with Alistair is unrelated. It is, he is of no consequence to me anymore." She felt Leliana peering at her, wanting to say what Lana knew. If Alistair was in her past then why did she wince when she said his name. Why did he still have a power over her?

But that cold, watchful Leliana wasn't the only face remaining. She wrapped a friendly arm around Lana's shoulders, "If you say so, then I believe you. I just, I don't want you to get hurt again."

"I know," Lana patted her hand, "I don't want to either, if it's all the same."

"Then you intend to continue forward?"

Lana snickered, "If there is a forward. What's forward? Everything in the world's all...I have no idea. But don't worry about me. I'm better at guarding my heart." She gave a weak smile to re-enforce her lie. Leliana sighed, but allowed her to get away with it. "If that was it, I should get back to my room and pack..." Lana began, gesturing down the stairs. Her friend tipped her head, releasing her. Their work was always the more pressing matter.

Lana slipped down towards the library where she spotted a tuft of Dorian's hair bobbing around. Maker only knew who he was talking to, or why he was so animated, but a small fear gripped her. She turned to Leliana and asked, "By the...if, could you keep it secret? Things are complicated enough with my being here and with him as the-"

A smile twisted up her lips, "Lanny, I happen to be very good at maintaining secrets."

Hawke threw a stack of her books at the table, snapping Lana out of her reverie. "We heading out then?"

"Ah, yes, to the Western Approach. We won't be traveling with the Inquisitor, so it's just you and me."

"Perfect!" Hawke grinned wide, "Though I'm gonna miss Varric. Eh, he can catch me up on the wheelings and dealings in the Inquisitor's camp."

"Sometimes I wonder how you two aren't controlling half of thedas," Lana muttered. She unearthed her pack from under the bed and rifled through the scattered contents. Her bag of herbs crunched dishearteningly in her grasp. There'd have to be a stop by the herbalist before setting out for certain.

"Easy, I don't want to and Varric's too busy. But look out if anyone ever did get him onto a throne." Hawke shuddered, then waved at the air, "Nah, he'd be too miserable to even try. All right, what's got you in grumping frowny face mode today?"

"Nothing," Lana frowned, then she tried to tip it up to a smile.

"I thought after you and a certain dashing templar worked out a few kinks behind that snow you'd be skipping around here."

Lana's head snapped up at her lackadaisical cousin. "Tem...snow? You knew?!"

"What? About you and Cullen? Was I not supposed to?" Hawke's eyes glanced about the room, trying to see if she was being set up for some prank. "I mean, get you two in a room together and it's a wonder it doesn't catch on fire. Ignoring the fact you're a mage and could do it anyway, but you know what I'm driving at."

"I..." Lana whipped her head back and forth trying to breathe in some sense. She didn't want her private affairs dragged into light, not if, not when so much was still uncertain. But Leliana now knew, and Hawke apparently always knew. Who else smugly sat in the knowledge of her cursed heart?

"It was kinda obvious you go all curly toes around him. And Cullen, shit he was waxing rhombus about you years ago back in the Gallows."

"He..." Lana shook her head, "He was?"

"Yeah, it was, um..." Hawke tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling while counting on her fingers, "five years ago, something like that. Before I got this snazzy title. Talked about an amazing Amell mage he knew. Didn't take a sharp mind to figure out he meant you. You'd expect rainbows to fall from his lips he was so far gone."

"Five years, but that would have been..." before she went to him. Before she recruited him to take down White. _Andraste's tears, Lana, what are you playing at? How did you not realize that he was...?_ She shook away the thought. This wasn't the time to worry, to twist her mind up with questions of the past. They were finally heading out to find the wardens, to find the remnants of her wardens. That was her life, whether she liked it or not.

Hawke took Lana's sudden silence in stride, "When I saw you two slip behind the snow I figured you needed some freedom to work out all the tension. If ya catch my meaning. In the morning, I told the Spymaster where you were so she could get mages to dig you out. Then I had the most Maker-awful blood sausage for breakfast. I think it was made out of darkspawn blood it was that bad."

"You...thank you," Lana said, her heart lightened by Hawke's thought, perhaps less her deed. "Though we...worked out that tension at the Winter Palace."

"Did ya now?" Hawke's grin spread wide, "Hope you left the wet spot on the Duchess' sheets."

"It, uh," Lana massaged her neck, then grabbed her pack and swung it into place. She slotted her staff blade into the pocket on her back and picked up her staff. "We should head out to see what the wardens are up to."

"Right!" Hawke slapped her knee and rose up, the woman always ready at a moment's notice to leap to attention whether for a city or just a friend. "Let's go be big damn heroes!"

## Chapter Seventeen

**Blood**

Blood splattered across her robes, clots clumping up her hair, the sand buffeting through crimson puddles and coagulating into a sticky mass on the stones. Scarlett dripped down the ruins, rivulets meandering through the carvings into the floors from numerous throats sliced open - the bodies left in a heap on the side. He cared nothing for their sacrifice, but the wardens should have. They should have... There was so much blood, too much. Lana's fists strangled her staff, wringing her fingers against the wood while she glared at the form limping away in the distance. Every inch of her body screamed for her to give chase, to rip apart the veil itself and drag him back to the void from where he slithered out. The dark part of her, the one she only tapped into when there was no other choice, demanded she make it slow. The rest of her agreed with it.

Hawke clapped a hand upon her shoulder. Normally, Lana would have bowed from the force, but her body was rigid and unbending. Her eyes hunted across the wardens, all dead, all bound to a demon by something far worse stalking their lands. She knew anger, she'd often butted heads with it in the personified form from the fade. This wasn't anger stirring inside of her, it ran deeper through her marrow than anger could ever reach. They were going to pay for this blood.

"Where do you think he's going?" Hawke asked. She yanked her greatsword out of the impaled spine of a warden and inspected it. "Damn blood mages. Even when you think it's not blood mages, it's always them bastards."

"Adamant," Lana watched the sands blanketing the sky from Erimond's wake. She flipped around and honed in on the Inquisitor, "He's heading to Adamant, an ancient Grey Warden fortress."

The Inquisitor was ragged, the mage's blood slicking back his hair as he rotated his daggers in bruised wrists. He panted beside a broken statue while Dorian tried to will a slip of energy into him. For a brief moment, the elf accepted his help but then he rose away, trying to force on the command role. "What are the Grey Wardens thinking? Binding themselves to demons? Sacrificing their own?"

Lana felt every eye in the party land upon her, even Hawke's, but she didn't care what they thought of her, of wardens. She needed to kill Erimond. She was going to kill him. "Hawke and I can scout out Adamant. Make certain that's where he's headed."

"We can?" her cousin asked, batting at the back of her head. Lana glowered at her, and - for the first time since they met - Hawke gulped from the mage's power, "I mean we can, of course."

The Inquisitor looked about to argue, but even he bowed his head, acquiescing to the vengeance inside of her. Lana flexed her fingers once more, drawing as much energy as she dared back into her limbs. The blood remained untouched, drying to a sickening brown in the desert sun. She was many things, but she'd never become a malifecarum, never become one of them. "Come on," she said, slapping her hand against Hawke's armor. "Let's go."

"Ah, Warden," the Inquisitor spoke softly, still gulping in air from the fight or perhaps from Erimond knotting up his anchor. "Did you know any of the people here?"

Lana's strides stumbled and she turned back to the bodies both mutilated from their weapons, as well as the ones drained to feed the demons. They were too young for this; too young to have death dangled above their heads, death whispered in their ears, and the only hope given to free them was a suicide run to save the world.

"Yes," she admitted, noting the ones she'd cursed to this life. Without elaborating, she swept up Hawke, slid down the backside of the ritual tower, and raced after Erimond. His tracks were easy to follow, even for the warrior and mage stumbling through the ankle deep sand. The man didn't care that they were following, he thought he was stronger than they were, believed himself untouchable. She'd prove him wrong. Lana stalked across the dunes, her jaw screwed tight, the burn of the sun not reaching her frozen heart. Yes, she'd known some of the people split open like a water skin, their life's juices poured across the ground. She'd been the one to recruit them, the one to put the Calling in their head, the reason they were manipulated into destroying their own. And he'd murdered them all for his own master's glory. Visions of how she'd slit Erimond from nape to navel kept her focused as sand poured into her boots trying to drag her down into the earth with it.

"Hey, I..." Hawke shouted from behind her, "I know we need to scout this place out but maybe we should stop."

"No," Lana answered, her lips barely opening through her rigid jaw. "I'm going to kill Erimond."

"Okay, that's good. Killing blood mages, I can get behind that. It's just, how do you think we're gonna catch him? He's on a horse. Maybe we should swing back and get one," Hawke continued. Her massive form, while graceful on the battlefield, was a clogging mess in the dunes. She had to lift her legs twice as high to overcome the pull of sand.

"There isn't time," Lana hissed, "I won't give up his trail." Without looking back, she pushed some of her own fade energy into her cousin. The veil bit back upon her fingers, unhappy with this abuse, but she didn't feel it. An insurmountable cold radiated out of her heart leaving her skin dead and her thoughts crisp, fear would find no hold inside of her nor would compassion. She knew what she would do with a crystal clarity that shoved aside any possibility of doubt.

Revived from the magic, Hawke fell silent again, the two of them making it miles further through the dunes with Lana leading like a hound on the chase. Unlike some poor wyvern driven to extremes by bored nobility, her prey deserved to be put down without any concern for his suffering. The sun shifted across the sky, the shadows lengthening as it prepared for a descent. She didn't relish walking through the desert at night, but there was no other option.

"So," Hawke suddenly started up, her voice closer than Lana remembered. She snapped her head, willing away the fog that blanketed her mind. Somehow she missed the past few hours. "That thing Erimond said, about the other Grey Wardens being scared of you..."

Lana blanched. It was true, it was why she never mixed much with them. The younger ones, the ones who didn't know why a warden was needed to end a blight, loved her. They loved the hero thrust upon the world stage to remind thedas of the importance of wardens. They didn't watch her with slit eyes waiting to see if an archdemon would suddenly erupt out of her skin. Ten years counting and still no return of the blight. "What of it?"

"Well, I was wondering about the other part. The bit about his master having a great interest in you," Hawke continued.

"He's collecting warden mages for his army. I'm a warden mage," Lana said without explaining. She suspected what Corypheus would want with her, but had no idea why he hadn't done it.

"Right, right, and we're heading to the heart of all the wardens who are scared of you and the man who wants you stuffed in his trophy room. Doesn't that seem rather...how can I put this nicely? Stupid? Idiotic? Death Sentency?"

Lana flared her fingers up and cast a scrap of light into the sky. It trailed through the cotton pink air until landing a few hundred feet upon the darkening dunes to highlight Erimond's shifting wake. She trudged for it, her eyes upon the light. "We're not giving up now. I have a plan."

"Oh, that's good, a plan. Here I was concerned about just the two of us invading some fortress armed with only a stick and a sword. But if there's a plan..."

"If you want to leave..." Lana left the door open for her. She didn't need her. Hawke shouldn't even be here -- this was warden business, personal warden business.

But Hawke snorted at the offer, "What? And let you have all the fun? I'll have you know I invade fortresses for breakfast, assuming they've got that rich butter sauce you pour over eggs. Otherwise there's not much point."

She was trying to get Lana to laugh, but it wouldn't work. Nothing would crack through her. The blood hardened to a brown char across her hands, but she didn't stop to wipe it away. She needed it, needed her hands stained with the warden's blood while she choked the life out of Erimond. Let him look upon what he wrought for the last second of his life. Hawke gave up her attempt at lifting the mood and would only speak up to point out the wildlife. Either the animals roaming the sands weren't hungry for the lone pair crossing through their home, or even the varghasts and phoenixes could sense the depths Lana was willing to delve to reach her goal.

After her third flare, when the half moon hung high in the sky, she spotted Adamant in the distance. It looked like a cockleburr silhouetted by the stars, the towers mimicking the spikes of the burr prepared to draw blood from anyone who dared trod on it. Hawke whistled at the sight, "So that's it? That's what we're taking on our own?"

"We're not taking Adamant," Lana assured her.

"Good, because that seemed rather, excusing my Orlesian here, fucking bonkers. We can see that little toad's horseprints up to the door, no reason to..."

"We're going to sneak in and kill Erimond," Lana interrupted her, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. She'd been ripping into the veil every chance she could, trying to stockpile as much mana as possible into every corner of her body. So much power radiated through her body, she feared she might be glowing in the blue-black desert.

Hawke sighed, "I knew you were going to say that. Look, I know, I get it, he's bad. He hurt you."

"You don't get it," Lana hissed, snapping her vitriol at Hawke. Her cousin didn't back down, or glare back, but a twist of concern and pain rolled through her face. "I..." Lana groaned, her head flopping forward, "I have to kill him. It's the only way without dragging the wardens into a war."

"By the two of us taking down a fortress," Hawke continued, her words skipping in octaves to try and point out the madness in Lana's plan. "I hope you've got a battering ram hidden in your satchel."

"Don't worry," Lana smiled, "I know a secret way in." It was pure luck. Wynne came to her a few years ago before the Circles collapsed, asking if the Warden Commander knew anything about Adamant. Apparently, some mages wanted to use the old fortress for research, rather temperamental research the chantry wasn't thrilled about. Lana hadn't had much in the library, but when Wynne disappeared, she looked deeper into Adamant. A remnant from the second blight, it held secrets that no other Wardens would have reason to know about. Secrets she could exploit against Clarel and her own people.

Hawke shrugged her shoulders, rotating her massive sword. "All right, lead on."

They kept quiet, slinking low through the dunes to avoid any patrols or eyes on the towers. Little light escaped from the stars, the moon focusing its gaze to the far east. Even still, Lana kept a dampening spell up and skirted behind every creeping rock or dead stump they could find. She moved them away from the shuttered entrance, a fact Hawke was ecstatic about, and around the side. There used to be a river running underneath Adamant, but it dried up ages ago leaving behind a small gap in the fortress' defenses. Lana missed it three times as they passed back and forth along the walls. She was concerned about pressing closer, but the light of the moon broke behind the fortress, casting them into an eternal shadow. With only the stars to guide her, she could see at best an inch past her face. Her fingers dragging across the walls, Lana finally stumbled across their entrance into Adamant.

Hawke scoffed at the tiny hole, but Lana assured her it would get larger. The hole wasn't their true entrance into the fortress. There was an escape tunnel carved through the bones of the fortress which the river used to run counter with. Sadly, the escape tunnel itself was sealed up from the inside. The only way to open it was by going through Adamant, or hopefully by taking the riverbed. Lana ran her fingers around the edge of the broken foundation and risked casting a single flare inside. Blue light landed against the dissolved rock highlighting jagged and broken stones but no guards. Darkness stretched deeper in.

"Wait," Hawke's hand landed on her shoulder keeping her from entering. "We could still go back, ya know. I don't know if he'd like you running head first into a fortress."

"The Inquisitor already knows we were off to Adamant," Lana said. She rolled off Hawke's hand and straightened her robes.

"That ain't the he I'm talking about."

Lana started; her head was halfway into the hole when she turned back to her cousin. She hadn't thought of...no, there was no place for any of that. This was her life, and Cullen -- whatever she had with him -- was something else entirely. She belonged to the wardens and no one else. Sizing up the hole, Lana muttered, "He's not my keeper," and then she slid into it. Crouching to avoid the crush of the foundation above her head, Lana kept a hand above her while she slipped through the murky darkness. Behind her she heard a dramatic curse as her taller cousin struggled with the low ceiling.

"How about I crawl on my belly instead? It'd be blighted easier!" Hawke shouted again, her voice echoing down the cavern.

When no one came running at her cousin's bellows, Lana risked lifting light upon her fingers. This time it was that odd veil fire the Inquisitor's camp kept on about, the blue memory of flame flickering at the tip of her thumb. Stalagmites pressed against her like an abandoned horse's teeth. The craggy edges, once worn smooth by the river, built up overtime thanks to its loss. "Be careful," Lana whispered to Hawke.

"Careful of what? Maker damn it!" she shouted, knocking into one of the stalactites dangling off the ceiling.

"I think I see the entrance up ahead," Lana called behind her. By the glow of her thumb she could see a dark gap through the cavern's skin. The gash was just large enough to let one of them through at a time, if they were careful. She didn't turn back to her cousin still at war with the maze of rocks. Hawke would catch up, Lana was certain. Wedging her staff through the gap first, Lana sucked in a breath and slid against the broken entrance. She had to pull in her stomach while twisting her chest outward to fit through the keyhole. Rocks grabbed onto her robes clawing away the outer crust of blood and sweat, nearly scraping her clean. She wished her conscious was that easy to scrub free. Almost losing her balance, Lana's foot wavered in the air before a dark drop. She called up a drop of light from the end of her staff and glanced down at the cavern only a few feet below.

"There's a drop but it shouldn't be bad," Lana called out behind her and then she made good on her assurance. Her foot skittered down the wall, the angle knocking against an inflamed toe, but she landed without any irreparable damage. "Hm," Lana turned back, casting her light up to the gap. While the fall wasn't bad, getting back up there might prove impossible, the reach beyond what she could manage. Probably even beyond what Hawke could accomplish. Well, that was something to worry about later. "Hawke," she tried to shout without raising her voice. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," her cousin boomed through the gap, "funny thing. You're a wee bit teenier than me and unless you've got some shrinking spell I don't know about, I'm not fitting through this."

_Damn it!_ Lana paced back and forth, her shoes dipping in and out of the pocked ground threatening to tip her off balance. She needed to get to Erimond before...she needed to kill him, to end this before it all began. "I could try and blast the rock, but..."

"Let me guess," Hawke sang-sung, "cave in." She was going to say it'd alert all the guards in the area, but a cave in was also likely. "I've got an idea if you give me a few. Might not be smart, but I'll get to you one way or another."

"Right," Lana nodded. She trusted Hawke to do her best, but also mentally prepared for going it alone. It wouldn't be the first time she'd taken on the enemy with no one by her side. "I'm going to move ahead, see if I can find a passage deeper into the fortress."

"What?" Hawke shouted, "That's daft." Some more words followed about how idiotic she was, but they fell into the walls as Lana lit up her thumb and continued down the passage. Unlike the split cave, this area was carved, the walls smooth, the ceiling not preparing to bite down upon anyone under it. It was most likely the secret tunnel out of Adamant. It bore no marks of the Deep Roads and, aside from the calling knocking about in her head, she could only feel the barest whisper of the taint. She was picking up on grey wardens near, but given an entire fortress full of them it wasn't unexpected. On occasion she'd trod against something that splintered with a crunch, the shards of a broken bone skittering down the hallway. Whoever last used this tunnel didn't all make it out. _And that could be you, Lana._ _You know what you're doing is akin to, where it will lead to, but you're not going to stop._ The self preservation part of her, the niggling doubt in her soul, reprimanded her every step, but she shook it off. She didn't need it, didn't want it. There were many times in her life she'd thrown herself in harm's way with no plan beyond hoping to take the other person down with her. It wasn't sound, it wasn't logical, but when faced with no choice she'd make it when no one else would. And now, she had to finish this before Clarel drove the wardens beyond salvation, before the armies of the Inquisition got involved. Or worse, what if all of thedas turned on the wardens? Even if a blight was no true threat now, a large if, to leave no one behind would doom the entire world. She had no choice, she had to end this before there was nothing worth salvaging.

Lana slipped further down the tunnels, trying to mask her footsteps as best she could, but in the darkness she feared her own heartbeat thundered out a warning to the wardens marching above her. _How many had already been turned? How many waited eagerly to slit another's throat, to bind someone else to a demon? Were they even worth preserving?_ Taking two turns, the sense in her body tingled lifting the hairs on the back of her neck. Instinctively, she flooded herself with all the mana she could tap. Flattening against the rock, Lana tried to listen to the cavern just beyond. Her blood told her wardens were close, but how close? Were they only above her? Risking it alone and unprepared was unwise, but coming out ice flinging could be a waste of mana and draw undue attention.

Pulling her staff tighter to her body, she tipped her head back against the rock. A prayer slipped from her lips, not of the chantry, but a personal one that she'd spoken since first leaving the tower with Duncan. "Let me get this right." Knotting her hands around her staff she brought it to life. Power crashed through it, red energy hissing and twisting around the wood. She didn't shy away from it as before, but accepted the corrupting lyrium into her the same as the fire and the ice. She needed it all to pull this off.

Once more steadying herself, Lana stepped away from the wall and strode calmly into the cavern. A single lantern flickered on the floor revealing the faces of three wardens standing guard to the only entrance into Adamant. She had no choice, she had to incapacitate them. Wardens. Her people. They were all standing in repose for their duty, a leg against the wall shooting the breeze, bored. Then they spotted the shadow moving against the grey stones. One rose up, reaching to unsheathe his sword. Lana flashed her fist, ice crystalizing around his hand pinning it to his blade's grip, and freezing it all together into the scabbard. The second reached for a bow, but Lana was prepared for that too. No longer afraid of the fire burning down anything she cared for, flames leapt from her fingers to twist against the only wood in this stone prison. The archer tried to dance away from the flames, but she'd pinned herself into the alcove. Red hot fire spit off Lana's fingers and wrapped along the archer's only weapon. Before the fire reached her own hands, the archer tossed the cindered bow away, its ashes scattered against the stone ground.

Lana turned to the third, prepared to finish him off, when a wave of energy knocked through her marrow ripping away every ounce of mana in her body. _Fuck! It was a templar!_ Nausea bubbled up her gullet from the abrupt hole left inside of her and she steadied herself against her staff. It'd been too long since she'd fought one, much less a templar pulsing with lyrium. She scrabbled to bring back her mana while aiming her staff at the man's head. A bolt of energy fired towards him, but it scattered against the rocks, her aim off as her body raced to refuel itself while fighting. The templar warden unsheathed his own sword and came roaring at her. Lana flipped her staff up to meet his blade. She flared up a barrier just in time, and with it, she shoved the man back. Dipping into the fade, she tried to find the hexes, the old tricks for boiling the lyrium inside a templar, but there was so little inside of her and she needed time.

Trying to multi-task, Lana drove her staff blade towards the templar, but he shook it off, sparks flying as her blade skittered down his shield. She felt the hex forming in the back of her mind, almost ready. _Nearly there._ She went to throw it at the templar when he dropped down to a knee. _Shit!_ Lana didn't have time to ground herself as a swell of power burst off the templar, plucking her body from the ground and hurling her against the wall. Her head bounced against the rock, white obliterating her vision as her hands numbed over. The staff tumbled from her dead fingers and she collapsed to her knees, pain shattering through her back and down her toes.

Her numb fingers fumbled for her staff. As the white vision faded, she scrabbled away when the templar grabbed his fist around her neck and pinned her to the wall. Metal gloves bit into her throat threatening to pinch off her larynx. Her fingers tried to wedge into his grip and pry them off. He flexed his hand cutting off her oxygen. Panicking, Lana clawed feverishly at his hand, ripping off a nail to try and free herself, but there was nothing to do. She was little more than a paper thin butterfly in his iron grip. But he wasn't trying to kill her, only make a point.

"Cast another spell, mage, and I will end you," he hissed. "Slowly." Lana lowered her hands, but her eyes burned with rage into the templar's face. "Go and get the Commander," he ordered to the archer, who saluted and slipped through the guarded door into the fortress.

Despite keeping her hands low, Lana tugged on the remnants of her spells, binding them together into a force that would rattle the teeth from his mouth while the templar crushed her to the wall. She had just the start of something when he poured another wave of dispel against her, wiping away all her work. For added emphasis, he leaned tighter into her neck and warned, "Do not try me, mage."

"I wouldn't dream of it, templar," she stuttered back, her voice raw from his fingers. She hung like that, her tiptoes grazing the ground while the templar glared into her face. If he recognized her, he gave no hint, but she was probably more likely to be killed on sight by those who knew her than granted a pardon.

When the door finally opened, it wasn't an executioner coming with orders to finish her off, but a far worse fate. Clarel held her own staff in her fingers, her heartless eyes canvassing Lana's bulging ones as she scrabbled for more breath. "Well, this is surprising," Clarel drawled, then in an amusing twist, bobbed her head, "Warden Commander."

"Hello," Lana coughed, twisting in her hold, "Warden Commander."

Clarel cast a gentle warming spell over her warrior's frozen hands melting Lana's ice to slush. He yanked his fingers free and massaged them, bringing back life. "Still alive I see. Ten years since you failed and yet didn't fail to make the sacrifice asked of all of us," Clarel tsked her tongue as she slipped beside her bull of a templar. Her spidery fingers grazed near his hold upon Lana, but she didn't say anything against him. "One day I will learn your secret."

_Good bloody luck._ Lana twisted her glare away from the templar's meaty mug to Clarel's icy stare. If there was one thing she knew about Morrigan, no amount of torture from any grey warden would ever get the truth from her. And that wasn't even taking into account the motherly love for her boy, the kind of motherly fervor that would shatter every bone in a person's body before risking him. That woman would break you long before she'd ever crack. Clarel danced back and forth on her feet as if she was unable to remain still. _How terrified was she of the taint singing in their heads? Death and sacrifice seem so easy to speak of when they're not breathing down your neck._ Her calculating eyes tried to dissect the mage before her. They'd never got on, to put it nicely. To have two mage Warden Commanders sharing a border was unheard of. People were afraid to have that much power placed in any magic user, much less two covering so much of southern thedas. And of course, no one high in the Warden echelons trusted Lana. The mage who ended a blight and killed an archdemon without dying. It was impossible, it flew in the face of the backbone of the order. But here she was, proving them wrong with every breath.

"What are you doing, Clarel?" Lana gasped, wiggling under the tight grip. "Threatening another Warden Commander? Ordering her death? What will Weisshaupt say of this?" Clarel's body snapped rigid, her head slithering forward, and she glowered at her prisoner. Lana smiled from her barb, "You're not working under orders from the First Warden, are you? Does he even know what is happening here? What madness you're attempting?"

"We are doing what is necessary to stop the blight," Clarel threw her shoulders back, proudly extending her head. "Which you would be aware of if you ever served your own order."

The fist squeezed tighter against her neck, but Lana scoffed, "And in the process you turn every damn person in thedas against the grey wardens. For Andraste's sake, blood magic! Demons! You won't just destroy the wardens, you'll take down every mage with you for this!"

Clarel flared her hand with fire, the idle threat drifting near to Lana's face, but she didn't blink from it. "We are wardens, nothing more. The politics of thedas is not our concern. We serve to stop the blight, not coddle the people."

"Right, because that denial will let you sleep at night when hundreds of mage children are slaughtered in the street because of- Oof!" the templar slammed a fist in her stomach, cutting off her tearing the truth into his Commander. Her limited oxygen fled from her lungs leaving Lana light headed. Tears sprung at the back of her eyes, her toes falling numb as they tried to drag against the ground. Clarel placed a warning hand on the templar's arm, but she didn't reprimand him.

Willing away the pain building from every attempt to talk, Lana called out, "We can finish this, stop this now if you'd listen to me."

The older woman's eyes narrowed and she turned upon her prisoner, "You think you know more of the blight than I? Than anyone because you lucked out into stopping one. Hubris is your true nature, Solona Amell."

"I know more than you when it comes to Erimond. Give me him, let me finish him and we can work together. You think the Inquisition is going to turn its back on you? They know your plans same as I, Clarel. They will stop you."

All three wardens whipped their heads to their Commander, concern clawing across their faces. If it was true, if the Inquisition was coming for them, then what hope did they have? The wardens weren't an army, they weren't supposed to be. Clarel sneered and thrust her face at Lana's. "You know very little of anything in this world, and even less of Lord Erimond."

"What do you think you will accomplish by aligning with a blood mage? By sacrificing your own for his needs?"

Clarel's entire body snapped up straight and she threw her head back, certainty brimming through her veins. "I am doing what will preserve thedas, I am ending the blights once and for all." Nodding at her men, the Warden Commander turned away towards the door.

Through a suckered breath, Lana caught the end of a giggle. She coughed a few more times, her larynx pushing against the templar's palm, but her laugh grew stronger with each new breath. Clarel whipped back around, a sneer lifting her thin lips, but she didn't say a word, only watched as Lana threw her eyes up and lost her mind in laughter. Even the templar shifted uncomfortably in his boots, driving his fist in deeper, but Lana continued to laugh through that pinch.

She shook her head against the wall, rattling her remaining braids and then beamed every shred of experience she had scraping across Ferleden, building an army from nothing, and ending a blight before it destroyed her home. "It is always glory with the types who will drag us all to the void with them."

Clarel snorted once at Lana's impudence, then she leaned back and folded her arms, a decision crossing her face. "We will not kill you, if that is your concern. No," she tapped her finger against her lips as if Clarel had any choice in the coming storm. The woman was a puppet in all but name. "The wardens require stout mages. You will be an asset I will not waste."

"I will kill myself before you ever turn me into an abomination!" Lana screamed, her fingers reaching towards Clarel. The templar gripped tighter, locking off her oxygen but Clarel tipped her head for him to release Lana. Her hands fell to her side, one curling into her robe as if to steady herself from the attack.

Clarel snickered, "Then your blood will guide us to victory. Bring her to..."

Flying through the air, a ceramic pot shattered against the ground. White smoke billowed through the cavern, blanketing everyone in the fog. Obscured from sight, the wardens spun around, weapons drawn but useless. "Stop!" Clarel coughed, "Do not let her escape."

Lana felt the templar renew another mana purge, but she had other plans. When he turned his head back to try and find the new assailant, Lana unsheathed her dagger and drove it deep into his stomach. The templar screamed, his blood pouring into her hands while she twisted the knife deeper up his ribcage. He tried to crush the life out of Lana, pushing both hands into her throat, but she yanked the knife from his wound, drew back her arm and sliced the blade across his eyes. Blinded by his own blood, the templar finally released her, his fingers trying to purge the pain in his eyes. Lana's feet skidded to the ground and she reached blindly for her staff. Above her stepped a giant of a woman whirling a sword carved from a mountain.

"Cuz!" Hawke screamed in the chaos, "We need to be getting gone!"

Instinctively, Lana threw up a barrier around Hawke just as Clarel burst a beam of fire against her. Hawke spun towards the Warden Commander and waved her sword menacingly. "That tickles," she sneered.

"I'm here to kill Erimond!" Lana shouted. Her fingers skidded across her staff, the wood humming to her machinations. She yanked it up and tried to peer through the smoke biting into her eyes. There was a glimmer of Clarel's warden robes darting through the haze and Lana cast her second most powerful ice spell at her. The seasoned mage caught it, the ice harmlessly scattering away, but she breathed heavy from the exertion, her own mana taking a hit. This might be her only chance to finish this madness once and for all. Lana twisted up her own mana, prepared to knock Clarel on her idiotic head, when Hawke grabbed her by the waist, lifting her up like she was a bag of rice.

"What are you doing?" she shouted, trying to not flail her legs like an obstinate child.

"There's this thing called reinforcements," Hawke chided. She kicked aside the bleeding templar and leapt into the cavern while still carrying Lana.

"I bloody well know what reinforcements are."

"Good, because they're on their way. At least a dozen of 'em, maybe more. I don't know about you, but I can't do that many, and unless we get out fast, we're gonna have the entire fortress on our assess."

Damn them all, she was right. Peering from behind Hawke, Lana watched Clarel cast a whirlwind strong enough to wipe away the remaining smoke. Her nemesis leaned down to the bleeding man. With enough healing, he'd live. She'd probably blinded him, but... Clarel stuck her dagger into the man's throat, emptying his veins, the raw power flooding into the cavern.

"Hawke...drop me!"

"No, you're not going back there!"

"I know that, but we need to both run, now!" Lana tipped her voice to an order, and Hawke obeyed. She caught onto the ground, her shoes slicking against the rock. Lana spun to follow after her cousin, but not before she watched all the templar's blood rushing up around Clarel like a gruesome robe. _What was she doing?_ Maker, Lana barely knew how to fight against the stumbling blood magic of the south, she had no idea how to combat seasoned tevinter malifecarum.

She threw up another barrier trying to seal off the tunnels as they ran through them. Clarel tossed her first bolt, the power easily slicing through Lana's shield and blasting into the ceiling. They had to get out fast. There was no way she could stop that kind of force. Redoubling her barriers, Lana tried to follow in Hawke's stampeding wake, but more than exhaustion deadened her limbs and yanked down her arms. Dread and despair in equal parts overloaded her system, the rage that powered her through the desert broken and lost. All she had left was the will to live, to not have Clarel drain her body, then toss it aside like an empty water skin.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Lana shouted at Hawke.

"Don't worry, I've got a plan," Hawke called back a near copy of Lana's own words. For a moment, she wondered if that was sarcasm, but her cousin sounded genuine.

"Ah!" Lana shrieked. One of Clarel's bolts slipped clean through her barrier and nicked Lana in the shoulder. Her robes were burned through, leaving charred black skin in its wake, but there was no blood. Thank the Maker for small miracles. "What is this plan?"

Hawke twisted her running not towards the gap in the wall to the riverbed, but deeper down the tunnel. Her boots slapped against the blackened ground, the panting of her breath giving away that she was pulling further and further away from Lana. "Hawke, what's your plan?" she screamed again. And then she saw it -- hints of dawn's light illuminated their doom. A portcullis cut off their only remaining means of escape, its bars thick enough to let at best an arm through, nothing more. "Blessed Andraste, no," Lana moaned, the last vestiges of her driving force drying away from her. She stumbled, almost falling to her knees.

Patting her hand along the wall, Hawke turned back to her and grinned. She reached into a hidden crevice and yanked back on a lever. "You aren't the only one who knows ancient traps." Like a miracle from on high, the portcullis began to rise, dust shaking off the hinges. But it was going too slowly. Clarel's attacks continued, her energy blasts chewing through every barrier Lana placed. She wasn't running down the tunnel to catch them, she didn't have to. The woman was enjoying this game of chase.

"Hawke!" Lana shouted. "You have any of those smoke bombs left?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Give it to me," Lana held out her hand and accepted the clay pot. She glared at it as she reached into the pouch along her belt and extracted the last of her lyrium sand. This was so far gone on the list of wise things to do, but they had no choice. Clarel would catch them before they could escape. She dumped half of the tube into the clay pot, hopefully enough to cause the right amount of damage without killing anyone. Securing the rest of the lyrium sand, Lana backed up to her cousin beside the still rising portcullis.

"Right after I throw this, roll under the door as fast as you can."

"Uh," Hawke slotted her greatsword on her back, "how about I throw it instead?"

"That's a good idea," Lana passed her the clay pot, "but be careful."

Hawke shrugged and with the might of biceps that could wrestle qunari, she hurled the bomb through the air. It missed all the possible obstacles Lana would have hit and struck against the stone floor nearly a hundred feet away. Fire burst out of it, the lyrium igniting from the impact. An explosion fractured the cavern, rending the stone walls in half. Rocks and shrapnel shattered, racing to fill both sides of the tunnel like solid water. Lana grabbed onto her staff and rolled under the rising door. She tugged onto Hawke's pants leg to get her to look away from the cool explosion. Shaking her head, Hawke followed suit, both of them rolling past the barrier and further down the tunnel, until they rose back to their feet. Chunks of rock slammed against the rising door, the force denting the iron like it was paper.

Without looking back, Lana and Hawke raced out of the tunnel towards daylight. Lana threw up a few barriers around them for fear of archers, but if they kept to the dry riverbed they should be able to sneak past and back to the Inquisition camp. _Maker, what had she done?_ She'd thought it'd be so easy, that she could end this all by herself, but now Clarel knew they knew of her plans. He was going to kill her.

"Welp," Hawke cheerfully called from her side, "that coulda gone better. Who's gonna tell the Inquisitor?"

## Chapter Eighteen

**For Now**

"In a matter of minutes, you managed to destroy what little edge we had against Corypheus, place the entire Inquisition in danger, and - for all we are aware - increased the warden's timeline. The demon army could be pouring out of the fade at this very moment and we have no way yet to combat or stop it!"

The Inquisitor stood stock still before his war map, his grey eyes slicing through the silent mage. Lana's hands dangled limply at her side and she stared blankly through the elf. She'd only managed a few words here and there, her throat constricting in pain, the bruise blisteringly evident even against her darker skin. It was Hawke who told the full tale and tried to spin it as best she could; Lana added nothing beyond a yes or no when a question was put to her. The rest of the advisers stood behind the Inquisitor, each of them passing furtive glances but no one else spoke. It was only the elf who continued haranguing Lana, and rightly so. She'd failed more than just the Inquisition, perhaps risked all of thedas and for what?

"Look, it was a quick decision made in heat of battle. Things happen," Hawke stuck up for her. She'd tossed her greatsword against the wall upon entering the war room and tried to mimic Lana's subservient pose, but Hawke couldn't stand still long. Grabbing onto her sword's grip, the warrior swung it through the air in what to the rest looked like a threat. "Leave it be," Hawke spoke in her natural shout. Josephine gasped from the display, her eyes darting down to her clipboard while Leliana and the commander both rose up in the event they needed to stop a Hawke rampage. Even the Inquisitor stumbled back, her eyes widening out of their frozen glare. Unaware of the terror she was stirring, Hawke continued to rotate her wrist, the sword slicing through air that could easily contain a body.

Lana's fingers snapped out and grabbed onto Hawke's arm. She glanced at the intrusion, then twisted back down her blade, confusion across her face. Lana knew that it was simply Hawke needing to do something and there being a sword in the way. That was how her mind worked, she thought by doing, but this wasn't the time or place. Shaking her head slowly, Lana released her grip and Hawke lowered her weapon.

The Inquisitor was the first to rebound as the rush of tension cracked away, but his eyes remained fixed on Hawke who was returning her sword to the wall. "There is the heat of battle, and then there is making tactical decisions that are not yours to decide. I thought we were of the same mind, Lady Amell, but it seems I was mistaken."

Lana folded her hands up and placed them against her stomach. She stared through him, past a nick in his ear to a tree branch banging against the open window pane. Its leaves were a golden sunset, a strange color for spring. He glared at her silence, obviously expecting her own rebuttal, but when none was forthcoming, the Inquisitor continued to rant, "And you wasted a perfect opportunity for us. We could have used that tunnel ourselves to take down the Warden forces from multiple fronts."

"Or they'd have chopped you all up into bits. Seemed they were expecting someone to take that path," Hawke grumbled. She'd leaned against the wall beside her sword and tipped her head down, but even her angry whispers echoed through the room.

"Be that as it may," the Inquisitor whipped his head from the Champion to the Hero. There were too many titles in the room. "We are at war with the wardens and I, I am uncertain whose side you are on."

Lana's eyes slipped away from the branches peering through the window and deep into the Inquisitor's. Her face curled up, the blank slate chipping and breaking away to the stoked rage in her heart. "I am with whoever intends to kill Erimond," her voice rasped and she coughed at the end, struggling against the pain in her throat. She could heal it, at least blot the sting away, but the Inquisitor wasn't the only one who needed to punish her.

He blanched for a moment from her obvious discomfort and glanced back at the advisers. No one came to her rescue, no one even sprung forward to offer a glass of water. It was the right move. "What you have done was idiotic, brash beyond measure, the very fact that you'd..."

"You're wasting time," she interrupted, her sight back on the window, her eyes as dead as a statue's.

"Time because of what you did, what you..."

"I know."

"Then you admit fault?" the Inquisitor shook his head, disbelieving she'd give in so simply.

"I failed," Lana admitted. The others started as if she confessed her soul, but she'd been speaking the words every step to Skyhold. She knew she failed the moment Clarel confronted her. If she'd let the wardens take her, she wouldn't have to suffer the shame of failure, but facing down a chastising Inquisitor was preferable to becoming an abomination. "Unless you intend to throw me in your dungeon, or stretch my neck on a block, repeating it will do little."

The Inquisitor's hands ran across his face, the fingers digging into his forehead. Behind his palms, he sighed, "On that we can agree. Go, go until we..." He turned back to the advisers clustered around the map. "Until we can solve this."

Lana didn't bow, didn't nod, barely acknowledged his words. She turned on her heels and marched out of the room. Hawke grabbed her sword and followed, but Lana shook her head. She needed time, and while Hawke was a great distraction she was also a terrible distraction. Lana extended her hand to indicate Varric who'd been sitting just near enough to the war room to overhear everything. Hawke sighed, but stepped towards the dwarf. She was certain to replay Lana's blunder to him in more vivid details and with extra dragons. It should sting her, but Lana was numb. Her heart beat sluggishly, each thump of the organ pulsing pain against her throat. She'd nearly died, been slit across the neck, had her blood drained to unleash a demon army and all she felt inside her veins was the void. An eternal nothingness.

Drifting away from Hawke, Varric, and the bright hall filled with soldiers unaware of the coming battle, Lana pushed open doors at random until she stumbled into the gardens. Juxtaposed against the snowy backdrop, the burst of green appeared even fresher than seemed possible. Floral scents hung in the air, lavender and jasmine popular, as well as the little yellow flowers dotting elfroot. Most people claimed they had no scent, but she could swear there was an almost peppery smell when they bloomed. A few people reclined through the grounds, the head gardener tending to one of the Inquisitor's pots with a trowel in each hand while she dug deep in the soil. Peace reigned here, a gentle balm away from everything Corypheus wanted to destroy.

Slipping around the ferns, Lana settled on a bench partially obscured by the greens. In the far end of the garden she caught sight of a boy, little more than eight or nine, zipping in and out of the gazebo's columns. He leapt forward, his hands clapping in the air, but upon pulling them back to his face, he sighed in disappointment. Pushing the dark hair off his forehead, he watched the silken blue wings of the butterfly flitting against the flowers. Abandoning the frontal assault, the boy crouched low and crept like water against the shore towards it. He moved softly for a child, but upon reaching the butterfly's bush he popped up shouting in joy. His prize fluttered away before the boy had a chance to get near it.

"Kieran." Lana followed the voice to see Morrigan chasing after the boy, a chastising look upon her face. "What are you playing at?"

"I wanted to see if I could fly, mother," the boy explained staring up at her.

Morrigan smiled with pursed lips, her fingers ruffling her son's hair. Bending low towards him, she said, "In time. How about we play the dragon game instead?" To Lana's surprise, Morrigan hoisted her son up by his arms. The boy squealed in delight, then - after positioning himself as if he was flying above his mother - roared like a dragon blanketing the gardens in flame. His not so realistic dragon cries scattered all the butterflies hiding in the brambles, a multitude of blue silk canvassing the sky. But the boy didn't notice, he was too busy playing with his mother.

Ten years. She'd been gifted ten years, and what did she have to show for it? No wardens, the world once again upon the brink of ruin, and her own order - the only place she had left in the world - terrified of her. More than terrified, planning her death, hoping to use her, to bind her to a demon. To turn her into the very thing she feared. Life would have been so much simpler if she'd taken the blow instead, if she'd left Alistair behind, told Morrigan there was no deal, and sacrificed herself as a good Grey Warden did.

And yet... Her heart stung as she watched the boy who'd never have lived fly into his mother's arms, his hands trying to slip leaves in Morrigan's slick hair. His existence was as dubious as Lana's, but she had no right to wish it way from him. Even if, even with the soul of the old god inside of him, he deserved hope. She on the other hand...

"May I..." Lana broke away from the happy family to turn and gaze up at Cullen. His eyes betrayed nothing beyond the stoic commander weary from the endless grind, but he couldn't stop fidgeting with his sword. "May I sit beside you?"

She shrugged. It wasn't as if she had any right to throw him out, he had an army behind him and she had no one. They were gone. All of them. Her fingers curled against her staff, digging into the names carved into the wood like life lines upon a palm. Cullen settled beside her, his hands gripping onto the bench below him but inching no closer to her. He stared out across the picturesque garden letting the cool breeze speak for him.

"Have you come to reprimand me as well?" she asked, her eyes glaring at her hands.

"I..." he sat up higher and turned his head to her, even rotating his shoulder to look fully upon her. But she couldn't lift her eyes to face him. "No, I didn't. I understand, you hoped to bypass an incursion by our forces, to save as many of your people as possible."

Lana gasped, a sob choking in her raw throat. Tears prickled in the back of her eyes, but she fought against them. "You don't actually believe that, do you?" She finally broke away from her staff to stare into his face. The stoic commander breathed in from the heartbreak rolling through her body. He blinked his own eyes before turning away.

"No, but I..." Cullen fell silent, his exhausted eyes glaring at the harsh sunlight.

Leaving her staff laying across her lap, Lana folded up her fists and banged them together. The rapport of knuckle meeting knuckle, bones knocking each other about gave her a satisfying jolt of pain. Her fingers could ache for days after casting so much magic in one go, for now they were down to a dull throb made worse by the cold of the mountain. "I lied to Hawke," she said throwing her head back. Instead of glaring at the sun, Lana slipped her eyes closed, the warmth stinging her skin. "No, I lied to myself too. But I knew it was a lie even as I pursued him. Needed him dead, needed to feel his final..." She pulled in a shuddering breath against her aching throat and stared down at her flexed fingers. They'd been cleaned, even the blood under her nails scrubbed away, but she still felt it. Not just darkspawn ichor, or bandit gore, but the blood from her own people, the ones that he slit open. No, the ones he convinced other wardens to kill.

"He twisted them, perverted what's inside of us, what we need to, have to suffer to- I haven't felt this depth of anger since, since..." her thoughts trailed away and she glanced towards Cullen. With his head bent low, his eyes closed, he appeared to be in prayer. It'd been a long time since Lana dared to impose upon any higher power. With each passing day she felt less clean, far too impure to even step foot inside a chantry. Whether it was the taint growing inside of her or the river of blood following her every footstep she couldn't say.

Taking a calming breath, Cullen turned towards her and whispered, "Uldred?" She nodded, her voice shattered. The blood mage who destroyed her home, her friends, took everything she'd left behind. It was the first time the depths of her soul twisted into ice itself, an endless void from which no warmth would ever spring free. But upon splitting open Uldred's skull, the ice chipped away and melted to leave behind splinters of what once was. She'd patched them back together by never returning to the tower, never truly facing what was lost. Ignorance was her healing, she did it even now. There was no time to mourn Nathaniel, no time to... No, she simply didn't want to drag herself down to those depths for fear that she might not come up for air. And now, now she knew she'd have to kill her fellow Wardens, have to freeze them, crush them, mutilate their bodies the same as she did her old mage friends -- her true family -- turned into demons and malifecarum. Again.

Her fingers twisted around the staff in her lap, rolling across the names until she stumbled upon an old one. She traced along the loops spelling it out repeating the action endlessly as she stared through the garden. Cullen remained quiet beside her, either waiting for her to continue or lost in his own memories. Maker, she'd only suffered Uldred's wrath for a few hours, but he'd been in their for weeks. Watched as all of his friends...

"I understood," she said blinking against the tears streaking down her cheeks. For once, she wasn't crying for herself.

Cullen twisted his head like coming out of a fog, "Understood?"

"Why you, when I found you in the tower behind the... I understood why you were so angry at mages. At all of us."

"No, I shouldn't have. It was wrong of me to put that on you. To...you were there to help and I-I. Andraste's tears, forgive me," he crumbled into his hands.

Lana broke away from the name to run her fingers up and down his shoulder. When he wouldn't break away she cupped her hand behind his and gently pulled is from his face. Cullen still wouldn't look her way, but he turned his hand in hers and clung tighter to her. She spoke, "That anger is...it ruins better people. Often forever. I only climbed back from the edge because, because I could ignore it. What you must have faced, I can't even imagine it."

"I'm doing what I can..." he sighed.

"And I'm failing at it," she responded, turning away from him to watch as the blue butterflies returned to their branches. With no one to disturb them, they landed confidently, their wings twitching as they drank their fill. Cullen shook his head at her, his anger bubbling over as if that could convince her she was wrong.

Her finger traced the name again and she tipped the staff up to him to show it off. "Gareth," she read it off her heart. There were just as many names on there that were little more than a roster call now, but this one she knew well. This one she wouldn't forget.

"I don't remember a mage named that," Cullen said, then he paused to add, "or templar."

"He was a warden," Lana explained. A temperamental smile twisted up her lips. "I recruited him from the Pearl in Denerim."

"The Pearl? Do...do wardens often have dealings in brothels?"

Lana laughed at his question, "More often than one would expect. It seems like every manner of back deal in Ferelden is done at the Pearl. Must be the excellent broth they have. But I didn't find him on business. I spotted Gareth working the crowds during a festival. He was supposed to be advertising for the Pearl by performing a few simple feats of agility, dashing about on wires stretched above the crowd. Rather banal things done to impress while wearing as little clothing as indecency could allow. I didn't notice him until someone in the crowd attempted to assault one his co-workers. The man sprang off a high wire, grabbed onto a beam for leverage, and plummeted onto the thief without disturbing another person. I offered the position to him on the spot.

"He was eager to become a hero. Many in Denerim hoped that the great Hero of Ferelden would find potential in them. Turn them into slayers of darkspawn. They didn't know, didn't understand what the Wardens take from you. But I did. I stood by watching as every man and woman took in the taint, doomed themselves to an eventual death. If it weren't for me..." Lana shook her head, she was telling Gareth's story, not mewling about her own sorry state. "Gareth survived the joining, popped up even quicker than was usual."

"And the other wardens were accepting of a..."

"Prostitute?" Lana asked. "We take all kinds, a man who traded sex for money was far from the worst of the lot. He was committed to the cause having been at the battle in Denerim, watched his own friends be cut down by darkspawn. Funnier than you'd expect too, wit as dry as kindling."

Cullen's fingers gripped tighter to her hand, pressing into her, "What happened to him?"

"There was a cave-in in the deep roads. We were trapped with darkspawn pressing in on all sides. We could escape but someone...someone had to buy us time, and Gareth volunteered," her fingers circled that name, remembering his shaggy hair shaved along the side, those wild gray-green eyes, and the way he always mashed up his eggs with a spoon until they were goo. "He was the first warden I ever lost. The first I ever ordered to his death, but not the last."

Silence slipped across them both, only the whistle of a few swallows dipping in and out of Skyhold's eaves breaking it up. Cullen's fingers dug tighter to her and he dropped his voice to a bare whisper. "The scar you spotted upon my chest, from Haven..."

Lana nodded, she remembered it well.

"I didn't receive it from debris. As we were pulling back to the church in a retreat, a red templar pounced upon me. I ordered the other soldiers to finish taking the wounded inside, certain I could finish off one alone. But when... The helmet fell off and even through the corruption branching inside her skin, I knew her. It was one of my templars from Kirkwall, one I'd helped train. She believed in the order, put her faith in it with a fervor I'd have thought impossible. And look what it did to her. What it did to us all. My arm slackened, I couldn't, wouldn't attack her. So she drove her blade into my chest. The armor shrugged off most of her attack, when my arm moved of its own accord and I," Cullen sneered his gaze away, "I cut her down."

There was the true darkness of war. You could keep going, keep rising every day refreshed if you convinced yourself that the enemy on the other end wasn't a true person. They were deserving of death by dint of being a lesser creature. But then what? What life do you find when that darkness fades and you're supposed to return to your fields and market stalls? When all that beats in your heart is a certainty of who deserves life and who does not? Corypheus was mad not to think he could be a god but to even want that power.

Cullen's fingers dug deeper into the back of her hand, pinching against the skin. He gripped tight to his head too, as if trying to will away a headache. Circling her thumb in his palm, Lana asked, "What is it?"

"It is--"

"Cullen," she glared at him, knowing he was about to excuse it as nothing.

He gulped and hung his head, "I am exhausted more readily since, since ceasing the lyrium. It is trying to...to not, I wish I were stronger. That I was capable of..."

"You're the strongest man I know," Lana exclaimed. Despite the public spot, she reached across herself, twisting in her seat to cup her fingers above his knee. He didn't brighten from the touch, but his lips parted like a parched man taking that first cold sip.

"Not the strongest person?" he asked, batting away the discomfort from her noticing his pain.

Lana shrugged, "I know Hawke, so..."

Cullen chuckled, "That is a fair point. I would not want to tangle with her."

"I didn't want to draw attention to..to drag out your own fight against lyrium withdrawals," Lana started, her fingers back to fidgeting with her staff. "To throw off the chantry's yoke and free yourself- What you're doing is..." Her head collapsed into her chest and she moaned into it, "Losing yourself is terrifying to think upon."

"Why do you care?" he whispered back, the fervid voice causing Lana to sit up. His broken eyes hunted over hers, "Even back in the deep roads you seemed reviled by the idea of the lyrium. Why would a mage bother?"

"I didn't realize I wasn't supposed to..." Lana sucked in a breath and shook her head, trying to will away the anger in her words. She grew tired of explaining why a mage would do this, why a mage would do that. She couldn't speak for every mage. All she had was what she would do, what she felt. "You didn't grow up in the circle, not the way a mage does. I may not have been a templar, been involved in your day to day life, but I knew them. Watched them change over the years, have memories slip away, thoughts dissolve while speaking. Their minds foundered upon an internal sea while everything inside withered leaving only a shadow behind." Her fingers dug into the bench, trying to claw away the burn of anger and grief in her heart. Cullen fell silent. She felt his eyes watching over her, but she didn't face him.

"Lana, I..." he ran his hands up his face, distorting his scruff. "Maker's breath, I'm sorry for assuming, for...I don't know. This fight wears on me and I know I can find myself a touch-"

"Grouchy?" she threw out.

"I was going to say curt, but grouchy is probably more accurate," he placed his hand beside her and she scooped it up in her fingers. At first he stared at their entwined hands again, then he risked a glance at her. She wanted so badly to kiss him, to wrap her arms around him and whisper she understood. She knew what it was to go it alone even when surrounded by others who tried to help but never could. Instead, she circled around his fingers, gently curling hers around his leather glove.

"White and I," she whispered, the memory rising in her memory, "we talked on occasion about a way to try and cure lyrium addiction. To combat its ill effects. He..." she paused and licked her lips, struggling against her constricting larynx. "He more than hoped to free templars, he wanted to reverse the damage."

"Did he love her? His...that templar he, you know, became a blood mage for?"

Lana shook her head, "I don't think so, not the way you're thinking, not romantically. He was not that type of person. But he did love her. The way he spoke of her it was like the moon describing the sun. Someone you could never share a space with but who filled your entire sky. He said, before the illness took over, that she was starting to forget things. Little words here and there, simple names, where she'd placed her belongings." She didn't realize she'd started crying until she screwed her eyes up, the tears blurring her vision. Willing away the emotion in her voice, Lana asked him, "Have you begun to lose...?"

"I," Cullen shifted in his seat but he kept a hold of her hand, neither of them willing to let go. "I don't believe so. It's hard to tell, I... There are some memories I wish I couldn't recall, many at times, but," his fingers caressed the back of her hand and he smiled at her, "some I never want to lose." She grinned through the pain, grateful for their little reprieves, each moment together lightening her heart. Cullen's smile faltered and his eyes darted away, "Does, do you lose yourself from the taint? Will it act the same?"

Despite being in view of a chantry mother and Maker who knows else in the garden, Lana reached over and cupped Cullen's cheek. His eyes darted guiltily at the intimacy, but he didn't shake her off. Pushing his scruff back into place, Lana smiled at him, "No, mercifully. We keep our minds, and I...I have no intentions on ever forgetting you."

"I was worried for you," Cullen blurted out, his lips dancing close to her palm. "When word came that you'd tried to breach Adamant alone, and then seeing the marks on your neck, I..."

Lana's hand slipped away and she wrapped herself back into her blanket of shame. "I overreacted, under-thought. It was a mistake that I do not intend to repeat."

"Lana," he sighed, "you can talk to me. Please."

She knocked her teeth together, summoning away the walls built in her mind to protect herself, "I suppose you, I owe you..." Her fingers massaged her staff, running the length of it so quickly it was a wonder she didn't pry up a splinter. "The Wardens were my home, were the only place left that I thought an apostate was safe. But now... Clarel ordered my death, her Wardens didn't even blink. I, no, that isn't why. In the fight to escape I had to stab one, blind him. I killed a warden, another warden. Some delusional part of me thought that if I could save them, then I could overcome Nathaniel's loss. Every loss. Return to that commander they needed, find a home."

Slipping her hand out of Cullen's grip, her fingers dug under her shirt's collar and unearthed a string. Yanking it over her head, Lana revealed the pendant she'd worn for ten years -- her covenant with the wardens. Despite the passage of time, the darkspawn blood still oozed inside the crystal; magic or perhaps its own taint kept it from clotting. Lana dropped it into her hand and closed her eyes shut. Tapping past the typical fires of the fade, she willed the hottest lava imaginable from her fingers into the crystal. The ichor bubbled as the heat melted and twisted the crystal. Slowly, the boiling darkspawn blood merged with the crystal itself turning the once clear pendant crimson-black. Lana yanked back on her magic, and she dangled the white hot necklace off her fingers so it'd cool.

It was a promise she made out of fear, out of naïveté, out of a need to belong. Despite all that, she honored it, carried it with her into every battle she could. She believed in stopping the blights, but in doing so she poured that same taint into innocent people's blood, turned them into wardens. And when they needed her to save them, to guide them away from Corypheus, she wasn't there. The wardens had no use for her and she had none for them.

Prodding the crystal with her pinkie, Lana sighed at the cool touch. She cupped it gently in her fingers and watched the dead promise. A crack broke the length of the quartz from her fast heating and cooling, but no darkspawn blood poured out. Every last drop merged with the crystal, bonded together for eternity.

"Whatever happens at the siege on Adamant, I cannot return to the wardens. I will do everything in my power to save them, but..." she closed her fingers over the pendant and passed it to Cullen, "it's time I gave up."

He accepted the black pendant and watched it in his own gloved hand. "You're giving this to me?"

"I am uncertain what to do with it. Maybe Dagna or any of your other researchers could do something with it. I...cannot look upon it anymore."

Cullen nodded and slipped her old pendant away in his pocket. He seemed uncertain about it, but once it was secure, he caught her drifting hand in his and held it tight. "Can you leave the wardens?"

She shrugged, "I'll always be tainted, but I don't think anyone in the order will try to track me down." Her head slipped down and she faced the far burning question inside her heart. "I am uncertain where I will go. Once when I was tired of it I imagined returning to the Circles. Finally becoming that Senior Enchanter I was supposed to be. But now..." She waved her empty hand out into the gardens towards a few of the handful of free mages without a tether to the world, apostates in all but name.

"You could," Cullen twisted uncomfortably in his seat, "remain with the Inquisition." His winsome, honeyed eyes stared at hers, before he coughed and fluffed up the back of his hair. "I mean, the other circle mages are here, and they'd certainly welcome your expertise in so many matters. If you, um, had any reason or want to stay. Here, I mean."

Maker, she nearly cracked in half from the awkward way he danced around the question he was too fearful to ask. She yearned to tell him everything he wanted to hear. That she'd gladly remain in Skyhold, put her all into helping to stop Corypheus and devote herself to whatever happened after. But, she knew Fiona would want no truck with her. The Grand Enchanter had asked less than politely if the Hero of Ferelden, a world respected mage, would back the rebellion. When Lana refused, despite perfectly good reasons the ex-Warden should have known, Fiona turned on her. They'd seen each other across the grounds around the hold, but the elf would always turn on her heel avoiding Lana with every available opportunity.

And after Adamant, after she displayed her true colors, the Inquisitor was unlikely to have anything to do with her. She was impressed the Commander wasn't sent to shoo her out of Skyhold after their meeting. Perhaps one of them convinced the Inquisitor she could still be useful, and then they'd cut her loose after the Warden army was defeated, or even keep her around for Corypheus. Either way, her life was nothing but a blank slate after and that terrified her.

Throwing on a fake smile, Lana patted Cullen's hand. "I will think upon it," she promised. "For now, I should find a warm mug of tea. It'll help with my throat."

"I can brew one up in my office," Cullen grinned, rising off the bench. Their hands still clasped, he helped her to rise, taking most of her weight. One day this was all going to bite her in the ass, but for now, there was now.

## Chapter Ninteen

**The Calling**

To Lana's surprise, the Inquisitor invited her to sit in on their meetings to plan Adamant's invasion. Over the course of a few days, she shared what she knew of the fortress, the fighting techniques of wardens, and anything else she thought would be helpful. The first time her stomach churned with the guilt still bubbling inside, but the elf only nodded appropriately and asked for the occasional clarification. Otherwise, he drew no attention to the mess she landed them all in. It seemed as if the best way for her to get on his good side was to colossally fuck up. Then again, perhaps it reminded him that she was far from this lauded hero out of legend. She was making it up as best as he, and often stumbled along the way.

When not providing research to the advisers, she enjoyed her free time with the commander. At first she passed it off as teaching his people how to defend from certain warden mage attacks most wouldn't see outside the deep roads. And then to spend a few hours after that alone together in his loft _discussing techniques_ wasn't beyond the pale. It wasn't until she was trying to think of an excuse to weasel out of Hawke's bar crawl (which involved crawling to every table in the lone tavern and having to take a shot), that Lana realized she had no reason to lie. Admitting she intended to bed Cullen got her a thumbs up before Hawke ran out the door herself. Even while preparing for war, life seemed gentler than she thought possible, as long as she ignored the screams from her throat waking her in the middle of the night or the whispers gaining traction in the back of her mind.

Day five of preparing and they were almost ready to move on Adamant. Josephine had sent letters to every ally the Inquisitor built up in his time, and Leliana planted a few choice spies near the warden ranks thanks to Lana's intel.

"How many are we looking at inside?" the Inquisitor asked, his palms splayed out across the map. Parchment covered every inch, most written in a code that was then translated below in Leliana's neat hand.

"They can't get me an exact number," the Spymaster answered. She lifted up her wine glass and took a sip, rattling the other's empty glasses. The day grew long, sunlight fracturing through the orange leaves outside the window. Hours were lost scrutinizing the translated reports, everyone on edge as their time to march grew closer.

"It is a wonder you got anyone in at all," the Inquisitor spoke, then he turned to Lana.

She shrugged, "Wardens have always relied upon support outside our ranks. If everyone who worked for us risked the joining we'd be broken before we began." Lana fiddled with the scarf knotted around her neck. A loan from Leliana, it was to hide away the bruises and keep her from any unwanted questions. It also made her feel like a right pillock for even needing it, but the sentiment was kind.

"How much more can they get to us?" Cullen asked. He stood across from her, his eyes hunting across the map as if he could spot Corypheus hiding away in thedas. But on occasion he'd break from his duty and softly smile at her. Even the spine of steel could melt.

"That I cannot say," Leliana answered. "We get at best one raven from each of them. Any more and they risk revealing themselves."

Lana shook her head and swiped through the piles of vellum. "They won't get near Clarel regardless. Anyone new's put through..."

"A gauntlet of trials?" Josephine asked, her punctuated eyes darting to their warden.

"The whipping kind, or the tickle and fun one? Unless you like both, I guess," Hawke spoke up. No one questioned why the Champion was there. Even though she had little to add to the conversations, she was welcome. Distracting, but in that entertaining Hawke way.

"No," Lana sighed, massaging her temples, "I was going to say that there's a hierarchy. Reaching to the top requires years of service, a devotion that's rewarded with more trust. Which also means you're privy to more warden secrets."

"Such as..." the Inquisitor began.

Lana shrugged, "The void if I know. When I began the only warden secrets I knew involved darkspawn blood, how to kill an archdemon, and an insatiable hunger at the strangest of times. After Loghain destroyed the Wardens in Ferelden, what secrets or documents they had vanished either into fires or were sold off for his war. Whatever Clarel's sitting on could be...I wish I knew more."

"Understood," the Inquisitor said curtly, but his steel eyes sympathized for a moment. He accepted her answer for what it was, the truth.

Josephine jotted a few lines down, then she paused her quill. "How do you kill an archdemon anyway?"

Blinking rapidly from the question, Lana shuffled the parchment back into a random order. It was Hawke who spoke up. "With a big sword!" Every eye in the room spun to her and a collective groan broke. "With two swords? Three? Am I getting close?"

Blaring as if beyond Skyhold, a noise rattled against the walls, but it was just on the cusp of hearing. Every battle hardened person twisted their head around trying to make sense of it, but it was the diplomat who spoke up, "Was that a horn?"

As if in response to Josephine's question, the door to the war room flew open and a dwarven soldier of the Inquisition stepped inside. A few 'begging your pardons' and 'please forgive me's' slipped from her mouth when a man stepped in behind her. He blanched at the faux pas of breaking into a meeting and tried to slip away, but then those sparkling blue eyes caught sight of Lana.

"Teagan!" she cried. Age came for him leaving wear lines down his cheeks and a white to almost clear streak in his red hair, but he lit up from her smile, the man she met in Redcliffe's chantry returning. With eyes upon her, he stepped around the dwarf. Without any pretense, Lana clapped her arms around him for a friendly hug.

"My lady," he responded, that warm grin of his lighting his cheeks as he patted her on the back.

"You are the only one I let get away with that, you know," Lana snickered, slipping away from the hug. "Maker's breath, how are you? Redcliffe, I heard about..."

"Ah," he gritted his teeth and gazed down. "Yes, the mage situation. Things are returning to normal in the village. Murdock yet asks of you." Lana shook her head at the mayor's mention. The last time they met he proceeded to drink the tiny mage under the table, then later insisted she in fact won despite her raging headache and empty stomach. "And," Teagan glanced over at the Inquisitor, "we are grateful for your assistance in the matter, even if..."

"We understand, Arl Teagan," the Inquisitor spoke tipping his head.

Lana rolled her shoulders from the politics vibrating in the air. It was one thing to play the "I am so thankful for you daring to deign me attention" game, but this was Teagan. If there was any Arl or Bann in thedas she could speak candidly with, it was him. Catching his attention, she asked the question everyone wanted to pose, "What brings you here?"

The smile in his eyes evaporated as he turned to Lana, guilt stretching back his cheeks. She shook her head, struggling to understand how Teagen could possibly harm her when she felt him. Most wardens registered as little more than a lighter version of darkspawn that awakened the taint in her blood. Maybe it was the fact they were the only two wardens for over a year, or because she took in the taint when he was around, but she knew that twinge prickling up her neck hair. Knew it more intimately than the back of her hand.

Before she could speak a word, the door opened wider behind Teagan and the last person she ever wanted to see stepped back into her life. "Hey, sorry about the horn. New guy, he's really excited about blowing it every chance he has. Might have spooked a few of those giant nug things you have. Where did you get 'em, anyway? Catalog?" Alistair. A year did little to change him. Perhaps a bit more of life clung to the side of his eyes and around his midsection, but he still sparkled with an orneriness she once found charming. Lana slid backwards away from him, a sneer gnarling up her face.

"King Alistair!" Josephine shrieked. Every plan she had for the day was thrown completely out the window by this surprise. The diplomat rounded through her records, as if she could find any mention of his visit. But he was unaware of the drama he just caused her -- either didn't care or most likely was beyond it. His amused eyes dipped through the crowd.

Leliana bowed her head, the Inquisitor did the same. Hawke snickered and waved madly as if he couldn't see her towering in the back. Only Cullen saluted, his fist colliding into his chest, "Your highness." Lana almost jumped from how loud his words rang out. She didn't realize she'd nearly backed into him to try and escape.

"You can call me Alistair. Please. Highness sounds like I should be walking around on stilts. Which I did try once despite everyone insisting I'd break something. But the stables are all fixed now." Alistair ruffled up his hair while Teagan rolled his eyes. It seemed the king wasn't exaggerating.

"My...uh, King, or," Josephine struggled with a way to obey his wishes while also maintaining the respect he was nobly due. "I did not have any mention of your arrival and I wonder if--"

"What are you doing here?!" Lana spat, the knot upon her tongue falling free. Her body tightened like a drawn string about to loose a rain of arrows upon him.

He grinned wide, but she knew that false smile, the one he slapped on when someone bit deep into him. A massive grin so he wouldn't let on to the injury. "It's a funny thing. See, my uncle here. That'd be Teagan, for those who don't know him. He gets a letter from the Inquisition asking for some trebuchets and anything else we can lend to the cause. All well in good, I know how that whole building an army from nothing goes. But then down at the bottom there's a note mentioning how you have the great and mighty Hero of Ferelden serving on your side. And I found myself wondering what is it that's got the Inquisition snapping up not just the free mages but our own home grown one as well."

Crossing her arms across her chest, Lana instinctively cracked into the fade, almost casting a barrier around herself. Cullen's fingers glancing across her back broke the spell, but she continued to glower at the king waving this letter around as proof he belonged here. The Inquisitor read through it, his fingernail digging against the official wax seal. "Who would have sent this?"

"I am afraid it was me," Josephine admitted, her eyes cast down but confusion knotting up her brow.

"Oh Josie," Leliana sighed.

"It seemed prudent. If we wished Ferelden's investment then they should be aware their own was working with us for a common goal. What? What have I missed?" she jabbed at the air with her quill, demanding an answer to a misstep she didn't understand. Leliana leaned towards her and whispered in her ear. Despite trying to maintain the secrecy, everyone in the room had to know what was up from the way the Spymaster pointed first at Lana, then the king.

After Leliana slipped away, Josephine panicked, her fingers rifling through her papers hoping she could find an answer to this mess stashed away inside. "Oh dear, Andraste's... I didn't realize. This is..."

Lana stepped away from them all, her vision winnowing down to a tunnel until all she could see was the man who broke her. Despite towering above her, Alistair shrank from her glare and he wouldn't meet her eyes. "You shouldn't be here," she spat at him.

"I'd say that's for me to decide," he came back with, and Lana blinked from the teeth.

"Leave us," she ordered. Then she groaned realizing her mistake. Sheepishly turning back to the real power, she added a "please."

The Inquisitor's eyes sliced through her, but he only tipped his head and accepted her word. "Very well." Josephine continued to panic, attempting to fix her mistake any way possible, but the Inquisitor showed her a mercy, "How about you guide Arl Teagan around, madam ambassador? I believe your nephew, your other nephew, is studying in the library at the moment."

"Yes, it would be wonderful to see Conner again," Teagan said. Josephine gestured away from the rising tension snapping in the air out the door. Before Teagan followed, he shot a solitary pitying glance in Lana's direction. She nearly missed it, the anger burning away her peripheral vision. Slowly the others filtered out. Cullen paused for only a moment, his eyes trying to ask Lana a question, but she was too busy glaring at the intruder to respond. Neither Lana nor Alistair moved an inch nor spoke a word until the door shut behind them.

Even still, she waited, watching him pick at his fingers and shrug under the padded splint mail. Why he was in that and not the official Ferelden armor was... _And why was she even wondering?_

"Why are you here?" she finally spoke, the venom softer but her bite no less powerful.

Alistair's head whipped up at her, a guilt in his eye, "I thought we already went over that. Letter from your...was she Antivan? Maker, don't tell me she's a crow too."

Lana crossed her arms deeper across her chest and glowered.

"Fine," he sighed, "I was worried. A year, no word, no letters, not even an assassin or two so I know you care. Nothing, you just up and vanish. So do all the other wardens in the Vigil leaving me with a whole lot of fun questions at court to answer. I thought you were...working through some things."

Lana snorted at the insinuation in his voice, as if he played no part in those _things_.

"But when even Leliana had no idea where you were I got concerned. Scared. Tried to have people look into it, though that went nowhere. Then you pop up here with this little heretical group stowing away in the mountains. I had to know if you were okay," his head swung down and he knocked his hands together in a nervous energy.

"For fuck's sake, Alistair. What gives you the right to care?"

He shrugged, "You are technically my citizen."

"I am a grey warden, which makes me no one's citizen. As you damn well know," she hissed while kneading her fingers against her forehead. His downtrodden eyes whimpered against a dampened frown, the overall effect making her wish to slap it all off him. "Do not act as if I am punishing you. It was your choice. It's always been your choice, never mine."

"Lanny," he sighed, finally facing her down. He bore the same eyes after they found the missing king. Not the romanticized version in the fade, but the shattered, gaunt, withered body drained of nearly all life. Their last hope snatched away before they even began. The raw pain broken inside of Alistair was almost enough to catch her. "I know it went badly. I, as you eloquently put it, 'fucked up the only good thing in my life.'"

She rolled her eyes at her hubris. In her defense she'd been beyond reproach at the time, nearly spitting fire in anger. Still, it wasn't the truth. He had much to return to: a throne, a family. All she had was an empty Keep and a broken future.

"I'm not here for...that," Alistair continued. "To try and, Andraste, you more than balled me out. I had pirates, honest to the Maker pirates, patting me on the back and offering a tattooed shoulder to cry on. You scared them that badly."

"Get to the point, Alistair," she sighed, wishing she didn't have to be here anymore.

"I wanna know why you're going to attack wardens. No political bullshit, no prancing around it with frilly ribbons and big words. Just the truth."

Lana threw down her shoulders and glared into his face. "Because they're creating a demon army."

"Shit. Really?" His eyes widened in shock. The man who still trusted the wardens, viewed them as the good guys, whipped his head around in disbelief. She sneered but nodded her head. "Why?"

Tapping her head, Lana sighed, "I assume you hear it as well." He grimaced, his fingers gripping so tight together his knuckles whitened from the strain. "So is every single warden in Orlais, Ferelden, perhaps all of thedas for all I know. It's spooked them into thinking they're all going to die. And Clarel has dreams of ending all the blights before that. She intends to play with blood magic to do it, to create a demon army to destroy the Old Gods."

That drew a sneer to his face. He may have never fully taken the vows, but a thread of the templar yet remained inside. Alistair shook his head from the mention of blood magic. "Why is slitting the throat, full malifecarum always the first bar everyone grabs for? What happened to diplomacy? Or baring that, dropping a great big rock on their heads?"

Lana twisted away from him, her back banging against the war table. It shuddered from her and the little fort placed to mark Denerim tipped over. She reached to put it back up, but paused. She'd done enough already for it, for them, for him. "You need to leave," she whispered. He yanked his hands from his eyes and shook his head, some smartass remark building in his head. Lana interceded, her voice returning to the sweet worry of old, the one she used on him before he broke her heart. "For the Maker's sake, Alistair. Whatever Corypheus, or his tevinter blood mage is doing, the taint is...get as far away from it as you can. Please."

"And what about you?" Alistair jabbed a finger in the air like he held his sword in his hand.

"What about me?"

"You think I'm going to let you remain in his path?"

Lana reared back. "Let? You'd _let_ me?!"

"Poor choice of words, but you know what I mean. I..."

"No," she snapped her head in a vehement disagreement, "No, I don't know what you mean. I don't know why you think you'd have any standing to walk in here and pull me away from what little I have left in this world. Again!"

The air thickened from her last word ringing through the small room, echoing against the window panes, and knocking about their hearts. Alistair sagged away from her thundering rage, his hands digging into his pockets as if he expected to find an answer inside of them. He drug his foot along the floor, his head dangling in regret as he watched it knock up a loose stone. She almost told him to stop breaking the floor.

"Lanny," he spoke up, his voice whispered out of his nose. She uncrossed her arms and stared at him, her face blank. Whatever he had to say couldn't reach her heart anymore, she'd buried it long ago. His pleading puppy eyes rounded up to hers and he asked, "Why were you in the deep roads alone?"

Lana stumbled back as if he struck her. _How did he even...? Why would he...?_ Her mouth worked through every question she wanted to ask to shield her from the truth dangling over her head. If Alistair noticed her struggling to find her footing, he plowed past it.

"They," he jerked his head to the door in the wake of the others, "wouldn't know, probably think grey wardens head into the deep roads all by their lonesome for fun. But you can't fool me. Well, not about that."

She crossed her arms tighter across her chest, her fingers digging into her skin to ground herself. Hawke never asked, never wondered what she was doing surrounded by darkspawn without another warden in sight. If Anders knew, he didn't say anything. He seemed unable to care beyond his own nose. "I..." she whispered, her own foot knocking into the loose stone, "it was, I did what..."

Alistair gritted his teeth as if he had to swallow something bitter. Maybe for the first time in his life he did. He thought, always believed that if he did the right thing somehow the world would work to his advantage. There would be pain, there would be loss, but it would come out better. Lana learned the truth of it ages ago, that life wasn't a balance sheet and fair was a fairy tale. It was a shame it took the King of Ferelden this long to catch up. "You took the Calling," he sighed, his words damning her for her own weakness. For her inability to rise again from ashes, to be the hero everyone expected. How dare she not posses a will of steel in the face of any adversity? How dare she be human.

The old fire rose inside her, the kind only he could kindle. "Yes, I did. And you stand there in judgement of me, acting as if you are above it all. Beyond it. Can't feel it. No longer a warden, free to decide what is and isn't best for me. As if you aren't touched by anything anymore!"

"It's not your time," he shouted, his eyes flaring alive.

"That's not for you to decide!" she screamed back, rising up to face him dead on. "All you've ever done is decide my life for me. You were so certain you could take some noble high road and end things for my sake, to make it easier. Well look at how easy it is now!" Lana circled in front of him like a warship hunting for an opening.

"I thought you deserved better than being some sidepiece," he snarled back. "You do deserve better."

"What better, Alistair? What do I have in my life? The keep is lost, the wardens are consorting with demons, and you... What you did was unforgivable."

"I know," he sighed, crumpling from her accusations, "I shouldn't have started it up, shouldn't have encouraged..."

"Andraste's ass, you still don't get it."

"Get what? What am I missing, Lanny? Sorry, Lady Amell. You know what had to happen, what I had to do to take this damn crown, as if I wanted anything to do with it. I did what I thought was best for both of us, for you, so you could go on and find something, someone... You shouldn't be thought of as just a king's mistress."

Lana threw her head back and laughed, the tears streaming down her cheeks. As she gulped for air, her laugh merged into a gut wrenching sob, "You cut me loose so I could have the happy life, is that it? Settle down with someone of my choosing far away from all the politics and scheming? Tell me Alistair, what man would love a tainted grey warden? For the Maker's sake, what man would marry a mage?"

"I would if I weren't King!" he shouted back at her.

But Lana only snorted at that, "And weren't already married."

"Yeah, there is that bit too," he wiggled a pinkie in his ear as if that was only a minor problem. It took him a few years to finally pick a wife, despite Eamon all but dragging him to the altar right after his coronation. The woman he chose was nice and mercifully not too ambitious so she was unlikely to stab him in the night. Her main trait was nice with an overall blandness that in the face of his inopportune jokes would blink for a moment and then go about her day. It was the best he could hope for.

Lana shuddered from the weight of her sins. The murder, the magic, the calculated costs she could all bear in the name of the wardens but this one was her own damn doing. "I know you and the Queen have an 'understanding,' as you put it. I'd even believe it because I hope for the poor woman's sake she has someone else to warm her bed."

"Ouch, just ouch. You do go right for the throat, don't you?" Alistair interrupted.

"But..." Lana shook her head, trying to banish away all the emotion broiling below her skin. She slipped into Alistair's face and glared into his eyes, "your damn consort is a mage."

She watched the _Oh shit!_ dawn across his face as his lips gawped like a fish out of water. Yes, she'd known of her, known even while they were being tossed across the Waking Sea in Isabela's ship. Even when she'd abandoned all common sense and bedded him as if his perceived future was a workable option. Her hope had blinded her to the truth.

Sliding away from Alistair, Lana grabbed onto the brass handle for the door. She yanked it open and spotted nearly every member of the advisers save Josephine standing outside trying to act as if they weren't listening in. Their guilty faces didn't even reach her, she was too far gone to see them. Turning back to Alistair, Lana said, "For the Maker's sake, do what's right. Give the Inquisition whatever they're asking for to stop Corypheus and stay out of my life forever."

Before anyone could respond, Lana stomped away from him for the last time.

* * *

Ice wrapped around the apple, the force of the spell knocking it higher into the air. Lana steadied her hand and launched a fire spell at it instead, melting the ice and bouncing the fruit back up into the ether. She'd been doing that for hours off the battlements, first ice, then heat, forever knocking an apple up against the inevitable fall. A few soldiers walked near her, wondering what the mad mage was up to, but none got too close once they saw who it was. Her reputation continued to precede her. The winds of Skyhold were blissful, only a light breeze altering her apple's course as it tried to trek over the walls, but Lana was ready for it. Rolling her arm underhand, she caught it with a fireball, knocking the fruit up. But her rebound ice caused the apple to wobble, its trajectory launching back towards the keep and the battlements below.

A hand lanced up and snatched the errant fruit out of the air. Cullen weighed the apple in his palms, the ice melting into his glove. Lana blinked at him, surprised but not that he'd come to find her. Then she yanked another apple from the bushel at her feet. She launched it into the air and began again.

"I forgot mages would do this," he said.

"Best way to practice channeling mana," Lana responded, her eyes on the prize. "I heard of one mage that found the perfect balance within himself. He could do it for hours - ice spell, fire, the ball barely dropped an inch." Her own spell lanced perpendicular across the apple's skin sending her target skittering off the keep's walls. It bounced against the rocks below, splattering next to a dozen of its brethren. "As you can see, that isn't me."

She reached for another when Cullen spoke up, "His... the king has left Skyhold. Volunteered what we needed to take Adamant and then insisted he needed to return to Ferelden before someone 'burned the place down.'"

The rotten apple scattered from her fingers, returning to the rest of its spoiled bushel. Lana glared at the crags below where she attempted to inefficiently make messy applesauce. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Ah...most of it," Cullen admitted. His fingers pushed into the skin of the apple, easily bruising it after her magical maltreatments.

"Good," Lana crashed against the wall of the battlements and stared across the horizon. "It keeps me from having to repeat myself."

Cullen slipped beside her, not close enough to touch but within her personal bubble. When she'd left them all to deal with Alistair, she had no idea how he'd react to any of that. They'd barely grown been beyond the first blush stage of whatever this was. To see how he'd stand up to her past with a king was beyond her guess. Not many had to worry about that level of royal romantic history.

She rotated her fingers against the clouds, framing them as if she was about to cast a glyph over their cottony surface. "Seheron, where I was before returning to the Vigil, before finding it empty...it was a mission at his behest. What I'm going to tell you is, it's a secret. One of those national secrets I probably shouldn't share but, damn it, I don't care." Cullen's head gently nodded, he was prepared to accept it and she knew he would keep it safe.

"I didn't know what Alistair was up to at the time, only that he needed help breaking into an Antivan Crow prison. Maker, that man... There was a reason he was never in charge of planning things during the blight. Halfway through that mission, while neck deep in Crows, we learn that he drug us across thedas because," she sighed to steady herself, "he was going to find his father."

"His father? King Maric?" Cullen stuttered.

Of course, he'd have grown up with the tales of the great King Maric who wrested his birthright out of Orlesian hands. Cullen was a born and bred Ferelden boy. She knew of the king and his story from a few whispers among the senior enchanters, but he was as vague as Mafarath for Lana. Even knowing Alistair, having met Cailin, executed Loghain, the great king remained a distant star to her.

"It seemed there was some deal struck to bring Maric to Antiva. Witches and...it doesn't matter. Alistair and I, we'd been friends to that point. It wasn't an easy road after his idiotic decision post-Landsmeet, but I don't know. Maybe I wanted to believe I could move past all the awkwardness, trust that there was still good in him. No," Lana shook her head, blotting away her security blanket, "I'm lying to myself again."

She kicked her heel against the shattered wall behind her, the edge of her boot knocking thrice as she drug it down the cracks. "For a time I tried to be a warden, _the_ warden, the warden everyone wanted. But I...Maker, I couldn't. I wasn't that woman. To cast a disinterested eye upon my people, to doom those to the same taint; it ate me up inside. And yet, that was my promise -- in exchange for my life, I was theirs. I tried other avenues to serve but not; research, finding ways to ease the blight itself. Perhaps cure it."

"White," Cullen whispered the name of the blood mage that temporarily brought them together.

Lana snickered at herself, "That failure reined me back in. I returned to the warden life, such as it was. Led parties through the deep roads, increased recruitment, waited upon the arling's throne for my own doom. And all the while my soul drifted. I even thought of returning to the circles." She rolled her eyes at Cullen, "You can guess what killed that idea dead."

"You were without a purpose," he whispered, the words clawing up his throat.

"Exactly. Then here comes an old love stepping back into my life, the one that got away. That old cliché. And he's talking about how if we find Maric we can reset everything that happened. Ignore the past ten years, put the rightful king on the throne and the two of us will... I don't know. Travel the world, take down bandits, right wrongs, maybe go pirate ourselves. He offered me an out, a freedom no one else had and I foolishly fell for it."

Cullen grabbed onto her hand, his gloves still cold from her ice, but she smiled through the bite. Her own thumb ran across his palm, trailing the glove's seams as if they were a river. "I'm guessing you did not find King Maric."

"Actually, we did, but..." Lana gulped from the macabre memory of what was left of the man. "He was drained for nearly twenty years by a batshit tevinter Magister...as if there are any other kind. After decades of torture, that level of stress placed upon the body, only a husk remained behind. The kind thing to do was to end his suffering. I knew it killed Alistair to do it, he'd put every last hope he had into finding his father. He, he always wanted a family. Losing that last hope was..."

She snapped her head, an anger welling up in her words. "I tried to help, to remind him that there were still options in this world. But why would he listen to me? Why would he care? And to have him turn around and do the same damn thing he did ten years ago."

Lana snatched up an apple from the bushel, poured all the fire she had inside of her into it, and launched it into the air. Smoke trailed the red plumes lancing off the burning apple flesh as it dashed across the bright blue sky into the snowy brink below. "He acted like he was protecting me, but I knew he was protecting his damn self. No one in their right mind wants a mage."

She reached for another apple, but Cullen caught her hand, his own apple plopping to the ground. Holding both, he knotted his fingers around hers while those amber eyes burned through her. He couldn't speak whatever was rolling through his brain, perhaps too many thoughts were crowding it out. She knew the feeling.

"So," she picked back up her tale as if speaking of another person entirely, "heartbroken, I accepted my fate and returned to my wardens. The rest you know."

Cullen's lips opened a few times, his mouth trying out the words so he could get them perfect. She shied away, trying to bury the fear itching along her skin. "Lana," he finally broke through the air, "What's the calling?"

_Maker..._ Her eyes screwed up tight and she shook her head. No, out of everything in her life gone wrong, she couldn't tell him about that. Couldn't face him ever again if he knew.

"I thought it was the voice in your head, from the darkspawn, but the way you spoke of it. Screamed of it..."

The shameful tears burned behind her eyes, guilt ruddying up her cheeks and she glared at the floor. "It was... I." As if someone cut her strings, Lana plummeted to her knees. She didn't release her grip on Cullen, nor he on her, but he struggled to follow her fall. Pain jarred up her legs from her knees striking stone, but Lana shook it off like all the other injuries. "What did I have left?" she moaned through the tears, "No circles, no Alistair, no wardens. I had nothing to give. No reason to... And the voice, whispering in my thoughts. It could only mean, I had to..." She pawed at her nose, trying to wipe away the snot and her tears. Silence fell as she struggled to speak through the turmoil in her heart. In a broken voice, she explained, "Wardens don't die from the taint, we become corrupted. So, when our time comes, we take the Calling. We head into the deep roads alone and kill as many darkspawn as we can before we are, in turn, killed."

"Sweet Andraste," Cullen whispered. His fingers dug tighter into hers and he glanced away, not wanting her to see the emotion pouring off his face.

"I did it, I did the one thing you're never supposed to do. What no soldier must ever do. I gave up," Lana's lip wobbled despite her dead tone. The tears hazed up her vision, but she didn't have the strength to cry them. Her body was drained of nearly all life, her muscles falling slack until her head collapsed into her lap. "If it weren't for Hawke, I'd... Maker's breath, I was in that hole for two weeks and still I wouldn't die. Couldn't die. Refused to... I failed at that too."

"No," Cullen dropped to his knees now, his armor clanging from the plummet. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling his chest into her bent head. "You fought with that spark in you, to keep going, to... You're still here."

"Still here," she repeated, her soul dead. "And nothing's changed. No circles, no...wardens. All I can do is try and stifle the voice, one way or another."

"I'm here," Cullen whispered. "Leliana. Hawke, as infuriating as she can be. You're not alone, I..."

Her fingers lifted from her lap to run across his face. It wasn't the most coordinated attempt as she accidentally brushed up his nose, but he caught her hand and pinned it tight to his cheek. "It's okay," Lana whispered, "I'm past it. It was a year ago and I've moved on."

Cullen's eyes hunted across her as she lifted her head back and tried to force a smile. Was it true? A part of her thought it was, needed to believe it was. Otherwise, she shouldn't be let anywhere near a battlefield. A suicidal mage was a danger to everyone. The dark thoughts were there, had always been, but he was right, the people in her life kept her tethered here away from the void.

"I didn't want you to know because, because it was one more failure. More proof I'm not strong enough to..."

"Maker's breath, Lana. You don't need to always be strong."

"Neither do you," she volleyed back. He blinked rapidly from her change of topic, but didn't stammer to slide away from it.

"I...will try to remember that. It isn't easy when--"

She rose up from her lean and placed both hands around his jaw. Tenderly, Lana brought his forehead to hers. So close now she noticed the few tears streaking down his cheeks. "You're not alone either," she whispered.

Cullen exhaled, his arms locking around her back and he pulled her even tighter against his skin. They pressed together as if clutching to the only flotsam left floating in the midst of a storm. After a time, a small quirk of a smile twisted around Cullen's lips. "I am no longer with the templars," he stated the obvious. Lana broke away to stare into his eyes, confused by the change. "And you are no longer with the wardens."

"Oh," she shook her head, remembering her parting words to him what felt another lifetime ago. It'd been her way to put a pin in whatever they had, to let it be what it was and not wish for more. And yet... he was right. The very thing she thought would never come to pass did. "But, your heart is with the Inquisition now." Cullen's eyes narrowed for a moment as he watched her fall further away from him. For the first time since trudging up the battlements, Lana shook from the cold. "Duty is your life, I couldn't, wouldn't impede again..."

He sprung forward, his hands slipping tighter around her. "Do you know why I accepted the position of commander?" Lana shook her head, she'd assumed he needed it to get away from the templars. Perhaps to free himself from Kirkwall. "After six years of losing myself to Meredith's madness, I couldn't entrust myself to someone like that again. Someone I didn't know, that could easily twist me back into a...what I never wish to be."

"But you didn't know the Inquisitor before the Temple of Sacred Ashes," Lana pointed out, her eyes darting to the side in confusion.

"When Cassandra approached me, asked me to lead this army, I refused. I feared what that would turn me into. Until..." Cullen's eyes drifted down to their conjoined hands, watching her fingers slip against his gloves. "Until she told me that they'd tapped you to lead the Inquisition."

Lana gasped, a choke catching in her tender throat.

"I had no idea what your thoughts would be on Kirkwall, on the rebellion. I feared you would hate me for the part I played but I knew I could trust you. That I needed to help you, serve you, give you whatever you needed. The Inquisition may have my arm, but you've always had my heart," he pressed his forehead against her, his eyes slipping shut. In a wistful voice sweeter than the breeze, he whispered, "Lana, I-I love you."

_Oh no..._ She knew it, she'd known it for far longer than she ever admitted to herself. She'd chased it from his lips every time she feared he'd let it slip with a kiss or a distraction. She thought if she could buy more time then maybe she wouldn't have to hurt him.

As more awkward silence piled up between them with Lana not returning the sentiment, Cullen's hopeful smile faded to dejection. "I see..." he whispered, trying to pull his hands away from hers, his entire body shrinking in on itself.

"Cullen, wait," she gripped tighter, shaking her head to knock away her tears of regret. "I care about you. You're so much more than what I'd, I...you've been on my thoughts for, in the back of my mind as I..." Her head dropped down and she gulped at the air, wishing she could explain it. "My heart's shattered, broken from Alistair, from my wardens, so many losses I... I could love you with the pieces, but I want to be more, to give you more, to love you with the whole thing." She bit down on her tongue, trying to summon the words to damn her, "But that will take time. Time to mourn, to repair it and move past the heartache." Her head rose and she stared mournfully into those soft amber eyes. "I couldn't ask you to wait. It wouldn't be fair to--"

"Maker's breath," Cullen yanked her tight, his lips pressing against her forehead, "Is that all? I've waited ten years for you, a bit longer will not kill me."

A braying laugh shattered through Lana's throat, dragging the last of her tears with it. Beyond flabbergasted, she'd never expected this reaction, never thought that he'd understand, forgive her for not being ready. Her slack arms dug under his surcoat and knotted behind his back, pulling herself deeper into him. His metal armor bit into her chest, but she didn't care, the pain knocking another laugh from her throat.

"How did I ever...? I keep expecting I'll wake up, discover this was all some trick of the fade," Lana mused.

Cullen snickered, his lips pressing into the top of her head. She broke from her tight hug and took his hopeful lips in a kiss. Returning with as much fervor, Cullen's hands curled up to caress her cheek, pulling her deeper into the kiss. As she slipped away from him, Lana sighed, "You don't taste like the fade."

"I love you," he whispered again, his eyes brimming with a salty joy. Lana swallowed, guilt rising up her stomach, but he shook his head, "It's all right. I...you don't need to return it. I, take all the time you need. Please. Don't feel afraid, don't need to shut me out. I," Cullen twisted his head down, a bittersweet smile breaking his cheeks, "I fear I wasted so much time never telling you the truth, and I don't want to do that anymore."

Nodding, Lana brushed her fingers across his cheek, "Then tell me it any moment it crosses your thoughts. And, in time, I hope to return the favor."

"I trust you will," Cullen whispered. Upon the battlements of Skyhold, kissing this man who loved her beyond reason, Lana felt another piece of her heart slot back into place. After Adamant, she'd find the time, make the time to fix it all.

## Chapter Twenty

**Stay Safe**

Lana glared through the rift splitting open the veil, the unnerving power of it felt as if something reached into the back of her head and yanked everything forward. It undulated just beyond their reach, the promise of Adamant's dark skies visible through the crack even from the distance. Terror demons lay in pieces at their feet, the final vestiges the fade dared to throw at them. They were finally free to get away from this nightmare and return to the real world, except for one small problem.

"How are we supposed to get past that?!" Hawke shouted. Her breathing caught as she tipped her head back to cut off a nosebleed. Above them towered the demon the Wardens tried to bring into the world, the creature that stirred the calling up inside all of their minds and drove them to madness. The reason Clarel finally saw through far too late.

The Inquisitor watched his people climbing up the hill towards the rift back to the real world. Cassandra had a grip upon Varric to hoist him up, while Dorian turned back for a moment his haunted eyes slipping over the last three left behind. The nightmare had no interest in them, only in the ones remaining cut off from freedom. A twinge ratcheted up Lana's side and she reached under her robes to massage it away. It must have happened when she flung herself in the path of a Pride demon's lightning whip. Dorian was stunned, too far away from anyone else to help, so Lana leapt in front, summoning a forcefield as quick as possible. Only the end of the whip snapped against her stomach, the rest ricocheting off her spell.

"One of us has to..." the Inquisitor gulped. The anchor embedded in his hand, the reason they walked in the fade to begin with, flared awake. "To distract it."

"It should be me!" Hawke shouted again. This wasn't her usual spunky response prepared to take on the world without a thought for her own well being. Something in the nightmare scraped away at her revealing the wounded warrior hidden below - the one she boisterously shouted over to keep anyone from ever finding. "Corypheus wouldn't even be here if I had finished the damn job."

Lana gripped tighter to her stomach and pain burst behind her eyes. Wetness clung to her fingers as she flexed them into the wound, the blood dribbling so fast it soaked through her thin gloves. She gritted her teeth trying to heal it, but her mana was low and the nightmare knocked around in her head. The spell slipped thrice through her fingers, and even then, she was uncertain if...

"I'll do it," Lana whispered. Her free hand gripped onto Hawke's arm, drawing her attention.

"Like hell you will," her cousin screamed, the voice snarling at Lana for even implying she couldn't get the job done. "The wardens are gonna need you to fix all the shit they broke. Which was a lot, by the way."

"No," Lana twisted her head, a small laugh rumbling in the back of her throat. All of this, every step through Adamant she strived to save the wardens from themselves, to prove they deserved it. Then to discover Corypheus didn't need a darkspawn army because he had wardens the whole time... She couldn't face her own people and they wouldn't listen to her. Lana was the warden who should not have survived, they'd never follow. "It should be you. They'll have to listen to the Champion of Kirkwall."

Hawke snorted, her shoulders poised as if she intended to rip the nightmare in half with her bare hands. The Champion herself snarled up at the demon moving at a glacial speed towards the rift, her bluster almost palpable. Then a foreign sheepishness crawled across her face. Her own past haunted her eyes as she broke her warrior's stance and whispered, "It should be me. I've got the big sword."

"And I've got the big stick," Lana laughed. Maker, in those first few days traveling the deep roads with that rowdy, rambunctious, infuriating woman she never thought she'd come to care so much for her. To find in her a family Hawke was so damn insistent upon. She wasn't about to let that last connection break now. "Go, just...you need to be there. To keep the Wardens in check, to keep them safe." Lana inched closer to her cousin and whispered, "To keep Anders safe."

That was enough. Hawke's body collapsed, her muscles falling slack as she crumbled from the mention of her abomination. Maker only knew what he'd do, what Justice would do if word of Hawke's falling reached him. The man dangled upon a spiderweb thin thread already. Hawke gripped tight to Lana's arm, almost pulling her in for a hug, "Cuz, I..."

"We don't have much time," the Inquisitor exclaimed extending his finger towards the nightmare demon making a move for the rift.

Lana nodded her head, certainty filling her brain. Many questioned what kept her alive after the archdemon fell, and, despite knowing the how, she also often wondered the why. Perhaps this was it. She shook Hawke's hand one last time, and smiled, "It was good knowing you, cousin."

"You too," Hawke answered back, her trademark smile completely erased.

Slipping away, Lana paused before facing her end. One thought danced in her mind. Turning to Hawke, her willing sacrifice facade shattered and in a broken voice she whispered, "Tell Cullen I'm sorry."

The Inquisitor glanced around confused, but Hawke nodded her head. She mouthed 'I will,' and slotted her sword on her back. "Let's get going, greeny," Hawke shouted. Without complaining about the nickname, the Inquisitor gave in to the warrior's manhandling. Together they scrabbled up the rocky cliff aiming towards the rift while Lana turned away from it. Turned away from that last salvation.

She yanked her arm out of her robes to find the green fabric up to the forearm stained red with her blood. Yanking off her staff, she drew up what little life remained inside of her and ran towards the demon. The creature was beyond anything she could imagine; mouths where there should never be, unblinking eyes staring off every inch of its massive hairy legs. It was literally every nightmare come to life, as if it couldn't pick one so it slapped all together into one demented horror. As Lana advanced on the creature, the demon picked into her mind, attempting to draw forth the weaknesses it tasted in her earlier. The nightmare dug everything it had into her mind drawing up new fears, ancient primal ones, little things she shook off with every step. But something rang like an echo of a jarring bell through her soul.

Raising her hands, Lana prepared to blast fire at the nightmare's midsection, when she caught sight of her skin. Pocked and burned, the flesh was tugged and puckered until a mottled grey mass dangled off her bones. It was the hand of a demon given flesh by a mage's failure. She stumbled out of her run, both hands flying out to catch her. Scars shredded up her arms; the mark of a demon bursting from her flesh turning her into the worst thing a mage could be, an abomination. The demon cackled in her head, promising unlimited power in exchange for her complete sacrifice. _How could she? Why would she ever?!_

Then Lana caught sight of the Inquisitor and Hawke struggling up the incline. A tentacle slithered through the air towards them, the nightmare intending to pick both off without either seeing it coming. How easily it could knock one away or scoop them up to bash against the rocks. Shaking with a fury she forgot was possible, Lana drove the fear out of her mind, her own skin sliding in place over the vision of the abomination's. Ice filled her heart, her brain, her soul - there was no room for fear as long as there was winter. Sensing it lost a grip, the Nightmare twisted back to its little mage when Lana unleashed all the ice spells at her disposal. A blizzard opened up above its massive head, every single bulging eye pierced with icy hail. Twisting her staff around, she shot an ice bolt through its tentacle, the force strong enough to nearly slice it off. Black blood splattered the ankle deep water. Only a strip of skin, stretched from the plummet of the limb, kept the tentacle attached to the creature but useless.

Screaming with indignant fury, the demon turned fully away from her friends and focused upon her. She rose up to face it -- the drain knocking against her body, trying to pull her back -- but Lana was made of sterner stuff. The nightmare lashed its pincher wide above her head attempting to smash her into the ground, but Lana snapped her staff around, the blade slicing across it. Black blood poured out of the demon's arm as the arm skittered away into the pools, the claw itself smashing into the ruins and cracking with a wet thud.

"You will die," she said throwing up a barrier. It snaked into her mind, but she was ready now. Shuffling through every little fear in her brain, it struggled but couldn't find a purchase. Lana replaced each terror in her brain with a small joy in her heart. Her fear of failure was met with an old friend, the fear of loss was exchanged with sloppy puppy kisses. The nightmare roared in an impotent rage, but Lana was fighting more than just the demon.

Pain seized up her side and she collapsed to a knee, her body splattering into the pools seeping around them. Her own blood dripped down her leg, the gore oozing into her boot and absorbing into her sock. She didn't have long. _Andraste_ , Lana prayed, _guide them_. Glancing up at the rift, she could only see a speck of what was possibly Hawke and the Inquisitor running towards it. They still needed time.

That demented voice screamed in her head, "I will break your mind, I will rip apart your heart, and leave you nothing but a jibbering mass."

Lana sneered to chew back the red haze building across her vision and dipped into her spells. There were so many tricks she knew, complicated and ancient incantations designed to combat demons. But the most primal of them all surged through her. Snapping her head up, she smiled, "You will still die." Every last ounce of mana inside of her burst free, shattering the air itself with fire. The nightmare shrieked, trying to scamper back from the flames whipping towards it, but there was no escape. Fire licked up its arms, legs, down the back coated in eyes. The putrid smell of burning hair covered over the vile stench of the fade as black smoke poured from the twisting wretch. It screamed more curses in her brain, trying to drag her down with its own pain, but she was lost.

Every ounce of energy spent, Lana collapsed on the ground. The pain clawed up from her opened wound to twist against her heart and yank it downward into the abyss. So this was it. _Maker, I'm sorry_. She tried to inch along the ground, to fight it, but there was nothing left of her. Collapsing upon the ground, Lana gave in. Her mind slipped away from her, the last of her consciousness bobbing along a golden sea. Something rose in her thoughts as if another presence dug into her, but it wasn't the shredding fingers of the nightmare demon. This was a gentle caress against her soul. The loving embrace drew forth a recent memory to flit through her dying mind.

Adamant's doors were broken, the battering rams having finally smashed them apart. The Inquisitor wiped off the warden's blood upon his daggers while Lana tried to not look in the dead mage's face. She didn't know that one. Cullen slipped in, his own soldiers at his back. He spoke hurriedly with the Inquisitor laying out the battle plan. After mentioning Hawke, Lana searched the walls for her cousin but either they were too far away or Hawke was already through the resistance and inside, probably punching pride demons to death. The Inquisitor nodded his thanks and motioned for the rest to move out.

Then Cullen, his lips smacking, called out, "Ah, Warden," and he waved her over towards him. She glanced at the Inquisitor, but he didn't watch her, his own focus on the forces swarming up the walls.

Stepping away from the first of many of her dead peers, Lana slipped in close to Cullen and asked, "Yes, Commander?"

In spite of the rage of battle driving to its crescendo, the Inquisitor, and Maker knew who else listening in, Cullen leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I love you."

Lana's eyes slipped closed. Every ounce of his heart was poured into those three words he intended to make up time for not speaking before. She wanted to kiss him right then and there, but... Twisting a spell up in her brain, she grabbed onto his arm and dug into the gap between his glove and vambrace to touch bare flesh. The protection spell flared around him, only a hint of the golden glow to guard him from errant arrows visible. Cullen gasped from the magic rush, then a slip of a blush rose upon his cheeks. Perhaps this was her way of kissing him good luck.

Before she took her finger away, she whispered back, "Stay safe."

The memory should kill her, knowing that she failed him as much as she failed everyone else, but a rosy warmth overwhelmed her senses. She felt as if she'd dipped into a luxurious bath instead of lay dying on the frozen ground of the fade. For the moment the pain ceased in her side, the bleeding stemmed. Lana raised her head and watched as the rift flared first from Hawke and then the Inquisitor jumping through to safety. To freedom. To end all of this. Chuckling, Lana lifted a foot under her. She didn't have the strength to rise, but she wanted to glare into the nightmare's face, to watch as it realized what happened.

All three hundred eyes, half of which were now blackened from her fire, rotated towards the rift, then back to the human laughing at the absurdity of it all. Snarling, Lana shouted loud enough for her voice to reach the Black City. "You lose!"

Both mage and nightmare watched the breach shake and twist as the Inquisitor flared up his anchor from the other side. The nightmare's only way into the world sealed shut behind him. Lana expected it to finish her off, for one of its scythe arms to impale her quickly. But the nightmare screamed, its legs skittering about as if it danced upon ice. Fear was terrified. Then she saw it, a force of nature itself rolling and twisting through the fade. As if someone threw a rock across a still pond, the ripples blew apart the nightmare's domain, scattering every piece of it deeper into the depths of the fade.

Lana didn't have time to think. Unearthing her staff, she jammed the blade deep into the ground and summoned her magical fist to bury it further. Her hands wrapped around it, clinging for life as the first wave hit. Air scattered from her lungs, her body plunged back along with the nightmare. It shrieked again, but those spindly legs had nothing to hold onto. Another ripple tossed the monster upon its back, and before it could right itself, a third sent it flying into the air.

Each ripple increased in force, Lana's hands struggling to hang on. Splinters bit into her fingers, but she ignored the pain. Staying alive was all that mattered. Without the nightmare, she stood a chance. If she could just...

Her bloodied hand flung off, too slick to maintain a grip, leaving her dangling by only one. She stared up at where the breach had been, watching the last of the ripples come to shake her away into depths of horrors the Maker only knew of. "I'm sorry," she whispered, dipping her head down. She hadn't wanted it to go this way, had hoped for... Gritting her teeth, she prepared for the coming onslaught to wash her away. Beyond imagination or understanding, something like a hand grabbed onto her wrist yanking her back from the pit of the unknown. No, not a hand, an unbendable vice that pinned her to her staff.

Lana struggled to look up to see what it was, but the ripples hit her first. Shattering against her head, they blanketed out her vision, white hot light searing against her eyes. Momentarily blind, she tried to blink but the force kept her eyelids pinned shut. The next wave scattered her hearing, knocking her head back so hard she lost all sound of the winds yanking up the world itself and tearing it apart.

She dug into her staff, refusing to let go, when the last ripple hit. With nothing left inside of her, her body collapsed into unconsciousness.

 * * *

"Ser!"

Cullen's arm slagged lower than it should, the brunt of the rage demon slamming against his shoulder. Its mouth flared with an internal fire attempting to strike him down, but he smashed his shield into the demon's face. Spinning his sword in an arc he slit across its throat, even more black ichor scouring the ground in a growing puddle. He'd already nearly slipped in the mess twice.

Shoving the dying demon aside, Cullen turned to face one of his soldiers racing towards him. They'd been trying to pick off the never ending stream of demons flooding through the battlements since the Inquisitor...since something happened to them all. Cullen got pinned down near still smoldering ruins, demons flooding into his area. Never backing down, and swinging his sword without grace, he cut through each wave while a shattered portcullis dug a waffle pattern against his back. "What is it?" he shouted while swallowing down the eternal scratch of the rage demon's smoke.

"It's the breach, Ser!"

"Maker's breath," Cullen revived instantly, already running up the stairs towards the courtyard where the worst of the fade continued to pour out towards them. "What's happened to it now? An army of archdemons?"

"No idea, Ser. Only know that it's gone wobbly," the soldier fell in behind him, his own sword bent at the tip from Maker only knew.

"Wobbly, that's just perfect," Cullen sighed. "Go and find the lieutenant...um," his mind faltered, unable to toss up the name of his second or even third hand. "Any of them will do. We need to regroup around the breach incase that demon's finally broken through."

"Ser?" the soldier pointed up the last of the incline to where the rift in fact wobbled through the air. Whatever foul magics kept the blighted thing in place knocked free and, Blessed Andraste, the Inquisitor himself leapt from the fade onto the summoning pedestal. With more fanfare than was usual for the man, he curled up his anchor and knocked away the rift. He didn't even turn back to watch it seal away behind him, green light cracking as the vestiges of the fade broke.

"Thank the Maker!" Cullen cried, clapping the soldier on the back. He'd heard word of their party falling from the crumbled bridge pursued by Corypheus' dragon, but no bodies could be found dashed amongst the rubble. Against all common sense he hoped, prayed for some miracle to deliver them all and here it was. He didn't want to question it for fear it would be yanked away.

The Inquisitor spoke with the grey wardens left behind to keep an eye on the rift. Few of them remained, but Cullen wasn't about to turn down the ones willing to fight off demons. In the heat of battle, he needed all the help he could get. Swiping his sword against the edge of the wall to scrape off the blood, Cullen tried to move towards the Inquisitor.

Everyone was all cheers, even a muted round of applause broke through the crowds. They all knew a miracle when they saw it, and this was one about to go onto the chantry calendar. Then Cassandra stepped up from the side. Cullen couldn't see her, but her voice projected above the joy ringing through the courtyard, "Inquisitor...where is Lady Amell?"

Invisible fists punched into the back of Cullen's head, his lips falling slack as he vigorously hunted through the faces of those circling the Inquisitor. He spotted Dorian clutching his arm, and Varric silently glaring down his crossbow, but so many of the others were in shadow or eclipsed by heads. She had to be hidden somewhere among the mass of wardens, so tiny she slipped into the crowd. Lana was going to pop up at any moment, laughing from the gore in her hair.

The Inquisitor shared a look with Hawke, the warrior snapping her head down in a seething rage. A hint of a shudder broke through his lips as the Inquisitor lifted his head and shouted, "The Hero of Ferelden is dead."

White spots burst against Cullen's vision wiping away everything in front of him. His heart screamed as a vice enveloped it, pulverizing and banging the organ against his ribs. Unable to keep himself upright, Cullen stumbled into the wall, his shoulder taking the brunt. He could feel the Inquisitor talking, but his ears wouldn't hear it, refused to believe it.

"Ser?" the soldier, the nameless soldier tried to grab onto his arm to yank him up, but he couldn't stand. Sliding down the wall, Cullen's knee jammed from the force of meeting stone rubble. "Ser, are you all right?"

_No. No, she couldn't be. Not now, not after...!_

"Someone, help. Please help me! The Commander's wounded!"

_Maker, no._

## Chapter Twenty One

**Goodbye**

The ceremony was lovely - or so everyone with nothing else to say insisted upon afterwards. Held in the gardens, only the elite of Skyhold gathered because there wasn't room to house all the mourners. Everyone, regardless if they were from Ferelden or fought in the blight, or even knew her name, wanted to be there to...to do what one did at funerals. To be seen sharing in a sorrow whether it truly touched them or not. Mother Giselle prepared a heart wrenching sermon she delivered while standing in the middle of the crowd circling around her. He couldn't remember if Lana ever spoke to her. She'd been skittish around the subject of the chantry and her own faith. Understandable given the mages involvement with...it didn't matter.

Josephine timed it to begin as the sun's last rays cast an ethereal glow across the garden, almost alighting the trees themselves on fire. A golden haze gave the entire thing an unreal quality, as if they'd slipped into a nightmare of their own. He'd overheard that an even larger funeral was planned in Denerim, one Leliana intended to attend for...someone's sake. All of Ferelden mourned their lost savior. The streets would wash clean from tears. Cullen couldn't remember where he heard that, but it felt right. Lana could...had touched lives, whether she meant to or not. Whether she wanted to or not. Still, the Nightingale was here now and for her fallen friend she offered up a song. It wasn't a funeral dirge, but a sliver of hope to find faith against the dying light, to embrace your fellows as neighbors and discover the spark of life in all.

It was the only time Cullen feared he would lose his grip. Lana would have gritted from the corniness of it, but she'd smile along and by the third verse be carrying the chorus in her own alto. The advisers had to stand at attention around the...pyre, in view of everyone. He felt Leliana sneaking furtive glances his way, the Spymaster gauging if he was up to the task to present a sad but strong temperament in the face of a sea of heartbreak. Cullen blanketed his mind, his eyes staring across the darkening horizon. The ceremony drew on while people gave speeches and offered up pointless anecdotes, everyone certain they knew what Lana wanted in death, praising her for her sacrifice, saying she died well. Maker, that was the worst of them all. He slipped away from every word, his focus upon the rising night sky while watching each star emerge. When a new one hatched from the dark field, he'd try to draw the name of it from his memory. The game kept him from noticing Varric's somber frown, Dorian glowering into his hands, Cassandra's staggered breath, the witch from the Winter Palace haunting around the back with her son tight in her arms, and Hawke... She wouldn't step into the gardens, as if the survivor - the reason Lana wasn't here - couldn't be welcome. But she kept watch on the battlements above, unable to face the rest of them. Even still, her never-ending, heart-wrenching sobs carried across every beam, every stone. It sounded as if all of Skyhold was crying.

He'd made it through the ceremony, the lighting of the pointless pyre, even gritted through the receiving line - as if some Duke or Count of Orlais knew anything about Lana. He knew that she would have rather ran barefoot through the snow than have to sit through this funeral. Knew that she would have hidden a book up her mage's droopy sleeves and tried to sneak a few pages in when no one was looking. Knew that she was always trying to slick down a tuft of hair at the back of her head that refused to obey. Knew that...

Everyone was sad, but he doubted they knew the real loss. How could they understand, how could they smile again knowing they faced a colder world? It was at the reception after, when people exhausted and hungry from mourning gathered in the great hall to stuff their bellies. That was when Cullen snarled at someone's incompetent question, his resolve shattering into full anger. He'd had few good moments since she fell, and never a full hour. Keeping it in check proved impossible with every passing minute, his skin itching to break free, his tongue snapping against any and all. Leliana interceded before he ripped off...he didn't even know whose head it was. Didn't care.

"Commander, would you like to join us? Varric was about to read from one of his books about the Hero of Ferelden. Apparently, she annotated it for him."

They'd huddled around a side table: Cassandra, Hawke, Vivienne, Dagna. Dorian and the Inquisitor clasped hands, their heads bowed together in an intimate prayer of sorts. Even Iron Bull was there with Sera perched upon his horns trying to get a better look. In the middle of it all was Varric, stomping around with boots on the table so everyone could see him. With his biggest voice he shouted out, "And then the prick mage said he didn't care about 'Who killed who' and turned into a giant pride demon!"

"No," Cullen shook his head, "No, I...should return to my work. We have yet to find Corypheus and..." He didn't bother to finish his sentence and left Leliana and the rest to celebrate and remember her life. The walk to his office was hollow.

What was the point? What was there to celebrate? She'd gone into the fade same as the rest, fell into that forlorn and endless place along with the Inquisitor, Hawke, Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric. But out of them all, she was the only one to not come out. _No!_ Cullen slammed shut the book he hadn't been reading and flung it against the floor. No, she chose to stay behind. She...she gave up on everything, on him, on herself, on- _Maker, damn her._

Gripping onto his hair, he collapsed into the chair, his elbows slamming against the desk. The force rattled a trio of lyrium bottles a soldier left for him to dispose of. Contraband confiscated off some merchants. Why did they think he'd have any idea what to do with them? It was the damn mages' problems and...

He didn't realize he'd picked one up until the vial was in his hand, his finger twisting around the cap as if to wedge it open. The movement was so natural to him, he shuddered. He wasn't about to give up, not now, not after... But she did. The others saw it as a heroic sacrifice. If Lana hadn't stayed behind then the nightmare demon could have infected the world, would have torn through their forces and left the Inquisition vulnerable, broken. He wanted to feel the same swell of bittersweet pride the others did, but all his mind kept playing over and over was her explaining the Calling. Admitting she wasn't... Before, when she thought there was nothing left in her life, she tried to throw it all away. And what now? Did he truly mean so little to her?

"Face hopeful despite the odds, fingers wishing to touch something soft and not sharp. Call her over and whisper your heart, 'I love you.' She smiles back, wanting to tell you what you want to hear but never lying. Not to you. 'Stay safe' she says hoping that's enough."

Cullen whipped around in his seat to find the wholesome voice. Perched upon the top of his bookcase was Cole staring intently at his gloves as if he had no idea how he was wearing them. "Get away from me, demon!" Cullen shouted. He'd reached the edge of his rope hours ago and couldn't stop from lashing out. His fingers reached for the grip of his sword but Cole only looked up, a hint of his watery eyes below the hat reaching Cullen.

"I only wanted to help, to take away the pain. To make you forget."

"You will not get inside my head," Cullen threatened, his body tightening as he moved to unsheathe his sword. He'd put up with the demon because the Inquisitor insisted, but he kept a watchful eye upon it, waited for it to touch his mind, to pollute it the way they did. The way they all did.

Cole looked more struck from Cullen's words than his obvious physical threat. Or perhaps it was his grief breaking against the compassion spirit, dragging Cole down into his own wallowing depths. The spirit patted his hands against his thighs and dug in with his fingers. Whispering to his knees, Cole said, "I'm sorry, it hurts."

Cullen's eyes screwed up tight from the madness around him and he noticed they'd begun to burn from the rage percolating through his brain. A light knock echoed off his door and he swung to that. Realizing his error, he turned back to Cole but the demon was gone, vanished as it kept doing.

"Commander," Leliana's voice called from behind the door, "may I enter?"

Releasing the grip on his sword, Cullen laid his hands out upon his desk. "Yes."

The Spymaster slipped inside without anyone wary. She'd kept her hood drawn for the entire funeral, perhaps she was playing her own game to keep from breaking. Now she pulled it back to reveal her face as if entering cleansed into a chantry's sanctuary. "May I sit?" Leliana indicated the chair piled with books. Before Cullen could respond, she knocked the stack off and placed the chair in front of him. He didn't look up at her, his focus burning through the desktop, but out of the corner of his eye he caught the three lyrium vials. Guilt churned through his stomach even though he had no intentions of using them before. He wanted to reach over and knock them all away into a drawer, but that would only draw attention.

Properly seated, Leliana reached into her pocket and unearthed a small glass bottle. It was sky blue, tapered at the top, with a crystal plug sealed in wax to keep its contents safe. Cullen grimaced from the grey powder poured into it. Seeming to not notice his discomfort, Leliana placed it upon his desk directly between his hands. "She would want you to have some."

Glowering through the ashes, Cullen tried to not snicker at the misplaced sentiment, "What's the point? It's old wood and lavender burnt to ash as a stand in? It's not her."

"There is acceptance in ceremony."

"There is idiocy in it all," he countered, still glaring at the fraudulent bottle, but he didn't knock it away or hand it back. His hands were lead against the desk, too heavy to move.

"Are you all right?" the Spymaster asked, her own crystal eyes chewing through him.

He wanted to scream that of course he wasn't. It seemed unlikely he'd ever be all right again. Sleep was impossible, only a sliver of night claimed to the fade, and even then he'd start awake with sweat dousing his skin. Even burying himself in work drew forth more weep from his soul, so much of Adamant - the wardens themselves - needing his approval, his ideas, his heart. Instead of telling the truth, he settled for, "I am...doing what I must. What of you? You knew her well, best friends I think she even claimed, and yet you seem unfazed, as still as a pond."

And then he saw something he knew to be as rare as a white dragon. Leliana cracked. Her lips wobbled and tears gushed from her eyes -- not the pretty, solitary tear of a proper mourner, but a deluge pouring down her cheeks and crumpling her nose. Ruddiness charred up her cheeks and circled around her eyes, the poor Spymaster's pale skin an instant giveaway when she'd been crying. No wonder she kept herself in the shadows.

"I...I didn't meant to," Cullen reached out and clumsily grabbed her hand.

"We put on the show for the sake of the others, but behind closed doors..." Leliana glanced back at his making certain it was still tight. "I thought she was invulnerable, hoped she would be. Imagined her as if..." She shuddered in a breath. "I feel her loss with every pang of my heart."

That was it. That was what it felt like. Not the grief he thought he knew, the grief of losing a part of your life, of change. It was pain inside every inch of his body, his soul, as if someone drove a nail into his brain. Every thought, every breath dug the nail in deeper and deeper until there was no coming back, nothing worth coming back for. He was exhausted, his mind haunted by both sweet and harrowing memories. Either drove him to the edge of tears, his fingers digging into the bed frame in the middle of the night while Cullen fought for a grasp on reality. She was gone, she went into the fade and didn't come back. He'd never see or hear her again. And she did it of her own accord. Because...because he wasn't worth surviving for.

"I've cleaned out her belongings," Leliana spoke up, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

"What? Why?" He hadn't gone near that side of Skyhold, couldn't face it, but to think that her books, her handful of personal effects, even that silly mechanism she never got working right... No, they couldn't be gone too. Not with her.

Leliana pinched her nose and sucked in a breath, "Lanny has...had sensitive relics in her possession, things that Ferelden could lay some claim to. I...the king asked for her staff, but..."

Of course he would. He was the one with the greatest standing of all those who knew her, the one who broke her, beat her down until she saw no escape. Couldn't find a reason to keep fighting to come back.

"Commander?" Leliana spoke, her words jarring him. He woke to realize he'd been strangling a stack of parchment upon his desk. Somehow in that time, she'd wiped away all evidence of her crying, even her cheeks back to a milky white. "There was something of hers that I thought you should have."

He bobbed his head. A part of him, the one still madly in love with her, wanted to rush into her room and pick up that borrowed grey warden tunic if only to smell her once more, to feel the final vestiges of her heat. But his steps steered him far away from her room and he couldn't bring himself to ask anyone else to do it for him.

Leliana reached into her pocket once more, but it wasn't the faded grey shirt passed through the years between them she handed over but a book. Little larger than his palm, it was bound in cheap red leather that looked as if it'd been later patched along the split seams by dragon scales. "What is this?" he sputtered, twisting the book around to try and find an explanation.

"I believe it is a journal...addressed to you."

"A journal?" She'd never said a word about it to him or anyone else as far as he knew. "And you've already read it," he said his heart sinking from Maker knew what was in there. Lana kept secrets that would turn any stomach, things that she could only whisper to him about. If any of them got out people would tarnish her, perhaps even hate her without understanding the full of it.

Leliana slipped out of her seat, rising to stretch her legs. "No, I would never invade her privacy like that. Whatever she had to say, wanted to put down, she meant it for you. I should return to the reception. You could join us later. Those of us from Ferelden are planning our own wake."

"No," Cullen shook his head, his hands still weighing the book. "No, I cannot. Not...no."

Gently bobbing her head, the stoic Spymaster unlatched his door. "I understand. And Cullen, you do not need to go it alone."

He started from her familiar words, but Leliana already slipped back into the night leaving him alone with only the flicker of the candle and his own traitorous thoughts. Grief he understood, grief was what people expected, but that wasn't what chained up his heart or knotted his stomach. After he heard the full of what happened in the fade, a blinding anger took hold of him. Tears were stemmed not from a happy thought or memory, but the wrath screaming through his soul. How could she throw herself away like that? How could she think so little of what was left of her life to-to...? How could he not be worth trying for? How could he not convince her to come back? _How could he fail her?_

Screaming, Cullen slammed the small book down onto his desk. The vials rattled again, all three of them twinkling like bells in the snow. Or rain against a window pane. The latter thought caused him to shudder, his memory slipping back to the tower, to blood dripping through the stones into... _Blessed Andraste, make it stop. Take it all away._ He couldn't handle the anger inside anymore. Not...Maker, not against her. Why was he mad at her? She hadn't done anything but be what she could with him. His entire body sagged in the chair, his forehead skimming across the surface. Slivers of tears dripped from his eyes, but he knew he wasn't mourning her but his own inability to let her be enough. She'd asked, begged that he understand what little she had to offer, that he accept he would never be enough. But would he? Could he?

Cullen would never let Cole anywhere near his mind, but he had other means to purge the anger from himself. A well practiced hand plucked up a solitary lyrium vial, the bottle pinched between his forefinger and thumb. Part of him chastised himself, he swore he'd never leash himself again, that he'd struggle to his last breath to keep what mind he had left. But that promise was made to a dead woman. What did it matter now?

Cullen stood transfixed staring at the glowing lyrium, his mind waging a war with itself. He could have been trapped there for hours, or only a few minutes; time ceased to be as he both tried to open the vial and kept it sealed tight. She wouldn't want him to, but she wasn't here. Would never be here again. Would never step into his life, would never slip her fingers into his and caress the back of his hand. A stinging rose in his eyes, and he wiped away the prickling of tears along with the candle smoke. His eyes slipped past the lyrium bottle to fall upon the book Leliana gave him. She'd said it was addressed to him, but...

Still standing, Cullen inched the book closer to himself. With one hand clinging to the lyrium he slipped open the cover. The vellum was nearly yellow from age and overuse, a few scratch marks evident from when it was last scraped clean. But he could read the words in the fading ink. Sure enough, it was meant for Cullen, but not the Commander of the Inquisition.

"To Knight-Captain Cullen,

I wished to extend to you fair greetings from across the waking sea. Amaranthine grows curious as to the current trade agreements once made in good standing with Kirkwall. Due to the lack of a Viscount and (a few scratch marks followed) Maker, I'm sorry. I am terrible at code, even worse at sounding pompous when it's supposed to be a threat. Whatever happened to 'if you do this I will bring an army and smash your walls down?' That's simple, right? People get the message and I've gone completely off topic.

This is my fifth, or perhaps sixth attempt at writing to you since you assisted me with that warden matter. Based upon the piles of mutilated vellum across my desk it grows more unlikely I will ever send this to you. Yet, I feel I should explain my ill conceived choices in the deep roads. What I wanted to convey and hoped to convince you of was that I'd never meant to (a thick swipe of ink obliterated whatever she wrote after) Sweet Andraste, this is never going to work."

She didn't bother to sign it, only dabbed a few of her ink covered fingerprints across the bottom of the paper. Curious, Cullen turned the page to find another letter, this one dated 9:37, right after Kirkwall's circle fell.

"For Knight-Captain Cullen,

Word has reached the shores of Amaranthine of the chaos in Kirkwall, and I officially extend any assistance you or the Viscount-less city might require. Refuges are struggling for shelter having fled with little upon their backs. We will not offer to (scratch marks). Given the temerity of the attack, all citizens fleeing the chaos are welcome, regardless of (Lana attacked the page with her quill as if trying to stab away what she feared to speak)

Maker, what happened? All we're hearing is snippets of wild tales; dragons, the chantry exploding, a statue of Andraste coming to life and smashing all of Kirkwall with a stone sword. I am uncertain what, if any of it, is true. If it weren't for Nathaniel I wouldn't even know that you survived. I should have written before. At least sent you something to open up communications. There doesn't seem much point now. With all of thedas braying for mage blood, my abilities to function in any official capacity are shackled. I can't imagine what you're suffering from, what all of Kirkwall is struggling against.

I wish I could be there to help.

Who am I kidding? I'm never sending this one either.

Your useless Arlessa,

Lana Amell"

Curiosity piqued, Cullen took the book up in both of his hands and he fell into his chair. Over time, the pile of letters that she never got around to sending transformed into a true journal but every entry began addressed to him. She spoke of her life, her travails trying to revive the wardens from their stupor with a candidness rarely afforded to the written word. He could almost hear her whispering her words just behind his ear.

"Please tell me you've never fought a dragon before, Cullen. Messy, foul smelling, and healing burns is about as much fun as mopping up broodmother blood..." "You'll never guess what I just found. Well, of course you won't, you're parchment. But if you could, it'd amaze you..." "Sweet Maker, I think I've almost got the old biscuit recipe down. And I did, until the oven exploded. Apparently lyrium sand can look an awful lot like sugar." He skipped around, his fingers shuffling past pages of her life he missed out on, years wasted while they were both to terrified to risk opening up to each other. Throughout the journal his brain clung to every mention of his name which never seemed too far from her thoughts. There was a lightness in her words, a joy in the simple things as she delighted in the mundane of life until the pages came to a dead stop. Flipping past two more blank entries, the words began again but the hand was cold and curt, the letters jagged as if the holder of the quill stabbed them into being.

"I forgot about this journal. Things have changed, every plan I thought I had has been corrupted. Sundered. Somehow, I've found myself enmeshed with the Champion of Kirkwall, an irritatingly cheery woman who also to my absolute delight brought Anders back into my life. He is concerned that I may at any moment snap and end his life. While I doubt I am willing, it seems better if he harbors on under the delusion. What brought me back to this journal you're asking sheets of parchment? Red lyrium. I almost turned my back upon my new 'cousin' until she told me of it, asked me to find the source. Told me of its existence within Kirkwall's templars. Maker's breath, Cullen. You damn well better not be involved with this stuff."

Her admonishment startled him. She'd never mentioned that it was her hunt for red lyrium that...that was what pulled her from the Calling. Or that she was concerned for him taking it, becoming-- _Andraste's tears_ , she feared him falling into the same corruption as the other templars.

"I can sense something wrong about it, more than wrong. All I hear is talk of it turning people into statues, or it being made from a statue. I don't know, Hawke gives me a splitting headache. Please. Don't have taken it. I can't understand it, certainly can't solve it, but I pray to the Maker you're not a part of it."

He didn't realize his fingers began to shake until he moved to turn the page. Formulas, theories, even a few quick notes in code filled the margins of the page as if Lana needed to write them down quickly before she forgot. On occasion, a few more anecdotes about her trials with Hawke and Anders appeared mixed in, but every entry ended with, "You better not be a part of this." She spoke of the temple of sacred ashes attack with a solemn detachment, unable to process the massive loss of life. Something in her trying to understand grief on that scale struck deep against him and he couldn't read the passage. One day perhaps, but not now.

Flipping deeper into the book, days passed until he paused upon, "I saw you today. Never in an age did I think it would happen. Hearing about the templars, then hearing about their corruption from Therinfall, I tried to put you from my thoughts. To cling to hope that you'd been one of the smart templars to avoid Corypheus' grasp. And then there you were. Alive. Safe. It caught me so off guard, I proceeded to almost smash my face into the floor. Very heroic, I know.

"I'm sitting here in the tunic I borrowed off your gallantry. I hope you don't mind it too much, it's surprisingly soft. When we spoke, I understood why we need to keep things between us civil, fully agreed with your thoughts. I simply never expected it to sting."

Cullen yanked his head away to stare at his own door. The one he'd led her through to try and find a change of clothing. He hadn't wanted to keep her at an arm's length, but it seemed to be what she did. What she needed. He hadn't even been certain if she could feel for him what he did for her. Maker, he was such a fool. In giving her an out, he hurt her and himself in the process. There were still questions that raged in his mind about her, about them, and now...now he had the possibility of answers in his fingers. But did he want to know them? She was frank, admitted that she didn't love him, at least not yet. There could be more to the story, more to where her own loyalties lay. His hand drew down the spine of the fragile book, bending it away as Cullen weighed whether he could live with himself, live with what was contained beyond this first blush of romance.

He rifled through the book's back half with his errant finger, struggling to find answers in his own soul. So many blank pages remained, untouched by her, never to be filled with her life, her words. Because of her decision. That anger flared up anew, and he flipped backwards through the blank pages until coming upon her last entry -- the final piece he could have of her beyond a faded spell and a whispered order.

"Adamant. Tomorrow we set out. I want this to be over, to be finished, to find a finality to my life. Even slaying the archdemon came with a _to be continued_ attached. The darkspawn didn't scatter into their holes as they should have. They kept attacking, kept preying, kept needing me to be _the_ warden. And now.

You're asleep on my bed. Maker thank Hawke for setting out early with the first of the party. She said it was for intel, but I'm certain she tried to give us time together. I wanted to dream in your arms, but my mind refuses to give up. It can't cease churning over every fear, measure every failure, wonder what will happen when this is over. I don't know, I have no answers save one: there's you. Whether the wardens fall or are redeemed, I cannot be a part of them. Not anymore. And if, after Adamant, the Inquisitor has no use of me I do not fear the endless expanse because I know I will find you waiting at the end. How our lives keep finding themselves knotted up like this, I cannot comprehend, but I am grateful to stumble upon you.

Do we keep getting the timing wrong, is this some ploy of the Maker, or are we waiting for our own minds to catch up together? I wish I could give you all of me. That sounded less dirty in my head. That I'd return your sentiments without question, but I fear opening myself up again. And until I can combat that fear, I need time. Time that we can find together, after Adamant.

For the love of the Maker, I pray and beg Andraste to keep you. To guide you back from the battle so in time I can learn to love you. Stay Safe. Please."

The book scattered from his hands falling shut upon the desk. Inside of his heart, the anger melted leaving only an endless wave of tears washing him clean. He curled up and cried every drop he'd kept locked away behind his wall of rage. The vials of lyrium lay forgotten as Cullen's breathless voice repeated her final words. "Stay safe. Maker, stay safe."

## Chapter Twenty Two

**Epilogue**

Cullen whistled for the dog to return to his side. She perked up, her dark nose coated in yellow pollen from burying herself snout deep into a bush, but she didn't run to him. Instead, her stub of a tail wagged, nearly taking the entire back half with her, as a tongue lolled out. Sighing, he dug through his hair, "Right, we still have to work out a few of those commands. Come on, Honor," he tried again, jerking his head towards his office and patting his leg. They'd been on a walking tour of Skyhold getting her acclimated to her new home. She'd been particularly enthralled with the stables pre-mucking, Cullen less so.

Barreling past him on muscled legs, Honor bounded through the open door and skidded to a halt. She had all the grace of a rampaging ogre, but it drew a smile to his lips to watch the vigor with which his new adoption enjoyed life.

"Welcome back, Ser," Addley smiled widely at him as she placed a few reports down on his covered desk. Maker only knew how much work awaited him after the return.

"Captain," Cullen nodded his head to her politely, but she shook off the formality. "I can about guess the mountain and a half of paperwork awaiting me."

"Large enough to build us another fortress in the Frostbacks I'm afraid," Addley sighed. She was perched upon his desk, one leg knocking into the back with a friendly ease that washed over his troops after Corypheus fell.

Cullen approached the terror waiting for him courtesy of every noble in thedas poking their noses into his business, but he paused to scratch along Honor's head. Her leg slapped into the stone when he found the spot just behind her ears. "As if we thought turning the entire operation over to Divine Victoria would be easy..." He hunted through the top missives, trying to find the most pressing matters. The Inquisitor was not back to himself after both a loss and a near one, but -- in her last days serving them -- Josephine volunteered to assist in the transfer of power. "Addley, we need a count of the troops. An accurate one, no one-two, skip a few. Numbers for weaponry, typical smithing fees, the amount of feed consumed for cavalry..."

His musing paused as he turned up to her lit eyes. "It's good to have you back," she said.

"I suppose," Cullen dodged from the potential flattery. It seemed Addley didn't notice his cold turn as she reached across the desk to grip his hand. Cullen stared at his work instead of her.

"Stopping a qunari invasion deserves celebrating, I'd say," she smiled at him.

"Stopping an invasion, nearly plummeting all of southern thedas into a lawless chaos. It's all in how you look at the situation," Cullen said, but he didn't yank his hand away. He was uncertain what to do. Mercifully, Addley hopped to her feet, her orders in place. His fingers curled up as her hand left, holding themselves.

Adjusting her braid back, she bobbed her head, "I'll speak with the quartermaster first."

"Good," Cullen nodded, already slipping back to work.

Addley paused at the door and in a sing-song voice, as if just thinking of it, mentioned, "Oh, and now that you've returned, perhaps we could continue that game of chess we abandoned."

Cullen blinked, his shoulders tightening from a senseless guilt, "I'm afraid I have a lot of work. But..." he turned from his work and slapped on a small smile, "later, maybe."

"I'll hold you to it," she smirked and tipped her head. Throwing open the door, Addley vanished to do her job.

Watching her wake, Cullen tried to will back a guilty thrumming knocking against his heart. Tossing the paperwork aside, he strode to his bookshelf. At the center of the middle shelf sat the blue bottle. He felt foolish for keeping it knowing there was no part of her inside, but it also lightened his heart to see it. It took a long while to reach that point. A year, perhaps even longer before he could speak of Lana without needing to excuse himself, when memories of her made him smile instead of wall up alone in his loft. He'd gotten better, day by day.

Then they returned to the Winter Palace and it was as if someone ripped away every scabbed over inch of his wound. Even with the qunari, and the magic mirrors, and a return of an elven god for the Maker's sake he couldn't stop thinking of Lana. When the nobility started in on him, questioning his empty hand or wondering if he had anyone to share his bed he dreamed of her shoving the throngs aside, grabbing his slack fingers and taking him to the dance floor.

Lifting up the false bottle of ashes, Cullen plucked out her journal from below it. He'd read it all, every word, even tried to decipher the ones she'd scribbled over. Oftentimes it helped to see her thoughts, to almost consult her words as if she was the chant of light or something equally as blasphemous. He'd taken to hunting out the books she'd mention, most of them dry reading on magical theory. Plowing through her old studies took focus, and more than a few on theories of time dilation were abandoned by the third paragraph. He was surprised to find that on top of the scholarly tomes, she also had an appetite for adventure stories. They weren't the dark, angst ridden tales that proved popular in the aftermath of the blight and the mage rebellion. No, Lana seemed to adore books where the hero was good, the villain was bad, and everyone lived happily ever after. Oddly, Cullen found himself smiling while reading them - regardless of how trite they might have been. As if the simple story could wash away his pains for a few hours at least.

Stored along the shelf with her not-ashes were her favorite books in random order. On occasion, his soldiers would catch him with one and inquire about it, but Cullen felt embarrassed to explain he was sharing his reading with a dead woman. Then, one day, he spotted Addley consuming the same tale of the Serpent Empress and he stopped. During the darker days he'd seek comfort in Lana's words, but even those seemed to break. He hadn't read her journal in nearly a month. A film of dust coated the cover from his blunder. Gentle wiping it against the edge of his coat, Cullen held up the poor thing. She hadn't taken the time to properly bind it, and Maker knew he wasn't gentle when it came to such things. Pages threatened to scatter from a soft breeze, but he knew how to get them into proper order even without dates. He'd read the entire book so often he could recite every line, remember every punctuation mark -- all of it but the last entry. The words burned into his soul, but he couldn't bring himself to face them again.

Honor broke from gnawing upon her leg and barked at the door. Still holding the journal close, Cullen shook his head at the dog, "Quiet."

The barking ceased and Honor rolled her big brown eyes at him. Wagging her stump of a tail, she contorted her entire face into becoming the most pathetic creature he'd ever seen. "Maker's breath," Cullen sighed. "That won't work on me." Despite his insistence, he reached into his pocket and unearthed a strip of dried meat. Tossing it to Honor, she bounced up on her paws and caught it in the air. The meat vanished down her throat without any of her teeth getting involved. "You're liable to choke that way," he said scritching along her head.

A knock bounced against his door. Most likely Addley back with the report. He'd been enjoying her company as of late, it was true, but Cullen wasn't in the frame of mind to face whatever she seemed to want from him. Still, the chantry waited for no man. Turning back to his desk to grab a few missives and give the illusion he was working, he shouted, "Enter!"

"I heard from a few of the best saluters you were up here and...you have a dog. Are they giving out dogs now at the Winter Palace? I never got a dog."

Cullen flipped on his heels and his jaw nearly hit the floor. The blighted King of Ferelden stood in his doorway. Instead of dressed in his armor or even gilded finery, the man gave the appearance of an average merchant fresh off the road. Abandoned on the side of the road, more like. Dirt muddied up his sandy locks and face giving him an even more common appearance than normal. "What are...your Highness, what are you doing here?" He shook off the shock of having a king stride into his office, and an explanation for this sudden appearance burned in his brain. "If you've come to dismantle us further, you're too late. The decision was made and approved by the council."

The king of Ferelden dipped to a knee and took on a full face slobber from Honor. Cullen probably should have called her off, but it did clear off the dirt at least. Leaning back from the dog, Alistair's brow wrinkled in an apparently well known confusion, "What?"

"You, all of Ferelden, were braying for the dismantling of the Inquisition. I assume you've come to try and..."

Alistair waved his hands scattering away Cullen's thoughts. "Yes, yes, that bureaucratic posturing, big bad pompous stuff. Teagan was handling it. Said it was done, anyway."

Cullen crossed his arms and stepped around behind his desk. He was off kilter from a king of all things in his office unannounced. But being behind his own seat of power gave him a strength that something told him he'd need to get through this. "You seem to not even care about the outcome despite Ferelden calling for the Exalted Council in the first place. In spite of the years of service we've provided to you, Orlais, all of thedas itself."

"Yeah," he scratched the back of his ear, and shrugged, "then you nearly went and started a war with the Qunari. And almost blew up my palace. Kinda hard to wipe that one away unnoticed."

Cullen growled and he noticed Honor matching it, the hair along the back of her nape rising. He cooed to her, and the stance broke, but she wasn't as ecstatic to see the king anymore. Alistair waved both hands in the air in a strange mea culpa, "This isn't what I meant to get into. Qunari bad, invasion bad, stopping it good. Miniature flags all around. That's not why I'm here. Mind if I sit?"

It felt idiotic, the king asking if he could sit. Kings didn't do that, they sat where they pleased and you rushed to find a chair to catch the royal butt before it hit the ground. This man was infuriating at every level. Cullen waved his hand to the empty chair and Alistair slipped into it. Rather than sit himself, Cullen placed both hands upon his desk and leaned down.

"If you do not care about the Inquisition breaking apart and joining with the chantry...?"

"Just what Leliana needs by the way, to be even scarier."

Sighing at his mention of Divine Victoria, Cullen continued, "What are you doing here?"

Alistair knocked his knuckles against the desk in a cheery greeting as if he expected someone to open it up from inside. "I don't know if she mentioned it, but a few years back Lanny gave me her phylactery."

Cullen tightened from her mention, and even more so the king's preferred name for her. "She did tell me, actually."

"Oh?" Alistair's head snapped up. "Interesting, didn't think she was the type to go blabbing her secrets to templars. Anyway, after carefully securing it from the chantry, Lanny..."

"She told me the chantry gave it to her," Cullen interrupted.

"Yeah 'gave.' Like they were going to turn in their trump card without a major fight. But she didn't want to worry about random templars coming for her in the night, especially if politics went egg shaped. You know the drill, Banns band together, bribe a few sisters or a mother to get her phylactery, hire a lyrium addicted templar and then set a trap to take her down."

Cullen glanced down at the desk trying to piece together his thoughts. She hadn't been explicit about it, and they were rather in flagrante at the time. Not to mention she had no way of knowing how he'd react to the truth, even he was uncertain if... "What is your point?"

"As I said, I've had her phylactery for a few years."

As well as every damn thing she ever touched. The king of Ferelden, despite Lana banning him from her life, swooped in to snap away all her personal belongings. Relics of the Hero were stored in a glass display locked around her statue in Denerim. Leliana described it to him once before she moved to Val Royeaux. Cullen never had the stomach to visit it.

"She's been gone for two years," Cullen said.

Alistair nodded, dirt scattering from his hair onto the desk. "Yeah, two years," his words fell down into his chest, all flippancy drained as each day of her death wore raw against his sentence. "Funny thing about phylacteries. I'd never used one before to chase mages around, but I'd been put on cleaning duty before. You know, go through the storehouse and toss out all the old ones. The...uh, dead ones."

Cullen threw his head back and glared at the ceiling. He was about to beg for a point to be found somewhere, anywhere. But tossing a king out of his office would reflect poorly upon him and the recently rebranded Inquisition.

Shifting on his side, Alistair's fingers dug into a satchel wound about his hip. "The dead ones, they stop being all bright red. You know."

"Yes, I know," Cullen glowered, his ire building against the man. _Maker, what did Lana ever see in him?_

"Funny thing." Alistair placed his hands upon the desk, then removed his fingers to reveal a small bottle hidden in his palm. A red light pulsed through the blood contained within the clear glass, beating to match its owners heart. "Hers started up a week ago."

Cullen's legs gave out and his ass fell hard against his chair. His hands lay upon both sides of the bottle, terrified to touch it, to entertain hope that it was real. It looked familiar, like the ones Ferelden's circle used before they all fell. The words 'S. Amell' were engraved into the glass up the side. Templars never bothered with the full name unless they had siblings. "This can't be...I don't understand. How?"

"You're a templar, were a templar. Go on, touch it." Alistair sat back in his chair, his legs crossed as if he had all the time in thedas to wait.

Gulping from a terror crawling up his spine, Cullen fought inside himself. He wanted so badly to grip it, to feel Lana's life calling out from somewhere in thedas, but Maker, to have that hope dangled before him and then dashed as soon as it began? Screwing up his courage, Cullen yanked off a glove and lightly caressed the glass. Every hair on his body twisted towards the west, and more than that, he felt a taste of something cold on the winds, the ground rocky and unforgiving, and sea airs hissing from the high altitude. Not like the frostbacks, these treacherous mountains were near unscalable without knowing the terrain.

His eyes snapped open and he stuttered, "The Anderfalls?" Alistair nodded. "How can she be there?"

The king picked back up the phylactery and turned it in his fingers. "With Lanny, there's probably a dragon or twelve involved. Maybe a flock of baby griffins saved her."

Holding his head tight, Cullen tried to wrap his mind around this. Lana was alive, could be alive. Out there in the world. Reachable, after all this time. "Why bring this to my attention?" Cullen started, struggling to find any sense.

Still lost in the pulse of her blood, Alistair's voice drifted, "I've been testing it, trying to find her but something's wrong. The location never changes. Whatever Lanny's gone through, been through, I know she'd never stay away from...be kept away from Ferelden unless she's in trouble. Well, better trouble than being dead."

"She could be with the wardens," Cullen said and the rage he thought he'd buried long ago stirred inside. Two years and if they'd had her, if she'd joined with them without a single letter or note...

But Alistair shook his head negative, "Doesn't feel right, something's up. Something's wrong and I intend to find out." Wrapping his fingers tight around the phylactery, the king returned it to his satchel. "So, now it's up to you, Commander of the newest arm of the chantry."

"What is?"

"Travel the world, save the girl. Are you in or out?"

Cullen scoffed at him, "You're mad, beyond mad. Why would you even invite me? Why would I travel with you?"

"First, probably not nice to call a king mad. Either he's not and takes offense to it, or he is and takes real offense to it. Then it's all bathing in blood and talking to decapitated heads. Messy. Second, I never unlocked all the high level templar skills. I can get a sense of Lanny's direction but narrowing it down requires one who was really into the mage killing." That drew a snarl to Cullen's face, but he didn't respond. "And third, the phylactery's mine. If you want to find her, and I'm guessing you do, I'm leading this. That's how it works, soldier man."

The king of Ferelden rose off the chair and tested his weight upon the balls of his feet. "Come with me, or stay here and wonder. It's up to you. Either way, I'll be waiting in the gardens for your decision." Bending down to pat the dog one more time, Alistair gave a half hearted salute and sauntered out of Cullen's office.

Glaring through the insipid man, Cullen's mind tripped around. How could he even entertain the thought? The very premise was flimsy. She'd been dead for two years, lost to the fade. People don't just walk out of it. But Corypheus did. Right, and he blighted the world for it. Lana would never, could never... His life was here, he devoted himself wholesale to the Inquisition. Even if now the organization was only to play the role of peacekeepers for the chantry, placing him back under the wing of the ones he'd once broken from, at least...at least it hadn't broken his heart.

Cullen slipped away from his desk to his bookshelf. His fingers ran along the grooves carved into her bottle. It wasn't an urn, not a proper one. There hadn't been time to craft enough before the funeral. Josephine offered to find him something more proper after, but in truth he didn't care what the fake ashes sat in. They weren't her, would never be her because there was no body. There was no finality to her loss, no last glance at the empty body before it was given to the flames.

He knew what he should do. Remain with the Inquisition, honor his word. They were in a precarious state already, to pass it all off to someone untested would be cruel. Perhaps finally settle the way everyone kept asking about. Marry, have children. Entertain the idea of retiring. Maker save him, even attempt farming again. That was the smart thing, to leave the bottle closed, let hope remain trapped inside of it. Wait for Lana to whither to little more than a soft, yearly pang in his heart and nothing more.

Cullen popped open the top of the top of the bottle and, out of his slit of a window, he dumped the fraudulent ashes into the wind. He could do all that, he knew it, give in to what was right, what was simple. But, if he had a chance, if there was even a sliver of hope that Lana was alive and needed him, he couldn't live with himself if he never tried. Emptied of the ashes, Cullen placed the bottle on the shelf. He wrapped her journal inside his shirt close to his chest and whistled for Honor to follow. The Anderfells awaited him.

* * *

Pain returned first, with sound on its heels. Her hand ached, the one that clung to her staff as if her life depended...actually, it had depended on it. Maybe. This was the fade, sense was a luxury now. Lana extended her gnarled hand out upon the ground, trying to will away the sting from the cramp, when she started. The fade's ground which had once looked like any random cavern chewed up and spit out by a nightmare was now replaced with lain stone. Cold to the touch, she recognized the pattern of the grout, one she'd glare at often when not paying attention to Banns demanding she care about petty things.

Slowly, Lana raised her aching head away from the floor. In the distance she spotted a table attached to a wall, its flatware all in place despite nature trying to dash them against the ground. An ogre's severed head was the centerpiece. More pain seared up her body, and she reached towards her stomach prepared to heal the wound, but only enraged muscles cried out at her. Her fatal, or nearly fatal, blow was healed by something beyond her understanding. Lana felt the crunchy dried blood coating her robes and slicking up her glove, but any hint of the gash was gone. _What was going on?_

"Good morning, lazy. Took you long enough."

She yelped from the voice and spun around on her knees, magic crackling across her aching fingers. Standing above her was a mage, a mage she'd known far too well and not well enough. He held his hand out towards her, his smile cocksure. "Jowan?!" Lana started, very aware of how dead he was. She'd been there for it, watched it for his sake. "How are you...? No, wait. This is the fade, like the Divine, you're not really Jowan."

He gripped onto her hand and it felt warm, real, the skin clinging to hers as he helped her to rise. Lana swallowed down a wave of nausea and glanced around what remained of the fade she'd watched obliterate itself in the wake of the rift closing. If someone yanked up the circle tower's walls, smashed them into Vigil Keep's floors, then ripped off the roofs to expose the Black City hovering in the sky, it'd approximate what she saw looming in all directions across the horizon. Lightning crackled on the horizon, and she spotted the first of Maker only knew how many spirits or demons floating through the ruins.

Grinning as if he had all the time in the world, Jowan, or whatever was posing as him, cocked a hip and waved a hand at the monstrosity, "You're a long way from home, Lanny."

TO BE CONTINUED IN **_MY HOPE_**

# _My Hope_

Cullen thought he lost Lana Amell when she sacrificed herself to remain in the fade, but now the king of Ferelden has her phylactery and insists she's alive somewhere on the other side of thedas. Can he trust this man he barely knows or can stand as they travel through treacherous waters and lands while searching to find the woman he loves? All he has to cling to is his faith and hope.

## Chapter One

**Prologue**

_9:36 Denerim_

Lanny prodded a spoon into the grey mass attempting to ooze off the table and consume them all. Then, against all common sense or fear of it fighting back, she dug in and brought the traitorous gelatinous mash of dinner to her lips.

"You're balmy, you know that," Alistair said shaking his head as he grabbed the second spoon. Stabbing deep into the middle of the gurgling lump to make sure it stayed dead, he inched off a small section. It tasted like someone dumped sewer water onto the tavern floor then tried to sop it up with rancid flour. "Hm, it's getting better," he remarked returning for seconds.

She smiled brightly but jabbed her own spoon upright into the shared "chef's surprise" her delicate Arlessa sensibilities unable to handle that much food poisoning. In reaching for her clay mug of the second cheapest wine in Denerim, Lanny yanked back her nondescript sleeve.

"Pst," Alistair nodded to her, "you've got some, uh, bandit juice still."

"Oh?" she rolled her eyes and then rolled her sleeve up to her elbow to reveal her arms covered in their day's work. Sliding closer to the table, she dropped her arm down and called to her dog. He woke from his dreams at her feet, and a slobbery tongue lapped up the gore across her skin. Alistair forgot about that vampiric quirk from the days of the blight, and he'd been happier in his ignorance. She must have caught his queasy stare because she offered, "He'd be willing to clean you off too."

"That's all right, I'm good."

The dog finished and flopped back down on the floor. White coated his muzzle like snow across the eaves, but he held up like a demon while they worked through the back alleys. Rolling down her sleeve, Lanny smiled, "You probably have fancy servants devoted to drawing the bath, one for holding the soap, and a last just to wash the king."

"Ha, I mention I plan on stripping off any layer of clothing and the entire palace scatters screaming to warn everyone. Not a soul for miles, which means I'm free to slide down the banisters without anyone yelling at me to stop."

"Buck naked, of course," she said lifting her glass as if in a toast.

"Is there any other way?" Alistair grinned. He was trying to cling to the last hours they had together before all that duty stuff came back. It was an odd tradition, one Eamon threw apoplectic and apocalyptic fits about, but the old Arl couldn't stop it. It was too ingrained now. The 'on a holiday' king of Ferelden lifted his own glass. "To Duncan," he said.

Lanny knocked her mug into his, "And the others lost at Ostagar." They both took a long swig of the swill, Lanny's entire face scrunching up in pain. It'd been too long since she'd last been back in town. She forgot how stomach churning the rot could get here, which was also its charm.

"I almost didn't think you'd make it," Alistair said. He cut off a section of their shared dinner and palmed it. Sliding his hand under the table, he tried to pass it off to the dog.

"It's tradition, can't mess with that." She inspected her nails and found more blood stuck under them. A few of the people whispered rumors of how once a year the king of Ferelden slipped into the streets to walk among them. Then most laughed it off because that idea was idiotic as sin. Why would a king go incognito just to have a day to himself? He didn't really walk among them anyway, he more stabbed those that were preying upon the innocent with a disguised mage at his side. Out of her grey warden armor, Lanny looked like any random woman who could command ice and fire with her will and look gorgeous while doing it. They came together each year - the three survivors of Ostagar - to try and memorialize it, or something. It didn't begin as a cleaning the streets to honor their fallen brethren. In fact, the first year Eamon and Isolde organized some fancy fete. Alistair had been shocked the newest Arlessa showed, her shoulder's knotted and her snarl in place while the judgmental gentry paced around her. Lanny looked about to snap off her own lead and nip people for getting too close. So, while the rest of the nobility got drunk reminiscing about a battle none of them saw, Lanny, Alistair, and her mabari slipped into the streets. At first it was just to get some air, then they ran into a surprisingly organized gang of lyrium smugglers. After that it was stab stab, explode, bite, ice and somehow became tradition.

"I'm glad you came. You've been damn near impossible to reach lately. Always, 'Sorry Alistair, off saving the world' this, and 'Can't right now, have to completely rearrange time. Try again later, assuming there is a later' that."

She snickered at his summation of her life, but the wear returned piece by piece. He did his part to ignore it and try to distract her. Not that she wasn't still as knock dead gorgeous as the first time he'd met her (and just as capable of knocking people dead). But the position she was placed in, the power she was given over others fit on her about as it did him. And that was his doing.

"Life keeps me busy," she responded.

"Oh come on, I'm a member of the same taint club. You can tell me all your dirty, grey warden secrets," he inched closer across the table, his head dropping low.

"You're impossible," she laughed, softly pushing against his sleeveless arm. It hadn't begun the day that way, but bandits never obeyed the laws of couture.

"You already knew that," Alistair smiled back. In this filthy inn, with every muscle in his body exhausted beyond belief and the diseased liver of a bronto gurgling in his stomach he felt at ease. Perhaps it was the return to his old life, if only in brief, or maybe it was getting to share only a sliver of it with her again.

Her sweet and ornery eyes slipped away from him towards the door. They'd claimed the furtherest back table in the hopes no one would bother them, which seemed to be working as no one wanted near someone that ate the chef's special. "Oh dear," Lanny sighed, her fingers running the rim of her glass, "Looks like your cavalcade's arrived." As she threw back the last of her drink, Alistair turned in his seat to catch five palace guards peering through the dark corners of the nearly desolate inn in the hopes to try and find him. Well, good luck, guys. "It's been fun, but I suppose..."

He grabbed onto her hand, getting an arched eyebrow, but she only carefully set her glass down. Whispering, Alistair jerked his head towards the door, "Come on, we can sneak out the back."

"Are you serious? You can't be serious. Those are your men and women. Don't they work for you?" she whispered back even as she inched out of her seat along with him.

"Kinda, sort of in a way that's complicated and..."

"Eamon ordered them to find you," she translated his lack of an excuse.

"Yes, so let's go." He held her hand tight as they both crouched low and moved towards the kitchen door. The barkeep had to see them both but he'd either grown jaded by the claptrap that'd frequent a sticky inn so sight of the king and hero sneaking past barely registered, or this was a common tuesday for him.

"Wait, what about...? Dog," she turned around to her still slumbering pooch. He perked up from his not quite name. "Return to the room," she ordered. Before Lanny could watch to see if he'd obey, Alistair yanked her into the kitchen. He let go of her hand and, in a surprising burst of glee, broke into a run so he could slide across the table in the middle of the room. Lanny chuckled from the smear of flour in his wake and now across his backside, but she followed suit, her own sapphire robes turned nearly chalk white.

"Quick! Out the door!" Alistair shouted as if it was the hounds sent after him instead of a handful of guards who would only sigh at their strange king and ask if he could head home. The top half of the door was left open for airflow in the stifled kitchen, but the bottom remained latched shut. Rather than risk trying to kick it open, Alistair leapt up and, ignoring any possible threat to those crown jewels, he cleared the doorframe. It was the down part he hadn't corrected for, his shoes skidding across an icy patch of ground outside. Waving his arms for balance, somehow the king of Ferelden kept from smashing headfirst into the ice, but he had to hop in the least dignified manner possible.

Spinning around, he watched Lanny standing there with her arms crossed. "Is the show over?"

"I'd like to see you do better," he scoffed.

Whipping her hand out of her sleeve, Lana extended her fingers as if she intended to cast a complicated spell. Then she bent over, unhooked the lock on the door and pushed it open. "Ta da."

"Mine was more dramatic," Alistair grinned.

"Hey! Who's in the kitchen?" a gruff voice echoed from the bar.

"Run!" Lanny snatched up his hand now, fully invested in the game. Despite being nearly thirty, and technically owning the place, the pair of them ran through the streets of Ferelden as if they were a couple kids breaking curfew. A few of the late night denizens paused in their amble, casting a second look back and probably wondering if that really was the king being dragged by a small, dark-skinned mage, or if they'd had too much to drink or not enough.

"Wait," Alistair yanked back on her hand. They'd skirted close to the alienage in their running, the houses shrinking in size and piling on top of each other. The haphazard building provided perfect hiding above. "Take the ladder up."

"Are you certain?" Lanny asked, even as she began the climb. "You better not be looking up my robes."

"What do you take me for, some drooling lecher? Don't answer that." Alistair joked as he waited below until she was almost at the roof, then he followed suit. Ferelden at the best of times stank of dead fish, sewage, and oddly enough, lilacs year round. He couldn't figure out the lilac, though the other two's origins were evident enough. Thanks to the winter winds blowing in hard off the mountains, most of the fish and sewage were frozen in place limiting their smells radius. Without the rush of battle, or the fear of his own guards catching him, warmth drained from his fingers clinging to the frozen wood as he climbed higher into the air.

As he stepped onto the roof, he spotted Lanny circling against the rare flat surface in Denerim. She had a hand on her hip while she stared down at the people still moving through the city despite the night or cold. "They never look like ants, people always say that, but I don't see it. To me I see people."

"Hm," Alistair hopped off the ladder and a full blast of cold air whipped through the tight buildings. His teeth knocking, he chattered, "I don't get close enough to the edge to see, myself." Despite the dipping night, Lanny seemed unaffected, her own disguise a lighter robe atop little more than fancy pajamas. "How are you not cold?"

"I'm a mage, remember?" she smiled while stepping closer to him. In her eyes he spotted the flicker of flames dancing against those even warmer browns. "Here," slipping her fingers out of her sleeves, she touched against his bare arm. _Maker!_ Her touch was hotter than the burning sun of summer. The warmth of her finger enveloped around his body and he felt a sudden urge to press all of her skin against his. Shaking it off the second it rose in his mind, Lanny's fingers vanished away leaving in their wake her old warming spell.

"Forgot about that," Alistair said.

"That I'm a mage? Really? You would have been a terrible templar," she smirked. Without any fanfare, Lanny plopped onto the roof, her legs folded up under her.

"Damn straight," he said while joining her. "Terrible templar, terrible king. So-so warden, I suppose."

"You're not such a terrible king," she sighed, her head tipped back to gaze upon the stars. Even with the drooping laundry lines of Denerim in the way, they could still see a beautiful cross section of the Maker's bounty glittering across the sky. "You haven't had anyone try to overthrow you yet. I'd say that's a good sign."

"Ignoring the fact said king just ran away from his own guards for no good reason," he sighed, his own neck craning back so he could try to trace the stars. "Hey look, Satinalis."

"That's not Satinalis," Lana said.

"Sure it is, with the three stars connecting like a wonky belt..."

"That's Fenrir. Actually, that's half of Fenrir. You have to--"

"No, I'm certain it's Satinalis. Read it in a book once," Alistair continued, his finger trying to trace the constellation in the sky.

Lana snorted, "Well, either the book was wrong or you are in your remembering because you can't even see Satinalis at this time of night during the early winter months. It rises in...what?"

He didn't wipe off the giant grin across his face, "You being all...you know, _you_ about stuff. Having to get it right and thinking everyone else is as clever."

"I don't, I mean, I try to...It's still not Satinalis."

Lanny lapsed into her own brooding silence, a familiar one he came to know over the years. She used to fill it with chatter, an almost terrified prattle of facts when they first met. Though, to be fair, he did the same. Once she grew used to him and got over that whole awkward first stage, hers fell away. Alistair had no excuse beyond needing to escape the void, usually with his foot planted firmly in his mouth.

"How are things in the ol' Arling? Bann...what's-her-name still giving you trouble? I could send a few more tax collectors her way to mess things up."

"Don't be daft," Lanny shook her head. "She'd have them shot on sight. No, things have quieted down for once. There's always darkspawn, of course."

"Of course." The one remaining thing they shared was the taint in their blood. They never talked about it beyond an occasional nod to the never ending hunger or the one night when seriousness wiped away their lighthearted mood and they made a pact together. "So..." Alistair stirred up the frost coating the roof with his finger while also stirring up shit, "how are things between you and that mage guy? What was his name? Rufus? Ruffian? Ruffles?"

"You know his name isn't Ruffles," Lana said, her voice flatter than the roof's edge. Alistair shrugged, well aware of the name but not about to give an inch. Lana returned to gazing at the stars, "Over before they even began, I'm afraid."

"What? Why? He sounded so...is there a nice way to say interesting when you really mean boring?"

"Just because you didn't grasp his theories on the circumstantial output of fade energy when redirected through a crystal focus doesn't mean he was boring."

"He wouldn't have known a joke if it crawled up his backside and danced the remigold," the king of Ferelden moped.

"I regret ever introducing you two," she sighed, but her eyes glittered for a moment as she met his. There didn't seem to be too much love lost for the man.

"So you wised up and broke things off?"

"No, he discovered a new muse who wasn't as 'intimidating' and I found myself grateful for that bolt dodged."

"The man was boring and an idiot, then. Have to be to break things off with you," Alistair joked with a wry grin stretching his cheeks. Lanny paused, her eyes blinking. She stretched up, about to call him on it, but instead she shook her head and slipped back down. It wasn't worth it.

"Now I'm regretting even telling you of his existence," she chose instead, but there was no malice in her words, only a world weary exhaustion. "What about you? How is your wife?"

Alistair scrunched up his face at the mention of his own baggage. No, that was a mean way to think of her. She was more like a millstone Eamon knotted around his neck. If he even thought of slipping away from her, the noose would tighten more dragging him into the mud. "Alive, I assume."

"Come now, I had the opportunity to meet her a few times. She seemed very nice."

"That's just it, that's all there is. Nice in the morning, nice when stepping in dog shit, even nice after catching me ankle deep in the throne's seat with barking dogs all around. It's not normal. I keep waiting for her to crack and scream murder through the halls, but no matter what I do she blinks those squiggy green eyes and smiles like a Tranquil. One day I'm gonna yank on a candle sconce and discover her secret chamber where she bathes in virgin blood or something."

Lanny's warm hand landed upon his and she sighed, shaking her head. So maybe the queen didn't go in for ritual sacrifice, probably didn't, that would make her interesting. "She was your best option, after all."

"Right, best..." he twisted away. It took years for them to reach this point without any pain ringing through their words. Even still, he couldn't fully hide away his regret. It was a dumb choice then, and it was still one now even if there was no other option. "No little princes or princess' yet, though."

"I...I'm sorry."

"The waving I can handle, no problem. Parading up and down the streets shaking babies and kissing hands. I've even figured out which fork to use when eating," he paused from Lanny's wrinkled nose about his still abject failures in dining, "but I can't do that whole siring thing. Well, not again." Lanny hadn't told him much about her run-in with Morrigan beyond it being complicated and that she had a son. He had a son, except he didn't. It was doubtful Morrigan would even tell the kid he had a father - maybe she'd convince him he was born of a dragon. Though, given the grandmother that might be true. Another bastard brought into the world with a royal father doing his damnedest to ignore it all. It bit into Alistair's soul if he stopped to think about how he was following in Marric's footsteps, so he did his best to never try.

"Right now, Eamon and the queen are looking for an acceptable substitute. It's a tiny bit strange to walk in on the look alike tryouts and have copies of your face staring guiltily up at you. Ferelden has more blondes than seems normal. Maybe it's something in the water." He banged his toes against the ground savoring the twang as the pain ratcheted up his leg. It seemed like something he deserved.

"Ali," her soft voice broke through his funk and pulled him towards her, "you're worth more than...your uh--"

"Baby batter?"

"Maker's breath, you're terrible," she snickered shaking her head and trying to bury a laugh.

Stretching his back out across the cold roof, Alistair notched his hands behind his head and gazed up at the stars. "Too bad there's not another bastard of Marric's out there to step up to the plate and get that job done. I mean, maybe there is, given my own ignominious creation. That'd solve a lot of this mess."

"Or," Lana joined him in laying back upon the roof, her body so close her elbow almost knocked into his chest. "Perhaps your father cared for your mother, more than anyone ever realized. It can happen."

He twisted up on his side to look over at her. The edge of her eyes flitted over but she remained facing the stars. "Lanny. Sweet, kind Lanny. Always hoping to find the best in people."

"You make me sound like a naive school girl. I can be as cynical as the next person."

"Oh, sure, right. _Hello mister elf assassin that just tried to kill us. I'm going to give you another chance to aid us and hope you don't try and kill us again_."

"It worked, didn't it? Zevran was vital during the blight," she stuck up for the elf.

" _Hello mister drunk dwarf that vomited on my shoes and whose wife nearly killed us. I'm going to let you join us and hope you don't piss all over the food._ "

"Oghren's not so... all right, that one's still biting me in the ass."

" _Hello giant rock statue that keeps calling me it and loves to talk about skull crushing, will you be my friend?_ "

"Fine, fine," she sat up on her elbows glowering at the rooftops across from them, "so I'm a complete pushover. You've called me out."

"What? No, not a pushover. I've watched you push over people, right off cliffs. Took everything in me to not wet myself," Alistair sat up to join her, but she glared down off the edge upon those ant-people who'd scattered back to their mounds. From the grit in her teeth he realized he struck a nerve he didn't know was there. "You're an optimist, you put your faith in people and then they've got faith invested back in you like some kind of faith scheme which now sounds like I'm describing the chantry. Lanny, I, you're something else."

She lifted up her bloodied hands and gazed through them. The only woman to have ended a blight and survived, the first mage Arlessa in ages counting. Twisting back to him, an ornery grin rose, "No kidding."

"Ha, I'm not the only one who knows it. You wouldn't believe how many damn marriage proposals I get."

"You'd think the gentry would already know you're married."

Alistair scrunched his nose up and shook his head from her taunt. "It's too cold for me to keep up with your wit."

"Maybe you should burn those proposals for warmth then."

"What makes you think I don't? Keeps the palace nice and toasty year round." He wasn't kidding either. After his own marriage status was solved, hundreds of men and some women hoping to get in on an open spot to rise to the status of Arl flooded his desk. They were all superfluous claptrap from little more than charlatans who weren't fit to be in the same room as the Hero of Ferelden much less marry her. All save one, but that came with its own one thousand problems and he'd never drawn up the courage to tell her.

"Why do they bother me?" she asked aloud, her voice whisper soft.

"Because they think 'Ooh, I'm gonna get me some of that tasty tasty power everyone keeps going on about.'" Alistair sagged, aware of what she really meant. "We want to live up to what they want but we can't, no matter how hard we try."

"I am meant to be a grey warden," she said, but there was less conviction as of late, her own eyes dancing around the edges.

"So was I, but now my ass is polishing thrones and I've got to fit a crown on my fat head," he glanced around the rooftops of his city in his country. Maker, what kind of sick joke was He playing at to give him an entire country? Alistair could barely be trusted with a spoon. "It's nice having you here, seeing you again and all."

"I come to Denerim often enough," Lana shook her head. "In fact, I was here less than a fortnight ago."

"No, that was Solona Amell, Warden Commander and terrifying scary lady who'll bite your head off if she doesn't get her way. Or maybe it was the Arlessa who's the same but slightly nicer about it. I forget what business you were on." She snickered from his summation but didn't argue. Alistair nudged his shoulder into hers. "I missed Lanny, it seems like she shows up less and less."

"I miss being her as well, and having Ali around," Lana smiled _that_ smile, the twist of her lips that could knot his own innards into pretty little bows. When she first beamed it upon him he knew he was a goner. Six years and nothing had changed. "King Alistair is a bit too formal at times."

"Me? Formal? The man who dropped pudding onto the Antivan diplomat's head?" Alistair raised his voice and pointed at his chest in shock.

"All right, not formal formal, but you know what I am driving upon. You...we're not us, we're the other us."

"I hate other me," Alistair grumbled in play. "He's so smug with his fancier shoes, and better hair cut, and thinking to wear a cloak outside instead of freezing to death on the roofs."

Sighing, Lana skirted her fingers across his arm, pushing more warmth through his body. "You could have just asked."

Before she pulled her magic away, Alistair snagged her hand which drew her curious eyes upon him. "Lanny, I know you're wardening as best as you can, and doing an amazing job at it. But, if things ever get tough, go bad, get dark, you could always come here for awhile. Become an arcane adviser. That's a thing mages do in other countries. Advise people on how to avoid magic, which shouldn't be that hard when they're not mages themselves, or sit in a high tower and do evil things with crystals, I think."

Her eyes darted across his face. He'd offered it to her numerous times over the years and she'd always turned him down, but for the first time she looked prepared to accept. Then she folded up his hand in hers and pressed it back to his chest. "I don't think that's wise."

"You could call it a vacation. An extended one, where you don't move around much or get to see any pretty sights. Unless the stables counts as scenery. I...think about it anyway. Put it in your maybe pile, which is probably stacked to the moon. In the mean time, I'm thinking we should move this party indoors. I know a great way to sneak into my place and the kitchen staff always leave a pie or two out for me."

"In the middle of the night?" she scoffed.

Alistair shrugged, "If you're gonna be king might as well hold out for a few perks."

Wiping off her legs from the dust, Lanny rose up. She extended a hand to him, and with less grace than her, he staggered up to his feet. "I wish I could, but I'm afraid I need to be off by dawn's light. I'm taking a ship from the harbor to the Free Marches."

That caught his attention and Alistair whipped his head to her. "The Free Marches? Maker's Breath, don't tell me you're heading to Kirkwall?!"

She blinked from the change in him, all flippancy replaced by a frigid terror. "I, why? What does it matter where I intend to set port?"

"Well, on top of them going all lawless after the qunari went a'converting with disembowling, I've been hearing things about their Knight Commander that'd curl a dwarf's beard. Their whole templar order are stuffing elfroot in their ears bonkers."

"What things?" her arms folded tight across her chest, that terrifying warden commander slipping out. "How are you hearing of these?" Lanny's eyes pierced through him, and he forgot to wipe away the guilt across his face. "Andraste's ass, Alistair, are you involved with the mage underground?"

He extended his hand and pinched his thumb and forefinger close together. "A tiny bit."

"For all the...do you have any idea what that could do to Ferelden if the templars found out? If the chantry? What it would reflect back upon the circle if...?" her anger broke and she sagged, an exhaustion crawling up her arms. "Of course you would help them. Even if you accomplish it in the most bone headed way imaginable you have to do what's right."

"I'm not certain if I should be proud or insulted," he said.

"I'm not either," Lanny sighed, wiping at her eyes. "Regardless of the troubles in Kirkwall, I'm a grey warden and long past my harrowing. What could they do to me?"

"Lanny, please, I..." he stomped his feet in the ground to try and bring warmth back to his prickling toes and also find the courage. "The things I'm hearing, the templars are breaking chantry law left, right, sideways. They're turning mages tranquil who survived the whole demon in the head thing for reasons as pitiful as sending love letters. Accusing people of blood magic for any excuse to cut them down. If they..."

Alistair caught both her hands in his, holding the warmth tight in his grip as if he intended to read her palm. He couldn't face her as he peeled back upon the lead shield he kept in place. She told him to stop worrying about her after he'd let her go, but Maker, he swore to do whatever she asked of him but he couldn't do that. "If they caught you, thought they could get away with it, and...and branded you, I..."

"It's all right, Ali," her fingers turned over in his hands and held them tight. "My business is in Ostwick. I have to check in upon a research proposal that's gone dark. The whole order has... I hope it's only darkspawn keeping them busy. I will keep away from Kirkwall unless necessary."

It was foolish beyond measure for him to worry. She regularly fought Maker only knew and things even beyond Him regularly without Alistair's knowledge. But the idea of the templars ripping away the shred of Lanny that made her who she was kicked up a hornet's nest in his heart. Here in Ferelden he could protect her, the chantry kept away for good measure, knew better, but out there... Out where the Grand Cleric turned a blind eye to the blasted templars breaking their own damn laws, he was as toothless as a worm.

Lanny pulled her hands away and dug into the knots along her shoulder, "I should return to my room. Try and catch some semblance of sleep before the voyage."

"Right, sleep's good. Oh and I may have slipped your dog a few bites of our dinner. Just a couple...five or so."

"Maker," she moaned tipping her head back. "Don't think I don't know you did that on purpose. You know what kind of smells he'll make through the night." Her anger slipped away like foam on the sea and she smiled, "It was good seeing you again, Ali."

"You too, Lanny. And promise me that, just tell me you'll come back again...you know, next year."

"Of course I will, it's tradition."

## Chapter Two

**Memorial**

_9:44 Skyhold_

Peaceful. Someone went to an awful lot of trouble to make this green section away from the swords, the politics, the piles of horse shit, and the manure from their mounts peaceful. Alistair hadn't been to a lot of gardens in his time. Sure, there were the ones in whatever palace Celene pretended to have a conversation with him in. Referring to herself in the plural gave him a headache. He kept having to pinch himself to keep from asking if there was another empress hiding under her dress.

Those were manicured within an inch of their life. If a blade of grass dared to rise above a half an inch, chevaliers would swoop down from the rafters and slice it back in line while calling for its families dishonor. Here there was a rhythm to the plants but no pattern, if that made any sense. It pulsed with a gentle kneading across the brain, not picturesque or orderly but calming and peaceful. He would have enjoyed spending time in Skyhold's garden if it weren't for the shrine near the gazebo.

Bending down, Alistair ran his fingers across the tiny blue flowers vining up the plaque. Brass, very elegant and recently shined up too. It was screwed in below a tasteful relief of a faceless woman with droopy sleeves that'd catch in the wind if ever used in a fight as she squared off against a nameless foe. The relief felt very generic save the pouf of hair around the head. That was her two-hundred and ten percent. She would wind it up in braids or those rows along the side of the head for battle, but when her life took a breath Lanny'd let it out. He'd spot the ebony hair bursting over the back and sides of the chair while she was deep into a book from across the room. A pain stirred in his soul and he bit back on the guilty fear that he'd never see it again. No, the shrine was lovely all save the damn plaque.

"I was informed the king of Ferelden was in Skyhold, but could scarcely believe it."

He didn't turn around to face the owner of that sweet Orlesian accent, he didn't have to. "Never expected you'd to be here either. Or are you going over the books and inspecting the furnishings before you take over?" Now he turned back to find Divine Victoria standing behind him, only her porcelain face visible in that sea of hat most holy. "Check the doorknobs. There's a real market for used screws, so people'll nick half out of every faceplate and no one's the wiser."

Leliana blinked from his suggestion, then she turned back to her two guards and waved them off. They grumbled, neither of them happy about leaving their Divine in the presence of what had to be a mad man raving about doorknobs, but they weren't about to disobey either.

Alistair saluted to them then turned back to the shrine. He ran his finger over the plaque once more, the name etched deep in a solid script. "Solona Amell," he said. There was some more about her being the Hero and sacrificing herself for the world, but that wasn't the part that concerned him.

"It was her given name," Leliana said.

Staggering to his knees, which felt more like work with every passing year, Alistair rose to eye up the Spymaster turned Most Holy. "She hated it, which you knew."

"Perhaps..." Despite being in the pristine white robes of the chantry, the Divine plummeted her own knee into the grass and dropped a few white flowers before the shrine. As she turned them in place, he recognized the petals as andraste's grace. "Perhaps I was hoping it would give cause." Leliana leaned back to rise, with Alistair offering his hand to steady her. "Something to encourage her to...it is foolish. And you have not answered my question."

"I had business with someone here, your Most Hatness," he said sliding back on his heels.

Leliana's crystal eyes cut through him like he was made of cheese, which given his diet was a distinct possibility. "The Inquisitor is not in the... mood to accept visitors at this time."

She was being kind to the man who nearly launched all of southern thedas into a war with the Qunari, then had his hand chopped off, then gave up his Inquisition to the chantry. There were probably a few more thens in there, but Alistair only got the bare minimum from a few of his aides as he ran out the door. He had other problems to solve.

"You think I'm here to enact justice against him because his horned friends interrupted a delightful party my wife was hosting?" Alistair asked.

Her eyes darted down his chosen plebeian wardrobe. Not that the fancy Ferelden armor wasn't a real winner at court and could blind a man at twenty paces, but it also put a big "here's a king" sign on whoever wore it. He'd managed to scrounge together just enough to keep himself decent, warm, and practically incognito. The blue worked lovely with his coloring.

"The Exalted Council has disbanded, a decision made," the Divine's bite shone through in her few words.

"Is it one you agree with?" he asked folding his arms up.

Leliana pursed her lips and she glanced around the gardens to size up the listening ears. Skyhold seemed emptier than the last time he was here, but that was just before a big battle and he hadn't seen much as the advisers tried to throw him out on his rear, the biggest one grumbling for his blood. "There are trying times ahead," she said diplomatically which only caused Alistair to snort.

"When aren't there? In the past ten years it's been blight, civil war, darkspawn attacks, civil war again, mage rebellions, ancient evil magister who wants to be a god, then qunari invasion."

"Nearly qunari invasion. We stopped it," Leliana said, unable to separate herself from her Inquisition.

"I'll be certain to send you an embossed thank you note for it. Are flowers in this year for stationary? No, I'm not here for your Inquisitor, if that's your concern. It's not about the Winter Palace, the Exalted Council, the Qun thinking we'd all look good with horns, or...that other thing we're not supposed to talk about."

The Divine's lips pursed like she'd gnawed into a ginger root from his inelegant way around that thing only the highest of the high knew about. Alistair suspected he was only told because Lanny would have wanted him to know, wanted Ferelden to prepare. She was Leliana's weak spot, but she was his too.

"If it is for none of those reasons, then who are you here for?"

Right on cue, a mabari's bark echoed through the holy ground. A few angry scholars glared up from their studies at the interruption, but the scowls slipped away as they spotted the Commander of their little camp petting the offending dog's head. He looked even more determined than when Alistair left him, which seemed to defy some laws of nature. If he scowled any deeper, his lips would recede into his mouth and never be seen again.

"This would be who I'm waiting for," Alistair said turning away from Leliana.

Whistling for the dog to follow, Cullen stepped towards them. "Most Holy," he said tipping his head in subjugation to her.

"Commander...?" she had a question at the end of her greeting as she didn't but almost tipped her head at Alistair.

"It is difficult to explain."

"We're off on a little adventure," Alistair interrupted, a cheeky grin stretching his face. "Assuming you got permission, of course." Cullen nodded as he scratched at the back of his head, regret already palpable. This was going to go swimmingly.

The Divine blinked, shock twisting up her face. They'd completely obliterated her tight control of the game. "You...and," she pointed at the scowling templar. "Together? Traveling? Are you certain?" Leliana whispered the last part at Cullen who only sighed and shook his head.

"Come now," Alistair batted away their concerns, "we had fun adventuring together once."

"Yes, I suppose so," Leliana said, her posture tightening as she gazed up and down at Alistair. Her little spy brain was trying to dig into him to figure out why he was here and what he had planned. But Alistair learned how to combat that tricky mind of hers by playing the complete idiot. He waved at her and shrugged, giving away nothing. Shaking her head in defeat, she leaned towards Cullen, "Do not trust him with a map, and for the love of the Maker, never let him make stew."

"Understood," the templar said, nodding as if her advice was sacrosanct law.

"Hey! That stew was good. Not bad. Survivable, anyway. No one died from it."

"Commander," the Divine placed a hand along his now armor-less forearm. "Are you certain that this is a wise course?"

"I..." Cullen glanced up and his eyes dug into Alistair trying to find his weaknesses. "I must do this, Your Perfection."

"Then I wish you all the luck in thedas," Leliana said. Her vision drifted down to that little shrine, "and I hope you find her." Both men snapped up at the Divine driving right at what brought them together, but she slipped away towards her guards and whatever needed to be done in the great hall.

"That woman will never stop scaring the piss out of me," Alistair said. "And I once thought she was harmless. Mostly harmless. So...you're here, you asked the big boss if you can go, I'm guessing."

"I did," Cullen said. The templar watched Leliana's wake while his pet dog chewed away at the grass.

"Good, good," Alistair nodded his head. "Do we need to make it official with some bloody handshake or are we fine to set out as is?"

The templar breathed quickly and his voice dropped to a stern timber that made Alistair's legs lock. "Tell me honestly, is this the truth of it? You have Lana's phylactery and it...it is operational? This is not some ploy or, Maker save me, a foolish dream beyond sanity?"

Sighing, Alistair slipped around the leather satchel dangling near his hip. He had to shove aside a few extra tunics and socks to pull out the bottle. It still pulsed a red, even more haunting in the shade of the leafy trees. "You can hate me, fine. That's normal. If I worried about everyone who wanted me dead I'd never... Look, I want Lanny back as much as you do." Cullen snorted at that and folded his arms. "99.999% as much, whatever. Point is, this is real. I didn't do anything to it. No one's touched it in...in years. So, if you believe in her, then believe in this."

The templar broke from his guarded stance and for a moment he reached for the phylactery, only a glance of his finger tracing against the bottle. He had to feel it, the call from her blood echoing across all of thedas. He probably felt it better than what Alistair could get, and just having it near his skin made his heart skip a beat, his head swim like he'd hung upside down too long. It was her, she was somewhere, somewhere reachable and they could bring her back.

Cullen shifted his jaw around a few times like he was grinding apart gravel, then he nodded. "I'm in. What do we do first?"

"We're heading to the Waking Sea," Alistair said as he slipped the phylactery into his safe place. "I know a person who can borrow us a ship as long as we promise to wipe our feet."

The templar sighed again, either unhappy with the idea of a sea voyage or coming to terms with this affair. He ruffled his dog's head, then nodded again. "Very well. I have taken care of my duties as best I could, and I am ready to head out now."

"Really? That quick?" Alistair expected it to take a few days of him doing soldiery things and barking orders in the rain.

"I would prefer to not wait," Cullen said.

"Okay," he shrugged. "I brought a couple horses to help us get down the mountain..." Alistair said as he stepped out of the gardens, but Cullen didn't follow.

The templar paused at the shrine to Lanny. Gently kissing two fingers, he touched them to the relief's face and a whisper of a prayer fell from his lips.

_Great, like this wasn't awkward enough already_ , Alistair thought as he waited for the man to catch up. They still had a lot of thedas to travel around. Here's hoping they'd make it to her without killing each other first.

## Chapter Three

**Siren's Echo**

_9:44 Jader_

Cullen clung tight to Honor's collar both of their eyes widening from the sights and sounds of the port in Jader. Honor's was more so due to the pile of fish carcasses barely inland off the dock, which he'd rather she not roll in. The mabari kept trying to use her beg and whine maneuver to convince him it was a wise idea she envelope her fur in rotting fish scent, but it wasn't taking against his iron will. It had been a trying week traveling up the western side of the frostbacks with the king of Ferelden. He was more talkative than Cullen thought possible, at times striking up a conversation with the mabari because the other human had no intentions of joining in.

Gulls screamed out of reach of the dockworkers aiming to smack them away with poles. When not whacking into the flying vermin, scattering white feathers across the choppy waves, the poles would knock into the bow of a ship to help guide it onto the docks. Nearly ten years in Kirkwall and being near the sea made Cullen's skin itch. Some people took to the water well, barely noticing the stomach churning swells and dips of the waves. He was not so lucky.

Whatever the king's plan was here, he hadn't felt the need to elucidate it beyond the occasional grunt. Leliana's warning bubbled through Cullen's mind each time the man would stop, point in a random direction, and insist they were on the right track. At least north was easy enough to find as they chased the last blush of summer, fall already twisting up the trees in Skyhold and...

He didn't think it would be easy to leave his old life, but it surprised him how not difficult it was. Cullen never considered himself invulnerable and kept his lieutenants tight enough in the loop they picked up the slack immediately. Only a few shot a questioning glance at their commander's sudden need to trek across the continent, but none voiced it. They trusted him. It was the Inquisitor he was uncertain about.

After knocking softly on the Inquisitor's door, Cullen questioned the madness of this plan. He knew nothing of king Alistair beyond a few whispers, rumors elucidated courtesy of Josephine, and a wrath he never thought Lana capable of. For all the man knew, the king was pulling an elaborate prank just because he could. Cullen was about to give up on the entire idea when the Inquisitor invited him inside to his study.

He looked better, thank the Maker. No one wanted to voice their greatest fear of what to do if the Herald fell, if they couldn't solve the anchor's attack and find a way to slow it. He and the Inquisitor never were close by any stretch, but Cullen respected him. For coming from an insular dalish clan, he navigated the shark infested waters better than any noble born could and that deserved accolades all on their own. And now, on the brink of almost losing everything, a grey pallor roamed the Inquisitor's face. It settled in after the qunari invasion began and hadn't lifted yet.

"Ah, Commander," he shifted in his seat at the desk, his fingers splayed out against parchment while his elbow rested upon the pile. "I heard the Divine followed our caravan and will be assisting with any matters in the transfer of power."

"That, uh, that isn't what I've come about." Cullen swallowed through his scratchy throat, struggling to piece together what he needed without revealing why. Despite not seeing eye to eye on some policies throughout their long campaign this was the only matter where they nearly came to a shouting match.

The Inquisitor placed down his quill and sat back in the chair. He'd taken to growing his hair out in the interim years, the strands falling like black curtains to shroud his face. Those cold grey eyes rarely lifted in mirth now and while Cullen knew there could be a dozen good reasons, he suspected that the real one was traveling back to Tevinter permanently. "What is it?" the elf asked. He moved to fold his arms together, but paused as the stump jostled against his forearm.

"I..." Cullen steadied himself and began again, "I would like to request a leave of absence."

"To see your family, of course. Once things are settled here, you can..."

"No, Sir. It would need to be now."

That caught the Inquisitor. The pallor slipped away, and his eyebrows twisted together in thought. "Now? For what purpose?"

"That is a...it is for personal reasons, but the matter must be solved quickly or the window could be lost," Cullen lied. Probably lied. He had no idea if there was an urgency beyond the one driving through his heart needing answers before he lost his tenuous grip.

"I see." The Inquisitor fell back upon his old idiom when he was surveying information. That 'I see' could humble the most powerful of nobility across southern thedas. Despite the pain, he staggered to his feet. He'd been on a strong dose of healing draughts since Solas took his arm and for good reason. Amputation could haunt a person long after the first shock subsided. Cullen tried to stop him, or help him, but he waved off both attempts as he stretched to the windows. Craning his head back, the Inquisitor watched the ribbon of green where the sky was forever scarred, where he saved the world. "Would this have anything to do with the king of Ferelden wandering around the hold?"

"Uh," Cullen knocked his shoe into the leg of the desk, the toe following its indentation. "Yes."

"You've done more for the Inquisition than anyone could have asked. Served faithfully beyond what was requested of you at the outset," the Inquisitor turned away from his vigil over the sky. His grey eyes burned with a longing that struck back at Cullen. He wasn't only in mourning for the loss of his arm. "Take whatever leave you require, Commander. I'm certain you can handle finding replacements to fill in for you, though Josephine would be willing to... No, she is going as well."

"I am uncertain how long it would take, but..." Cullen's sentence fell off. But what? If this succeeded, if they found Lana, then what? Would he return? Would she even want to? She had no place here. He dared not entertain the more obvious outcome to this trip. Cullen was running on a single strand of faith, but he'd cling to it for as long as was possible.

The Inquisitor nodded his head as he shuffled to his mantle. Someone thought to place one of the halla statues from the Winter Palace upon it, someone who'd been at the dance and perhaps thought himself above Orlesian law. His fingers caressed the back of the halla following the smooth divot of the spine. "Take whatever time you need. The Inquisition is...will remain as long as it is necessary."

"Thank you," Cullen said. He bowed deep, deeper than he did to the Empress, to the Exalted Council. After everything the Inquisitor suffered without anyone caring, he deserved it.

With his back still turned, the Inquisitor spoke up, "I know we had our disagreements about it, but..." Now he turned fully, his grey eyes brimming in the weak candle light, "I hope you find what you are looking for and that I was wrong."

The raw words struck Cullen. While the Inquisitor was not without passion, he kept it shielded away save for the rarest of moments. "I...pray so as well."

"Prayer is good, too. Love is worth praying for."

With the blessing of the Inquisitor, the advice of the Divine, and a satchel stuffed with a few changes of clothes as well as some personal possessions, Cullen followed the king of Ferelden to the foulest smelling port in all of thedas. The docks in Kirkwall reeked of baking fish from the moment the sun rose until it set, allowing the night chill to waft the scent of feces through the salt strewn air. But Jader was something else. Perhaps it was the Orlesian way, but rather than have a blocked off area devoted for the fish waiting to be hauled off to market, they let them pile up beside each dock. Animals hunted through the free offerings, hoping to sneak away with dinner if they were quick enough. The howls of cats echoed above the creaking of ships, their eyes hungrily weighing to see how quickly they could slip one over on the incompetent humans.

And of course there was the noise. Cullen went from the peace of the farm known for stretches of quiet punctuated by a squealing or braying animal, to the solemnity of the chantry. His first few weeks in the circle tower proper, he feared he'd go deaf from the voices of mages shouting down stairs, shouting up stairs, screaming around corners, or just generally yelling for attention. The stones of the tower amplified the voices tenfold building upon his headache. Overtime, he learned to adjust to the exuberant apprentices, and also found leaving the helmet off helped greatly. He preferred the quiet when he could find it, yet could live with a few excited screams from time to time. But being upon a dock was like thrusting his head inside a metal drum, giving children a mallet, and letting them have a go at it.

Every manor of race in thedas screamed from one end to the other. Elves scattered about five to a single human, most chattering in a quick code Cullen couldn't track. The dwarven gruff bass line rumbled through the wooden dock rocking below his feet, while the handful of Qunari said nothing, though they continued to drop freight from terrifying heights. All he needed to add to this mess was...

Honor hopped up to her feet and barked deep in that barrel chest.

That. Cullen massaged his head, and in the process lost his grip upon her collar, but the dog wasn't headed towards the pile of fish. She'd spotted her newest friend skirting through the throngs finally returning to them. The king didn't explain beyond gesturing to the waves and saying he had to find someone. Cullen might have felt put out at being dumped by the side like garbage, but honestly it kept him away from the man for a few blissful hours. Now he was returning. Staggering to his feet, Cullen checked his scabbard instinctively and chased after Honor.

Parting the dock workers, most of whom decided shirts were optional, Cullen spotted Alistair fully bent over as both of his hands clawed up and down Honor's belly. Her leg paddled the air and her tongue lolled out as she slipped into dog euphoria. "You're going to spoil her," Cullen shouted to be heard over the throngs.

"Nah," the king waved away his concern, then his voice switched to the talking to babies and/or cute animals timbre, "they just need some love. And treats. And fetch. Love, treats, and fetch. And some bandits to bite into."

Honor rolled to her feet at the mention of bandits and woofed once, her posture ready for orders. Clicking his teeth twice, Cullen gave the release command and she slipped back to happy - a state which never seemed to be far from the dog or the king of Ferelden.

"Sorry that took so long," Alistair said, smoothing dog slobber through his hair. "Who knew there were so many ships?"

"On a port in Jader to the waking sea. It is truly astounding," Cullen tried to not sigh as he fell in behind the king.

"Point being, I found my friend and we're good to go. Her ship's just past the second to the left, or is that port? Sternum? Eh, over there somewhere. And...ah, here she is." Alistair paused in his recitation of what little he knew of maritime terminology and waved his hand furiously in the air. "Captain!"

Cullen spotted the hat first, massive and crimson as spilled blood with a white feather longer than his arm plucked in the brim. As it turned around, so did the familiar brown and salt crusted face of a woman who nearly set all of Kirkwall on fire. "Maker's breath, of course..." he sighed.

Isabela smiled, her white teeth glinting brighter juxtaposed against her sun burnt cheeks. "That's Admiral now, remember. I didn't take on that armada for the fun of it. Mostly not for the fun of it."

Alistair held his hand out to her and she shook it. "This is..."

"I know who it is," Cullen interrupted. "She was the one who had the tome of Koslun."

"I didn't have-have it. Damn thing didn't surface for years," Isabela interrupted.

"And that makes all the difference in thedas," Cullen gritted, his heart sinking. He'd seen Isabela in passing, usually on the Champion's arm or at least in her wake. They were often in Hightown attempting to buy hats together but somehow never succeeding. It became an odd running joke in Kirkwall to spot the pair dipping into every chapeau shop and never purchasing an item. A joke so popular even the shut in Knight-Captain heard it.

The pirate queen folded her arms tight against her dingy corset and she eyed up Cullen then turned to the king. "Well, wasn't expecting the grumpy one to show. From mage to templar, you sure do keep strange friends, Ali."

"Mage?" Cullen interjected, struggling to keep up with this man's jaded history. "I am no longer a templar."

"Don't worry about it," Alistair cut in to the rescue. "He's fine. No chantry involved. Right?"

"Andraste's tears, how would I get the chantry involved? Why would they even...?" Cullen stomped around the dock struggling to find sense where none existed. "I am sorry for being curt, and grumpy," he sighed. This anger had left him. It took work and time, but he'd discovered a peace in the light to the point people would remark upon his quieter nature. No one knew about his turns still taken in the dark when nightmares and his own jaded heart turned against him. Still, it was no reason to turn upon the woman they needed for help.

Nodding once at him, Isabela gestured in the direction of her ship, "She's off this way. A beauty too. Fastest ship in the Waking Sea."

"Second fastest last I heard," Alistair spoke up as they followed the Admiral past the same repeat of boats with their sails trussed up like roasts. Not for the first time, Cullen felt woefully ill prepared. He hated sailing, knew next to nothing about it, and on occasion grew queasy upon the waves. His only saving grace was he knew how to swim and was rather accomplished at it.

Isabela spun to face them but kept walking backwards, dockworkers scattering out of her wake. Her eyes glittered in the same kind of mischief Cullen came to expect from Sera over the years. "It's not the second fastest any longer, I made certain of that."

"You do keep busy," the king remarked shaking his head.

"There she is," pride beamed in every word as the Admiral paused to wave her bangled arms wide, "The Siren's Echo."

It was a ship. Very beautiful as far as ships went, probably - with three masts in the middle, crimson sails dangling limply off the sides in wait to raise up for action. Men, bronzed and burnt across their backs and foreheads, as well as women in slightly more clothing shuffled along the deck. Most were working, but a few had curled up on the wet wood to rattle dice around in a cup. Cullen may not know a thing about ships, but he knew criminals when he saw them. There was no uniform to the outfits scattered across the crew, no seals of port authorities upon the crates stacking the deck, and the flag stretched in the sea air bore no loyalty beyond that to its owner. He froze on the gangplank, Honor coming to a stop beside her master, while Isabela and the king continued on. Either sensing he was alone, or having enough sense to check, Alistair turned back and waved at Cullen to get over beside them.

"You need to get on ships in order to take them," he explained, but Cullen locked his feet in. "Give me a moment, I think someone's not used to this whole traveling by sea thing." Isabela nodded, off to talk to her crew or whatever it was she did before embarking, while Alistair slipped a foot on top of the railing and leaned over to glare at Cullen. "What are you doing? Not the best time to get cold feet."

"These are..." Cullen dropped his voice to a whisper, "they're pirates."

"I think they know they're pirates. You're not catching them off guard."

"By all that is holy, why are we traveling with pirates? Why are _you_ traveling with pirates? Why do you even know pirates?" Cullen tried to keep his voice steady, but it rose in volume with each sentence drawing some attention from said sea mauraders.

"Isabela's trustworthy. She's had my back before. She's obviously worked with the Champion, you seem to be aware of that," Alistair leaned across the gap towards the dock. Whatever the man knew of Isabela's involvement in the qunari attack must either have been told to him second hand by her or he was too dumb to understand the severity of her fault. The king twisted his head to the side then smiled at a pair of pirates sharpening their blades with a hunk of coral.

"You are a king," Cullen said, fearing the man may be unaware of that fact. "Ferelden must have some ships at her disposal. Why are you not using a royal convoy?"

"Oh, that'd go over well. Hey, Tevinter, sorry to bother you, just have to slip past your borders to try and take care of some business. What's that? You're wondering what Ferelden wants here? Much less why a king would bother to come all the way? No, no, not an invasion or declaration of war or anything you should worry your pointy hats about. Just a little quick deal, I need to grab something and I'll be off. You'll barely even notice me," he beamed his impish grin after his little speech, then shook his head at the idiocy. "I go in blaring horns, screaming diplomatic immunity and no one's getting into the Anderfells. Or worse, those magisters learn what I'm after, learn that there might be an easier way into the fade or whatever's brought her back to us and we could have another Corypheus on our hands."

Andraste's flames, he was right. Sneaking in undercover with no one the wiser of what they planned until they succeeded was the wisest course of action. "It seems that crown hasn't cut off all the blood flow to your head," Cullen admitted.

"I get lucky from time to time," Alistair shook off the backhanded compliment without any trace of pain. "Look, I know pirates bad, scary, aargh! But this is the only way to get to her. Taking the mountain path in winter is a big fat no go with corpse-cicles on top."

"You expect me to trust this woman and her cutthroat crew? To risk my own neck upon the ship?" Cullen found his fingers slipping along the grip of his sword.

The king's head flopped forward, his nose burying into his chest as he steadied himself upon the railing. "I'd really rather not pry into your personal business because avoiding any screaming nightmares is preferable to the opposite option, but I'm guessing Lanny never went into much of her past with you."

Cullen reared up, indignant that the man would even inquire about Lana, "That is none of your..."

"Yeah, business. Got it. My point is, I wouldn't even know Isabela if it weren't for Lanny. She trusted her, so I trust her. I guess the question is do you trust Lanny."

_Lana knew her?_ She knew a pirate queen and well enough to entrust her life within Isabela's greedy grasp? How much of her past, her own life, did she keep from him? Cullen's fingers rolled across Honor's head, ruffling up her fur and massaging the back of her ears. "Go on," he gently pushed the back of her head and the mabari ran up the gangplank onto the ship. She'd been eyeing up the pirate's pile of squid carcasses the whole time.

Meeting the king's eye, Cullen asked, "May I see the phylactery?"

"Why?" Alistair reared back, for the first time showing a resistance to him.

"To...personal business," Cullen ended on. He needed to touch it, to feel it in his hands, to remind himself that there was still hope in this fool's errand.

The king tipped his head back and forth, his fingers reaching for the satchel when he paused. "You really think it's smart for me to go flashing around this shiny, priceless bottle on a pirate ship? Our only connection to finding Lanny just dangling beyond their reach?"

"The ship you insisted was safe."

"Dog's going to bite if you slap its nose," Alistair shrugged. "Look, once we're off the docks far away from any fences I'll let you fondle it to your heart's content, okay?"

Cullen growled deeper than Honor, but he acquiesced to the man's demands. "Very well. It seems I have no choice." Going against every rule obeying bone in his body, Cullen stepped onto the pirate ship.

## Chapter Four

**Proposal**

_9:44 Waking Sea_

All things considered it could have gone worse. Probably not by much, seeing as how the templar was still haranguing him about the whole pirate thing but they'd taken sail and were on their way out of Jader without anyone getting tossed overboard. Progress. Only most of thedas remained to scoot around and then it was on to the next stage of his plan. For now, Alistair just had to survive a month or so of Cullen and his cheery demeanor. No problem at all.

"What was that?" the templar called, his hands spread wide as he pinned himself between two support beams while the dog stood guard between his legs. Her stubby tail wagged for the game only she was playing.

"What was what?" Alistair asked. He hated being in the hold, but after helping his mabari down into it, the templar refused to leave. Either the man had a deep fear of water or really loved the sight of wood.

"That sound, it was a creaking or slurping as if the entire boat was about to..."

"Not one for ships, I take it," Alistair chuckled. If there was one thing he picked up on in his wetter travels, sailors of all stripes _hated_ having their ship called a boat. Hang you off a mast and lob lemons at your face kind of hate, and that was the royal navy ones. Maker only knew what pirates would do. "It's all totally normal ship stuff. It creaks, it moans, sometimes it sounds like there's a tentacle monster hiding in the water below you sawing through the planks to drag you down to the depths."

The templar tossed down his gear and glared at him. A tiny part of Alistair almost snapped into a salute from the look. It carried the same weight of centuries of the chantry, passed down from sister to ruler-wielding sister. "Forgive me if I am not ecstatic about traveling by sea."

"You'll get used to it," Alistair assured him. "Though, you're going to want to lose all that armor," he gestured at the glinting chest piece which only earned him another glower. "Fine, wear whatever you wish, but if you're caught in an undertow a body covered in metal's the last thing you want."

"I...shall think upon it," he muttered. "Does it matter which swinging bed we choose?" At Alistair's shrug, the templar slipped under a few of the higher hammocks and stopped at the one that constricted the king's throat. Of course, of all the options scattered through the hold it had to be _that_ one. The templar didn't notice hives breaking out along Alistair's arm from his bed choice. After testing the hammock's springiness, Cullen dug through his satchel to draw out a blanket for the dog. While Honor situated herself in the perfect spot, half on-half off with her back end wedged against a crate, Cullen dropped to a knee. Alistair expected him to scratch along his mabari's back or check for ticks, but instead he brought his palms together in prayer.

The awkwardness climbed to intolerable levels as the man begged for Andraste to guide them on this journey right below the hammock that... Shaking his head to blot away the memories and his own heresy, Alistair mumbled something noncommittal and skedaddled up the ladder. Throwing open the hatch, the sea air struck him first - fresh and untamed. They'd drifted far enough away from Jader the smells of humanity floated away behind leaving only nature and a few drunken pirates urinating over the sides.

Using Isabela's ship made the most sense to him. They needed to be crafty to pull this off, and if anyone was crafty it was Isabela - provided one had enough coin and could dangle the prospect of more in front of her nose. He just never expected it to dredge up all those old memories that stab into his brain like a wily assassin who came armed only with poisoned bird feathers because knives are so passé. Drifting aimlessly along the deck, where only a few of the admiral's pirates worked coiling up rope and trying to shove the excess water off the planks, Alistair found himself leaning against the port side railing. A drop of thirty feet into the black waters waited for him below, but he didn't care about that. His head was craned back staring through the clouds to find the dusting of stars hidden beneath.

"This has been an interesting day," Isabela's dulcet tones drew him away for a moment and he smiled at her. "A templar, or _not a templar_ as he kept shouting, loudly I might add. I don't mind your royal ass as long as it's paying but someone bleeding that much regs can be trouble."

"He'll be fine," Alistair waved his hand in the air dismissing Cullen.

"You seem certain of that. Which is extra interesting as you were never certain of anything, at least not anything she didn't agree with beforehand." Isabela perched upon the railing, her boots crossed at the knee as she stared into his eyes, but Alistair was peering through the stars trying to find it, trying to remember.

"The templar won't give you any grief because he's as invested in this trip as I am. Maybe more." Alistair's fingers dug into his pocket. He kept few things in them out of fear of sticky fingers and because kings rarely needed to carry money - that's what all those foot people were for. There was his worry stone anxiety-ed down to a pebble now, a couple of funny looking coins he'd picked up in his travels, pieces of broken glass he mistook for near rocks, and the portrait. That was what he dug out to fill his palm. The ink lines faded to a brown crimson while the linen itself yellowed to a tan. A few creases folded up the edges and a tear began along the middle, but he'd stopped it before it could do any real damage.

Isabela pulled down his hands to stare at the small drawing. She had to twist her head around to see it properly before she smiled, "Best one I've seen of her. Got the eyes right." He always thought they got the soul right. Isabela slipped her hand under his and she asked, "Are you sure about this? Getting you into Tevinter and through isn't going to be cheap for anybody."

"Trying to weasel more money out of me? We practically drained the coffers the last time we set out," Alistair chuckled to distract her from his pain.

"Hey, after the antivans, the witch and her dragon, and..." Isabela shuddered, "those damn ox men, I think I cut you a deal. Too bad it didn't work out the way you wanted, for either of you."

"Did she ever talk to you about...any of it?"

Isabela had taken off her hat, either in deference to the night or for fear of it falling overboard. Then again, knowing Isabela, she'd kick a few pirates into the water to rescue her hat if it was ever lost to the briny deep. The pirate queen pressed her finger to her lips and then her forehead as she stared down at the tiny portrait. "You know, Hawke I understood. She was a hero, sure, but she stumbled into it, ran from it when it suited her. Wasn't the type to judge for any reason, probably because she'd just thrown an entire piano through the window on a bet. But that one...you first see her and you expect the, you know..."

"Airs?" Alistair suggested.

"Yeah, the 'I'm so above you because I saved the entire world. What have you ever done?' Not her though. She didn't go out of her way to be one of the little people either, she just was."

"That's Lanny, she just was..." he sighed, his finger knocking against the parchment's edge. Maker, he missed her. Blinking back from the rising salt water in his eyes, Alistair sat up. "Is. She is."

"Right, is," Isabela agreed. She'd been less than convinced of his plan to find Lanny, but as long as Alistair had the coin the pirate queen would oblige. Then an opportunity rose for them both, and he couldn't disagree no matter how much danger it might put him in. Lanny would have done it.

"Well, if you're really going out on this plan then you're gonna need this back," Isabela reached behind her back and unearthed Lanny's phylactery. Its crimson light pulsed against the deck casting an unearthly glow along the deck.

"What the..." Alistair snagged it safely from her fingers and every hair in his body twisted around in the direction they weren't headed in.

"Pirates, they love stealing anything shiny and not nailed down. Sometimes things nailed down too if you're quick about it and brought a crowbar. But the second it started glowing, a few of 'em screamed about being cursed by the Maker and gave it up quick. I don't think you need to worry about them stealing it again." Isabela's finger drifted down the glass, but she didn't react to the life inside. Holding it, sometimes just being near the phylactery filled his heart with slips of Lanny. Memories would often surface when he'd be caught unaware, so powerful he'd find himself laughing at their old antics or plummeting deeper into despair from his own stupidity.

"I'd never seen one of them before," she pulled her finger away but continued to stare at the phylactery. "It's prettier than I expected. Who knew templars had an eye for art?"

"Perhaps if you ask nicely the one in the hold would be willing to paint your ship."

Isabela chuckled, her head thrown back as she stared upward, "He'd probably put 'Pirate' in giant letters to warn any port authorities. Look out, the worst of the bunch has come to steal your cargo and smuggle your goods."

"How is the lyrium trade?"

"Could be better. Things have dried up with the college and the chantry fighting over what's legal. It's all a damn mess and I'm staying out of it until I know whose side is what. You know what's big now? Tiny cakes."

"Really?" Alistair slipped the phylactery back in his satchel letting Lanny fade to a dull ache in his heart.

"Yep, seems the ox men have gone mad for the things. So crafty Vints charge triple what they pay to import. If you're willing to put up with the bullshit of the qun, you can make a tidy profit."

"You're dealing with the Qunari?" Alistair asked.

Isabela smiled wide, "Fuck no. What do you take me for? It's probably all some set up by their spies anyway and everyone involved will wake up without heads. No, I keep far away from the northern seas now. So I'm doing you a solid, if you didn't already know that."

"Thank you again. I could say it a few more times if you'd like. I have plenty of accolades to go around," Alistair held his hand wide as if he had any power while they drifted past Nevarra. He barely had any power in Ferelden when it came down to it.

"Keep your thanks until we get inside the empire, though I could do with a bit of land. Maybe be made a, what do they call them in Ferelden, Bann? Or Arl. I'd make a great Arl."

Alistair sighed, bobbing his head at the idea, "You would terrify the breeches off the gentry which would so make it worth it, but I'm afraid I can't grant that kind of power. There'd have to be a marriage or some fancy ceremony involved and..."

"Yeah, you can keep it. Sea's where I belong anyway. If it doesn't list, it isn't home." Isabela slapped him on the shoulder then leapt off the banister to land upon the deck. "Keep your chin up, kingy. And, if you want to kill some time, I've redecorated my cabin..."

He snorted at the innuendo that was subtle for Isabela, but demurred. "It wouldn't be the same without--"

"I get it," she smiled, "we'll make it there. After that, it's up to you." The pirate queen patted him on the bicep, taking a quick moment to squeeze it to see if he was still ripe, then she slipped back to her command occasionally shouting at a few of her crew to stop fucking things up.

Alistair leaned against the railing, his eyes still trying to peer through the clouds, but what few gaps he could see didn't fill him with hope. The stars were off here, this far from Ferelden he couldn't find it. But Lanny, she'd have pointed it out with her haphazard throw of the fingers and the "Oh, you didn't know it was right there? I thought everyone did." He could have fixed it, could have solved all of this years ago. Years and years before the mage's rebelled, before Corypheus popped up from history, even before Kirkwall went kablooey. All he had to do was stifle his damn jealousy streak.

Lanny'd only been Arlessa for a few months at most when the first marriage request rolled in. By a year they were a constant stream of people begging the king to consider them Arl material for the delectable port city of Amaranthine. Oh, of course they were madly in love with the Arlessa's huge tracts of land. How dare the king think otherwise. It had nothing at all to do with the bride being a warden and facing death whenever she turned around. This was true love. He'd chucked them all away, sometimes out the window after folding them into little birds. None of them were good enough, most of them would drive Lanny batty, and she'd probably enact some dark revenge on Alistair for even suggesting such a thing. All except for one.

After her debut at court a year into Arlessing, Alistair returned from a hunting trip to a foot high stack of requests for her hand. Out of ideas, he'd taken to folding them up and cutting out tiny pieces to make snowflakes. The servants all looked on, sighing but prepared to scoop away the mess when he finished. Only one man was willing to brave the king of Ferelden's wrath and ask inquire to what the void he was up to.

"What are you doing, your highness?" Teagan sighed. He'd been named Arl of Redcliffe recently, but still spent time at court to help out with the adjustment and because the new king begged him to. It was nice having Teagan around -- the man was so kind and sweet in the face of abject brutishness it was a wonder bluebirds didn't do his laundry.

"I am going to decorate the walls for Satinalis myself," Alistair said. He unfolded the last flake and held it up to the light. The attempt to describe Solona Amell as a delectable temptress radiated through the back of the scarred vellum. With his knife, Alistair stabbed that sentence out then moved on to the next request.

Teagan reached over to slide a few of the parchment pieces his way. While he read through the lot, Alistair tried dicing little hearts into his, curious to see what pattern would emerge. "These are...requests for the Hero of Ferelden?"

"Yup, all of them."

"Is she aware?" Teagan asked grabbing onto even more and trying to read through his pile before the king obliterated them to confetti.

"I dunno, probably. Maybe. Doubt she'd care one way or another. She's a bit busy," Alistair stuck out his tongue as he worked through the final knotted section and yanked it out. Unfortunately, he forgot to compensate and the entire middle of the parchment tore free leaving a gaping hole which his not-uncle peered through at him.

"I thought that the grey wardens did not marry," Teagan stated.

"Some do, or maybe they did before joining. It never mattered much in the order, wardens don't have land or other dowry things to draw attention from nobility. You denounced everything you owned once you cupped the taint," Alistair explained. He was tired of describing wardens to Eamon. Their "I probably can't have any little sires no matter how many apple cores you stuff under my pillow" discussion was particularly fun. And he was still waking up to rotting fruit under the mattress. Maker take whoever started that folksy superstition. The flies were terrible.

Teagan ran his fingers around the edge of the parchment in his hand as he thought, "Except, Lady Amell now has an entire arling to her name."

"Well..." Alistair paused in his cuts and glanced up at his uncle, "not really, it belongs to the wardens."

"But she is a recognized Arlessa. Sire, how did you see the line of succession in Amaranthine working?"

"I don't know. The wardens will figure something out. They're good at that thinking thing, Lanny in particular."

"Except the chances of the Banns agreeing to that irregular arrangement might not be feasible."

The king tossed his knife and the missives onto the desk and he turned in his chair to face the few people wandering around in the lofty study. "What are you driving at, Teagan?"

In the sharpest of tone the man was capable of, he said, "She may need to marry to maintain her power."

A groaning chuckle rattled in Alistair's throat, but it quickly grew into a hearty laugh until he clutched his sides. "Maker, that's hilarious. Great, great joke. You can't be serious. You're not serious. You want to tell Lanny she has to marry, be my guest. Hope you brought flameproof underpants."

Teagan sighed letting Alistair get through his babble before speaking again. It was one of the reasons the king loved having him around. "It need not be a true marriage. It could be in name only, for the sake of appearances."

"Yeah, I know all about those," Alistair sighed well aware of the court's machinations to get someone, anyone attached to him as fast as possible. It wasn't like he was going to die this second from the taint. "No, Lanny'd never go for it. I mean, who could you see her picking? That Bann who farts every time he stands. Or that other one that's always bringing a sack of potatoes to the Landsmeet. What is up with that anyway? I feel like I should know, but..."

"I would do it," Teagan said, his voice soft. "I am already an Arl, there would not be a danger of unbalanced power. And, I believe Lady Amell does not despise me."

"No, she bloody loves you. Says you're the only person at court she's happy to see," Alistair said, mentally adding 'including me.' "Teagan, you don't need to throw yourself onto a pile of rusty blades for Lanny. She can handle herself when it comes to nobles. Better than most of us."

"I..." the subtlest of blushes rose up Teagan's cheeks and his eyes glanced down at the floor, "I would not consider it a sacrifice on my part."

"Right, okay, everyone else out," Alistair shouted. At first the servants and others wandering through the great study only looked up. Then their king rose off his chair and clapped his hands, "I mean it, begone. Get! Whatever it is kings shout to dismiss people. We need to talk alone." Either it was the fire in his eyes or the fact he'd absently picked up his blade to twirl in his fingers, but now everyone shuffled out of the study. Alistair waited until the door clicked shut and a few more beats as hopefully the last of them slipped away to complain about him in the kitchen. He'd be eating saliva soup for dinner for certain.

Teagan peered through the closed door, those crystal blue eyes watching to see if anyone would come to his rescue. How did Alistair hear them described once? Something about star filled pools or was it a waterfall? Water was involved. Whatever it was, there was a lot of fanning hands and fake fainting in response. Second to clinching the Queenship, a lot of women sniffed around the newest Arl and for good measure too. He was a good man, he could take a joke -- maybe not as quick to give one, but at least knew how to laugh. And he had that whole chivalry thing down to an art. Practically whipped out kerchiefs to drape over puddles in his sleep.

Something dark stirred in Alistar's core as he stared through his sort-of uncle. "Give me your spiel," he said, trying to shake off the thoughts dragging out the primal section of his brain.

"My what?" Teagan blinked facing his king.

"You don't wander in here, catch me chopping up proposals, and off the cuff suddenly think 'Hey, I could get married' like you want to eat a sandwich. So, lay it out."

"I," the Arl's cheeks lit up even brighter in a blush, for the first time looking off put. Even in a chantry with the threat of walking corpses coming to drag away the last of the terrified villagers, Teagan still maintained an air of composure. But here, the man appeared as if he wished to leap off the roof to get away. "Lady Amell..."

"You can call her Lanny. I think she's said it a few dozen times, in fact."

"She is a formidable woman."

"Great opening line there. Hey, I think you're formidable, want to get married?" Alistair folded his arms across his chest, unable to stop from picking apart Teagan.

Rather than sneer or growl, the Arl only waited, his fingers worrying apart one of the marriage requests. "This is a delicate proposal I know, but it would be for her benefit. The gentry are questioning Amaranthine, especially in light of the loss of the city. Some question the fact their Arlessa isn't tied to someone else. If her line were bonded to another accepted house then, I suspect, there will be less accusations against her."

"What kind of accusations?" Alistair glowered. These were the first he'd heard.

"The kind people make against mages," Teagan answered with, either unwilling to say anything like it against Lanny or terrified it'd make Alistair snap. Blood magic. It was always blood magic. The one card the damn chantry held over her. As a grey warden she was safe, they couldn't touch her, but as an Arlessa...

Teagan continued with his speech, "She can handle herself, more than handle herself in most situations but I fear what could happen if enough turn against her."

"It doesn't have to be you," Alistair said. "You've seemed immune to marriage's charms so far. Why give in now?"

Biting into the side of his cheek, Teagan sighed, "I am aware of the precarious nature of this request given your past intentions with Lady Amell."

Intentions, was that it now? How about calling it the truth, the fact Alistair loved her. Had been enthralled with her the first moment they met and couldn't shake it since no matter how hard he tried. He'd noticed the diligence Teagan paid to the other grey warden in Redcliffe, the way they gently bantered while waiting for corpses to walk in and break up the party, but at the time Alistair shoved it aside. Maybe he felt a wee bit defensive of his charming and suave uncle, and then later pulled her up to his lake to show it off, but after awhile he shook it off. He trusted Lanny, trusted Teagan too. And they did seem to get on as friends. Whether she ever bore any interest beyond that Alistair had no idea.

"I cannot deny I have a great respect for her," Teagan said. His eyes slipped shut and he shook his head, "More than respect, it is..."

"Okay, that's uh," Alistair bounced up on his heels. His skin crawled from the way Teagan spoke of Lanny, "that's enough awkward heart wringing now. You want to do things the old royal line way, I get it, but it won't work. Sorry."

Teagan blinked rapidly and faced down the king, "What do you mean?"

"Lanny's as sterile as I am. Maybe worse with her being the whole baby growing side. There wouldn't be any chance of little arls carrying on either line." _Not that I'd ever want to even think of that happening._ The idea of Lanny and Teagan being anywhere near each other to...the darkness clawed up Alistair's throat to grip onto his brain. He needed to stop this fast. "And you really think Eamon'd be happy to have two Arling's faced with a future of no successor? He'd practically crack the earth in two from learning it."

"Oh," Teagan slipped backwards, "I did not realize that, or consider it."

"You can ask Lanny her thoughts, but the baby thing it, well..." Alistair leaned closer to Teagan and whispered, "she doesn't take it too well." Maker, he was being a right ass to Teagan, to her, to everyone but his limping ego. And yet, he couldn't stop. He let her go, gave her up so she could find someone else, and the second that threat rose he bullrushed in to stop it.

Teagan, either accepting Alistair's logic or - more likely - realizing the king wasn't about to back down, nodded his head a few more times. He apologized for wasting his time, and tried to slip out the door.

"Hey, no hard feelings," Alistair shouted to his retreating uncle.

Pausing at the door, for a moment Teagan gritted his teeth showing a strain, but it washed away and he nodded, "Of course not."

Nine years later, tossed about on the deck of a pirate ship while they slopped through the waking sea, Alistair kicked himself for being such an imbecile. If he'd been half the man he thought he was and let Teagan at least approach Lanny, propose his idea to her, then the cursed chantry wouldn't have come after her. She'd have had something beyond her flaky wardens to keep her grounded, and Alistair... He pinched himself in the thigh as he stared at the black waves pounding against the ship. If Lanny'd married Teagan he never would have taken her to Seheron, never would have slept with her and opened up all those old wounds without a second thought.

He wasn't going to let his jealous streak hurt her again, even if it meant having to put up with a pain in the ass.

## Chapter Five

**The Fade**

_?:?? ?_

The blade sliced off three of the front legs, the spider screaming as only they could in a high pitched chitter approaching a whine. Lana rolled her shoulder back and drove her staff deep through its thorax. Ichor bubbled out of the hole washing across its twitching hairs. The damn things never died easy and this was no exception as it skittered back and forth on its remaining legs, trying to spit poison in her face. But she kept her head thrown back, the spider's venom only dripping across her breastplate.

As the death throes quieted down, Lana yanked her staff out, her foot knocking the spider off the blade. It wasn't the biggest she'd killed but it was a nice enough size for the day. Placing her staff against the ruined wall, she uncorked the pride demon bladder and dumped its contents across the spider's corpse. Acid, gathered out of pools scattered across the fade, hissed as it chewed apart the creature's hair. The scent was atrocious, like vinegar poured into an open wound, but she barely smelled it anymore.

Watching the last of the acid drizzle away what hair it could, Lana closed up her homemade water skin and returned it to dangle with the others off her back. What remained of her robes hung in tatters off her shoulders, pieces scavenged out of the fade from the creatures she tore through or whatever was somehow left behind covering her now. The jet black breastplate, not metallic but made of something thicker than leather, she pried from a corpse found dangling upside down off a cliff. A red hand adorned the middle, but she could not recognize the symbol. More than likely whoever would have known it or used it was dead for ages past. At least the original owners weren't likely to stumble upon her anytime soon.

With the spider's carcass as cleared of hair as she could manage, Lana dug her foot in the dirt clearing a circle around it. With a bit of a break, she drew forth from her mana and wrapped the spider in fire. Hotter than a typical hearth, the spider's chitin cracked and knotted up from the flames licking deep inside its guts. The legs curled deeper inward as she watched it cook.

"Not a bad haul if I do say so myself."

Lana sighed. She knew he'd be near but she hoped for a reprieve. "I expected better," she answered her eyes on the flames. If she didn't control her spell, the spider would char to ash and it would all be for naught.

Jowan dropped down to a knee, his face practically intersecting with the flames as he prodded at the spider. She used to be bothered by him not reacting right to pain, but now it was little more than a nuisance. "Don't go blaming me, I found what I could. You chose to come here," Jowan gestured to the newest part of the fade.

She'd walked for...Lana had no way of knowing. Distance was an illusion. A five day march could put her upside down from where she began. Remaining in one place didn't work either. Some mornings she'd wake to find the entire world itself had shifted, dragging her into crumbling ruins she'd never seen before. At the moment they stood upon the edge of a precipice with a waterfall that traveled upward. It was a bit unsettling if she stopped to think about it, but it did provide fresh water and easier bathing than the norma fetid ponds.

The spider corpse cracked again from the heat, this time its innards popping in half. Lana shrugged away her flames and gently tapped the top of the curled in leg, one of the ones she didn't slice off. Not terribly warm to the touch, she gripped her hand around it and pulled. Chitin shattered at the mid-joint, the leg popping free into her palm. With her fingers, Lana dug into the spider's leg sloughing out the cooked meat inside. When she first began she pretended it was an oversized crab, the spider's meat surprisingly tender with a slight but not overpowering gamey and acidic flavor. Now she didn't care. Food was food.

Moving onto the second leg, she glanced over at Jowan, "Where's the other one?"

"Is it my job to keep track of all your little friends? You do put everything on me, don't you Lana?"

She snorted at that but didn't rise to his bait. They flocked to her whether she liked it or not. Some were dangerous, but others were benign... She paused and glanced over at Jowan, a nuisance to be certain but benign enough. Unimpressed with watching her eat, he prodded his fingers together as if they shouldn't fit. Just like he used to do in the tower back in the real world, before he was hanged for trying to kill the Arl. She knew that as certain as she knew her name, but she couldn't stop thinking of him as Jowan.

"How's the eye?" he asked suddenly.

Lana paused in her dinner and gingerly touched the scar bisecting her right eye. It gored through her eyebrow then down the cheek. "Fine. Damn lucky I didn't lose it."

"Scar's gonna be permanent though," Jowan called in his sing-song voice.

"Right, because that's my biggest concern at the moment," Lana shook him off. He was always doing that.

"Ugly and scarred, who's gonna want that?"

"Nice try, spirit, but you're not getting anything from me without a price."

That shut Jowan up, his arms locking around his midsection as he huffed away. Perched at the edge of the broken waterfall was a lone tree stuffed with apples. Why was an apple tree in the fade? Lana stopped asking long ago. Even if there was an answer it wouldn't make sense. Of course the damn things were poisonous - apples the size of her head and as inedible as the rocks. But when she climbed up the tree and peered off the branch she could look far around the fade. Pockets of varying architecture hung far in the distance. It wasn't so much land shifted by nature's hand but the domain of spirits or demons altered to suit the owners whims. The longer she was in here the harder it was to spot the difference between the two. Every spirit scrabbled for power within their own section of the fade to build up strength and warp it for their ideal. Any spirit who intersected with another erupted into conflict, not in the traditional sense but the land itself churning apart like someone picked up Ferelden and Antiva and smashed them together. It almost felt comforting to see the same noble dance played in the fade.

Having finished with the legs, Lana unearthed her blade - though blade was generous. She'd whittled down the end of a hunk of obsidian, then wrapped it in what had once been her robe's trim for a handle. Jamming it deep into the spider's split thorax, Lana wrapped her fingers through the gap against the warm chitin and pulled. Internal organs gushed free, some useless, some edible, but what she really wanted was the sac just behind its lungs.

"My lady," a new voice spoke from behind her. She didn't jump, she'd been expecting him too. Grabbing onto the venom sac, Lana weighed it in her hand.

"Half empty, damn. I was hoping for more," she sighed. But half was better than none. Plopping onto the chin of Mafarath, the statue buried up to his neck in the dirt, Lana swung back around her pride demon bladder. It was the only thing she'd found that could hold onto the spider's venom without dissolving away. Uncorking it, she placed the venom sac over the top, then pushed it open to pop a small hole through. The venom dribbled down while Lana kept her fingers pulled far away.

"Do you require assistance, Commander?" he continued to talk. Lana's shoulders slumped forward, but she turned to Nathaniel anyway. She'd tried to get away from him, on more than a few occasions was damn certain she'd lost him in the fade, but somehow he kept popping back up.

"I always require assistance, but there's little you can offer."

This wasn't the Nathaniel she knew. Unlike Jowan who kept catching her at times with his almost human like movements, Nathaniel was little more than a tin solider. His hands seemed to be permanently frozen at his side, his shoulders thrown back at attention. All he could do was speak to her and be used as a human shield should the worst come to it.

"We've almost got a full party going on here," Lana sighed, "We just need to find her."

Jowan shuddered, those soppy eyes glaring at the ground, "I don't like her. She's not right."

"You don't like anyone, Jowan. You don't even like me," Lana shook her head. Half of the spider's meat remained ready to be stripped and dried for later but what bit of energy left in her drained away. All she wanted was to curl up on the ground and sleep away what little of the day remained. Rather than fight it, Lana slumped to the ground, her breeches torn past the knee sliding against red dirt.

"Does it bother you that I don't?" Jowan asked, unable to give it up. But that's what he was, he couldn't change it anymore than Lana could stop needing to eat or breathe.

"What do you think?" she said, her eyes skirting around him towards the sky. There was always light, not from a sun or even a smattering of stars. The light hummed off every stone, every poisonous tree, every inch of the fade itself. Trying to escape it was impossible. She had no way of knowing what was day and what was night as there was none. It simply was, an unending amount of time existing. Lana missed the stars terribly. She'd find herself gazing upward hoping to spot a hint or two of the sparkle while she did everything she could to not look upon the city always looming within sight.

"You still owe me," Jowan whined while plopping down in the ground beside her. The others didn't sit like that, but he did. She tried to ask him why a few times, but either he didn't understand the question or he had no intentions of answering it.

"What do I owe you?" Lana began, but Nathaniel interrupted.

"The Commander requires your help, and yet you demand recompense. That is uncivil, Ser."

Jowan glared up at the man standing stock still in place. "Right, because you don't get a thing off her. I brought the spider."

"Which I already paid you for," Lana said.

"Cheaply, that was nothing before. Barely anything. I deserve more. You got your meat and more venom out of it. That's easily a double rate," Jowan bargained, his fingers jabbing into his hand as if he was counting out coins. Maker, that would be much easier for her to part with. "Or, do you wish you hadn't let me have the one before..."

"Fine," Lana sighed, interrupting him before he went on a never ending tangent of asking her what she'd rather do. "I'll let you have one, but only if you finish drying out the meat."

Jowan whipped his head at the cooling corpse, a sneer twisting up his lip. Damn near same one he had when he learned the truth of Lana working with the First Enchanter. "I am not your errand boy. Get the soldier to do it."

Snickering at the idea of Nathaniel attempting it, Lana tipped her head back. Sleep seemed to court her often now, far more than she expected but what was there to do beyond it and surviving? "That's my offer. Take it or leave it, spirit."

She rarely thought of him as an it anymore. Whether that was due to trying to maintain sanity or a growing familiarity Lana was uncertain. For many sleeps she wavered on the question of if she remained in the fade itself or if this was some afterlife. The chantry kept vague on the details of the beyond aside from the Maker sitting in a big chair and Andraste near him. Some people liked the idea of being in the clouds but Lana was never a fan. Having Nathaniel and Jowan walking beside her and talking to her didn't do much to kill her "I'm dead" theory. It was her stomach screaming for sustenance and her exhausted limbs that tipped her off. If the afterlife was more of the same drudgery of existence, then the Maker was a crueler creator than she'd thought.

Jowan's thin lips puckered up from her lack of an offer, but he dipped down and she felt his fingers rifling through her mind like it was a stack of parchment. It wasn't painful, but still unsettling to have the spirit yank out small moments of her life she'd all but forgotten about and then slip them back away. His fingers lingered over a section and Lana shouted out, "Not that."

"But there is so little left, I've taken most of my fill already."

"I don't care, you're not touching that. Anything else."

Sighing, the spirit let her guarded memory fall back into the void and he plucked upon an old one. She wouldn't mind his fumbling around in her head so much if she didn't have to relive every memory with him. With the stone wall pressing against her back, Lana's mind yanked open the file on her life.

Scared. She was so scared because everything was wrong. There wasn't any grass, no baby lambs crying for their mother's milk. It was all stone, hard and mean. The kind that stood up high in the cities far in the distance that they never went to. She hated it and she was alone. Her mummy and daddy, they weren't here either. They should have come, they always came with her. But now...

"Hey," one of the tall men in metal dropped to his knee. She shied away, shrinking deeper into the cloak too long for her. Mummy got mad when it dragged in the mud. "It's okay," he said, his voice echoing like the time her brother shouted into a bucket.

"Get the kid in there already. We have things to move on to," the other one said. She didn't know either of them, but she knew she didn't like that one. He was cold, colder than the ice she wasn't supposed to make, wasn't supposed to dream about. They told her to be a big girl, but she didn't want to be. Not if it meant having to leave everything she knew, everything she cared about. Tears rolled down her cheeks, the sloppy wet ones her dog used to lick away. When would she get to see him again?

The metal man on his knee reached a hand out to her. He didn't grab her arm, just held it extended as he spoke, "I know it's scary to go somewhere new. I don't like it either. Sometimes I need to take a moment before I walk into a place to steady myself. Take a deep breath. They're real nice in the tower, and lots of other children to play with."

She had her hands buried in her pant's pockets, the baggy ones that used to be her brothers her mother hemmed up to fit. After losing her belt, her father tied a string from the sack of grain around her waist and laughed at how many times it went around. She searched for the words to explain why she didn't want to do as told but nothing would come, only her teeth chattered as if she was freezing cold.

Inching closer to her, the metal man dropped lower to meet her small height. "Will this help?" he asked. Pulling his hand away he yanked off his head. She started from the move, stumbling back into the immoveable legs of the mean one, but the man didn't fall down headless. Underneath that metal was a smiling face. He tried to pass the helmet to her, but she was drawn by the palest hair she'd ever seen. Reaching on her tiptoes, she ran her fingers through the straw upon his head softer than the tips of wheat. Laughing, the man tipped his head lower so she could tousle them back.

"I'm Grayson," he pointed at himself. "It's a long name, but yours is even longer. Solona." At that name her nose curled up like she walked past the barn. It was hers but she didn't like it. No one liked it. The man watched her face and chuckled, "I'm guessing that's not what they call you."

"I'mlana," she sputtered, her bottom lip jutting out to cover over the top as she mumbled.

"Sorry, I missed that," he said.

Sighing the way only an impertinent six year old could, she pointed at her chest and said, "Lana. I'm Lana."

"Well, Lana," he held out his hand again. She watched it for a moment and then gingerly placed her own inside of his. It looked like a doll's in his great grip. Closing around her, he shook their hands up and down in a greeting. "I know the tower can seem scary, it's big. Bigger than even I probably know about. But you're going to make lots of friends here and learn things. You could become a great enchanter even."

"No!" she shook her head, "they're bad. Andraste doesn't like them."

He dipped his head down, and she felt shame curling in her gut from something unexplainable in his eyes. So close now without the metal in the way, she could see they were a golden brown just like her puppy's. "Andraste loves us all, whether we're touched by magic or not," he said. The mean one behind her scoffed, earning him a glower from the nice one. "Now, how about we go and introduce you to Miss Abby. She's really nice and sometimes she smell like orange marmalade."

"M'kay," she agreed unable to think of any reason to not go.

"Finally," the mean one stamped his feet into the stone and knocked against the door. "I swear to the Maker, Grayson, you get wetter every trip."

"She's just a kid, barely older than..." he didn't finish his thought, but he smiled down at her and reached into the bag against his back. In his hand he held a stuffed griffin. The toy was made from old burlap and stuffed with straw, but someone took the time to paint each feather along the creature's back. Her eyes followed the toy, drawn to it. "Here," he held it out to her fingers, but she was scared to touch it. "Go on, it's yours."

"Mine?" Nothing was hers. Everything she ever had was either passed down from her brother or something she'd later share with other siblings. It all belonged to the family. With the barest touch, she ran a finger along the griffin's under-stuffed beak. The man smiled and pushed it to her. Unable to take the torment, she wrapped her arms around the toy tugging it tight to her chest.

"You head on in there and they'll get you a warm bath and some food," Grayson gestured to the now open door and another metal man glaring down at them. With one arm wrapped around the toy, she grabbed onto his metal finger. _No, he couldn't go._ "I'm sorry, I have other duties to attend, but don't worry. You'll see a lot of me around here. I promise, Lana."

Gripping tighter to her griffin, she nodded to him and entered the tower for what was supposed to be the rest of her life.

Lost in the fade itself, the older Lana -- the one who'd been scraped raw by life six year old her couldn't imagine -- opened an eye. She spotted Jowan curled up on the ground recuperating from whatever he feasted off her. Her emotions or memories or whatever it was hit them harder. They didn't cry or laugh, the spirits seeming to not have the means to express a range of emotion, only laid on the ground until the rush of it passed. Patting the tuckered spirit on the arm, Lana tipped her head back and found peace in sleep.

## Chapter Six

**Blindspot**

_9:44 Waking Sea_

"Raise the mains, we're past the worst of it!" the admiral's voice rang out through the ship. A collective groan echoed from every pirate's lips as they released their death grip, arms sagging while water sloshed across their feet. They were bedraggled, sopping wet, but they were alive. Cullen turned back to watch the storm they passed through, the sky not black and cloudy but the horizon up to the ether appeared impenetrable as if a wall of water rose out of the sea to smash them apart.

"First big one?" a bear paw bashed across his shoulder and Cullen winced from his lack of armor to siphon off the blow. Nodding carefully, he turned to catch the bronzed face with a white rose tattoo stretching across the right eye. It must have meant something to the man, but Cullen had no idea. A week on the ship and he'd barely spoken to anyone outside of Honor -- who released her bite on the securing rope and settled at his feet.

"I am not a fan," Cullen answered carefully.

"Shit, ain't no one big into squalls. Lessen you love drowning, I suppose," the pirate said. "You can let go, ya know."

"Of course," Cullen nodded as if he meant to cling for his life even out of danger. Rope, scratched apart from years of use, bit into his exposed forearms. It seemed smart at the time to roll the cuffs up to his elbows when the waves soaked through them. As he unwound his grip off the sidewall rigging, deep red grooves remained coiled around his pale skin, etched deep into his flesh like a crimson snake. Cullen's freed hands ran down his stomach checking to make certain he was yet alive and in one piece. In the process, he pressed his drenched tunic even tighter to his skin. He'd be less soaked if he'd dived overboard before the storm began. Poor Honor fared about as well. She lapped at the seawater, that pink and black tongue scraping along the deck. "Don't, that's bad for you," Cullen called. Her tongue dangled out but frozen, hovering just above another lap of the salty puddle. "I mean it," he chided and now she slipped her tongue away. Suddenly noticing she was wet, Honor twisted the muscles along her back wetting her master and the other pirates standing near. They all reared up from the small addition of water to their drenched backsides, but no one said a cross word. The pirates gave him and his mabari a wide berth and were even damn right respectable at times. It was surprising and made life partially livable, but he had a suspicion he knew why he received the royal treatment.

Sliding down the mast as if the man was born on a ship, the king of Ferelden landed barefoot upon the deck. He'd tossed off his shirt once the threat of storm rang out through the decks. In retrospect, it seemed the wiser move seeing as how he had dry clothes waiting for him down below while Cullen was left bearing what soggy rags he wore. Still, the man strutted about with his chest thrust out and a shit eating grin etched deep across his face. "That was something else, right Abby?" Whoever Abby was called down from the mast in a mix of Rivain and Orlesian. The pirates had their own bastardized language that Cullen could probably pick up on if he cared. A week and a half in and he hadn't mustered the ability to do so yet.

Alistair dug his fingers through the back of his hair, trying to squeeze off the water blasted against him from his perch in the sails. _What kind of king climbs up into the crow's nest in the middle of a blighted storm at sea?_ The mad kind is an easy answer, yet despite how much Cullen wished it so, he seemed to be of sound mind. Not sharp, but sound. The other is the kind of king who dreams of adventure and thinks himself some great hero, but this one had fought in a blight, knew what true battle was. His gleeful strut around the deck helping the pirates secure lines and trade gentle barbs unnerved Cullen even more. The man was enjoying this for reasons he couldn't understand.

"How we doing, Admiral?" Alistair shouted while turning back to the woman at the helm.

For all his misgivings about her, Cullen had to admit Isabela was a competent captain. No, that was unkind. She breathed the ship, kept a tight control of her crew, and had been civil to him. Mostly civil to him.

"We're damn well alive, which calls for celebrating. Get your ass up here and grab some bottles. Oh, and check on our little greenie."

That was him, the green one. He'd thought it a joke about him not having sea legs until they all started making vomit sounds whenever he'd walk past. It was particularly atrocious during mealtime. Cullen hated the sea, hated being on ships, but he didn't get seasick - not easily anyway. His problem was the sound of water slopping against the hull, dredging up an old anxiety he kept thinking he grew beyond, hoped he'd buried. The king, unaware of Cullen's internal struggle over his nickname, slapped him on the shoulder.

"You good?" Alistair asked. In a week's time, he'd already managed a hearty burn across his shoulders, chest, and upon his cheeks. The sun wasn't kind to the king, though it was even crueler to Cullen, which was why he preferred the hold while Alistair traipsed about on deck getting in the way.

"I have survived," Cullen answered. An unsettled turn scurried up his skin and he turned to catch Isabela peering through him with an almost famished look in her eye. "What is it?" he shouted to her.

"Never noticed before how damn similar you two look. Swept up blonde hair, pronounced cheekbones, biceps that could break glass. Somebody could work through a few twin fantasies with you both, assuming _somebody_ didn't already."

Cullen growled, folding his arms over his chest and twisting away from her to scowl at the calming sea. Beside him, Alistair harrumphed as well. That surprised him - to find the king as off-put by Isabela's comment as he was. She'd often make inappropriate remarks about Alistair and insinuate something about borrowing him for the summer, which he'd smile and hand wave away. Cullen assumed Alistair was paying for this trip with more than coin, but now the man blushed brighter than his sunburn and he glared at the deck.

Either unaware of the wound she struck, or not caring, Isabela shouted to her crew various boat orders. They were probably important in keeping them alive, but Cullen didn't care. Far past awkward and needing to escape, he slid towards the hatch door, his feet splashing against the inch deep water that flooded the deck. Honor barreled past him to dive down into the hold. It took a few days before the mabari felt comfortable climbing up the ladder, a week going down. Now she was a damn pro at it. Even his dog was a better sailor.

After blinking his eyes to adjust for the low light, Cullen took the rungs quickly to slide back into the safety of the hold. He stepped around the crates jostled from the ship crashing through waves taller than Skyhold. It felt strange to think, but in some ways the underbelly of the ship was almost comforting. Pressed in tight, with other men and women sharing his quarters, he felt like he was a child back in Denerim training to become a templar. They'd piled the children up ten, sometimes twenty to a room. The only separation was by gender, so all ages shared the same space. It was uncomfortable when you wanted to be alone, but welcoming when you feared being alone.

Dipping down, Cullen picked up his bag and watched water drip off his body in sheets raining across his few belongings. The beads rolled down the canvas to splatter against the floor. Sighing, he moved to pull the shirt off his back. It was so soaked the fabric clung tight to his skin, refusing to slide away. With those glass breaking biceps - whatever that referred to - he tugged and pulled against the force of water, his tunic freeing his chest to the whispering cold. Wadding up the shirt in his hands, Cullen wrung the first inch and a puddle's worth of water splashed onto the deck. His pants were in an even sorrier state, but those were staying on.

"My first storm at sea, they lashed me to the wheel and said I wasn't to move for anything."

Cullen didn't look up at the voice, instead he continued to try and wring out his shirt. Unfortunately, nothing could stop Alistair when he wanted to talk. Even with his back turned, Cullen felt him jauntily lean up against the freight, the king's elbow slipping through the slots as he picked at the lantern.

"Lanny ever tell you about her family?"

Unable to stop himself, Cullen's head snapped up and he turned to face down the man, but Alistair bore that same curious puppy look even Honor was above using. "What of them?" Cullen settled for.

"I was just thinking, after the thing Isabela said about...you know. Awkward." He waved his hand in the air as if that would break apart the tension instead of increase it. Cullen felt even more exposed than his naked chest watching the king of Ferelden loiter around shirtless as if he didn't have a care in the world. He'd been told kings grew doughy after time on the throne, they had little reason to remain in shape so settled for stout, showing the nation that it was a safe and secure time to grow fat on luxury. He'd been grossly lied to.

"Your point," Cullen prompted wishing he had a spare shirt that wasn't sopping wet.

"Just something I heard once. The funny thing about Lanny's family is they run one of two ways. Either that lithe, svelte package like her, or scary hulking muscle like Hawke. That's pretty much it in the Amell line, tiny and terrifying or huge and terrifying. And her father is the former. I swear, the first time I saw him I thought he was a shaved bear that could talk and wear pants. Man crushed my hand in the palm of his massive paw for what was a friendly greeting. I asked Lanny if they had any qunari in their blood."

Cullen tried to keep his face blank as his mind raced. She'd never mentioned any of her family to him beyond a cursory fact they existed. "You met him?"

"Yeah, met them all after..." The king bit down on his lip and then glanced up at the ceiling, "Lanny and I, well, I owed her for something and she needed help. After the blight was done and she settled in as Arlessa she got curious about her family. I couldn't blame her, really, getting back to the roots and all. A few letters were exchanged and then it was off on a boat trip to visit them. But, she asked me to come along."

"When she was an Arlessa," Cullen clarified for himself. She never explicitly went into her timeline with Alistair but he knew they sundered before the blight ended.

"Yeah..." Alistair nodded, then he threw his hands out, "friends and all, so...no messing around or that. Like I said, she did the same for me so I was happy to be there for her. She didn't have anyone else."

That stung Cullen deep in his heart even if he'd been in no state to change that fact while serving in Kirkwall. "Let me guess, the family was either unimpressed and wanted nothing to do with her, or intended to mooch off the hero of Ferelden and her newfound power."

"No, it was weirder than that. They were polite. Stayed there for three days, drank enough lemonade it's a wonder my eyes didn't turn yellow. All 'It's nice to see you again after nearly twenty years, dear. How are your studies?' If they'd screamed for her to get away, or tried to weasel a hundred sovereigns out of her, I doubt Lanny would have minded, but it was the cold and polite distance that struck her as if she was some fancy Duchess that dropped by for a place to stay. They were too afraid to kick out someone who killed an archdemon. Scared shitless of their own daughter because she had power, a different kind of power than when she left. She, uh, she never went back and I don't think they ever tried to contact her again."

"Did you have a point, or..."

"Ah right, I was thinking of her father, like I said huge guy that could crack coconuts with his fist and shoulders that barely fit through the door. Just, kinda funny."

"What is?" Cullen wanted to turn away and hide in his hammock until the man went away, but it would be impolite to do that to a king. He also doubted Alistair would leave him alone.

"They say women tend to go for someone like their father, but..."

Cullen twisted away before the king could see the anger burning in his eyes. People spoke of having a type, sure, that they'd enjoy blondes over brunettes, or voluptuous to slim. He never dwelled long upon what he shared in common with the king of Ferelden, physically or otherwise, until a year after Lana die...was lost in the fade. It was when he walked past a portrait of the man looking constipated while standing in a field that it struck Cullen. For a brief second he feared he was staring in a mirror and not a painting.

"You really enjoy twisting that knife, don't you?"

"What?" the king's haphazard smile slipped away.

Chewing through a thousand painful curses in his brain, Cullen rounded on him to have out what'd been haunting him for two years. "Why bring me along? I cannot understand it. If your endgame is to... why you feel you must drag up your affiliations with Lana every moment to prove you knew her. Yes, I am aware. And if your plan is to, if you want to..." He wanted to shout at him, to thunder that whatever the king's machinations were they would fail. Assuming they found Lana, and assuming she was alive and in a healthy mental state, two years had passed. What were the chances she would have any use for the man who broke her heart? What were the chances she'd have any use for the one she left behind? Cullen's fists folded up at that thought. His string of hope stretched thinner every day; he had no idea what he'd do if it ever snapped.

"Okay," Alistair held both hands up as if afraid Cullen would swing at him, "lot of assumptions in there, I think. My plan, if it could be called that, is to find her. That's it."

Cullen rolled his eyes into a glower at the king. In any other part of thedas it'd put him on execution row, but Alistair only shrunk from it. "You must think I am an easily bamboozled idiot, that you've moved past her and have no ill intentions."

"Can I vote on the idiot part?"

"If you do not care for her," Cullen released his fists and sneered past the king's shoulder, unable to stare into those similar eyes, "then why did you take everything she'd ever owned and lock it away in your palace? As if you had any right to her possessions. They were not yours." _She wasn't yours._

"To keep her belongings safe. Because the idea of some snot faced rich twat with more coin than brains owning one of her staves, or robes, or even a quill off the Hero of Ferelden makes me see red and then yell at a few walls because it gets expensive patching them. I made sure to collect all of Lanny's things in one place, one public place, so they all knew anything sold as a 'genuine relic of the Hero of Ferelden' was full of shit."

"That..." Cullen swallowed hard against the bolus of rage festering in his throat. "I didn't realize."

"And rather than have all her things shoved off in some attic in Fort Drakon, I put it on display so all of Ferelden has a reason to want to do what's best for her. To keep her safe -- her things, I mean -- her memory," Alistair's voice drifted away as he shuffled his bare feet around the deck. A sorrow twisted down that eternal smile and, for the first time since they began this journey, Cullen saw the traces of two years of mourning mar the king's face. "Besides," Alistair shook his head, knocking away the pain, "once we find her, she can have all her stuff back. There are enough books to crush a mountain, by the way."

"You kept everything of hers despite her ordering you out of her life," Cullen spoke softly, unable to let the hurt go.

"Sorry, I was thinking kingly at the time with lots of orders and commands and scepter waving. Figured there needed to be decisions made fast before the grave robbers moved in. Lanny, she..." he shrugged his nude shoulder, "she wasn't the type to kiss and tell much. I had no idea that she'd found someone else until nearly a year ago."

"And I am to believe that?"

Alistair shrugged, unimpressed with the threat in Cullen's voice. "It was Divine Victoria who told me so if you can't believe her, you might as well give up on Andraste herself. Leliana said that, uh," he coughed and spat the next part out quickly, "Lanny was in love with you."

He couldn't know the truth of it. Cullen repeated that a few times to himself to keep from smashing his fist against the king's smug face. Alistair had her love, her whole heart, and he crushed it twice. All she could manage to give Cullen was a possible promise, one she failed to keep. Even after knowing that she didn't love him, knowing she went to her death with a darkness in her mind, Cullen couldn't stop. He sure as hell couldn't move on. Ten years of loving someone didn't vanish in the night.

"She was wrong," Cullen whispered to himself. Alistair blinked a few times from the confession and shook his head, either taking it as humility or denial. "Is that why I am here? Your way to apologize to her?"

"Sure, why not," Alistair threw his arms up and stamped around in a circle, "Maker's breath, you do go on, don't you? _What's your real motivation? I don't believe you! I know you're lying. Swear to me!_ I bet you regularly shout 'I work alone' to your soldiers."

"And you regularly obfuscate with jokes and misdirection."

Alistair reared back from his sloppy impression of Cullen brooding on a rooftop. "That's a big word. Maybe, just maybe I figured I needed help and thought who out of all of thedas could I trust to have Lanny's best interests in heart? How about that templar she was sniffing around."

"I am no longer a templar," Cullen rounded upon him, exhausted from having to defend himself. Three years since he'd been freed of the lyrium, nearly five if one included when he abandoned the order after Kirkwall's circle fell. He was not the man he'd once been.

"But you were not just any templar, either. You wanted all of Kinloch purged, had a real hate for mages. Thought I forgot about it, didn't you? It's all right, most people think I'm an idiot."

"Most people are wise," Cullen muttered while digging his arms across his chest. This was his worst nightmare come true. Lana remembering how he reacted after she saved him in the tower stung his heart; this man doing it mashed his brain into a raging headache.

"And the stories of you out of Kirkwall, burning mage's minds, killing 'em outright, they'd turn some of the chantry sisters grey."

"I..." it was true, all of it. He'd carried such a hatred for mages that no one should have forgiven him, should have trusted him. But Lana did. Against all sense, she listened to his sins and then she absolved him. More than absolved, she told him she understood.

"Lanny, she... She can make her own decisions in life. Love you, not love you, whatever. That's her business, but... Maker does that woman have a blind-spot for templars. You'd think a mage would go the opposite way, but not her, and it nearly..." Alistair lapsed into silence and he glared through Cullen as if he could peer into his skull and wiggle out all his secrets. "After Amaranthine fell, some of the chantry weren't happy to have a mage sitting pretty on the Vigil's throne. So, a few of the sisters got themselves a few templars and planned to teach her a lesson."

"They were going to kill her?" She'd spoken of assassins with the same lackadaisical response Lana had to every threat to her person but she never went into detail.

Alistair shook his head, a sneer obliterating his smile now. "No, no, they weren't going to kill her, they were going to do much worse." Rolling his hand into a fist, he pressed it against his forehead and made a sizzling sound. "Leave behind the soulless puppet as a warning or something. But she was in such a state after the city fell, after saving as many as she could but not everyone, I was afraid she'd let them do it out of her Andrastian guilt. Like I said, templars are her blind-spot." His slipped his eyes shut and a voice that commanded countries spoke, "Know that if you have any intentions of labeling her a blood mage or...or branding her, you'll have me to answer to."

He hadn't thought of what they might find at the end of this. Cullen was scared to even draw upon the idea of her being alive and safe. But two years in the fade, physically inside of it... What toll would that have upon her? He'd not entertained the notion, but the king had and seemed prepared to fight for whatever piece of Lana remained. Was Cullen?

Nodding his head, Cullen slipped away from the man, "Understood."

## Chapter Seven

**Memory - Branding**

_9:33 Denerim_

Denerim hadn't been this fancied up since the last time someone convinced him they needed to have a party or there'd be revolts in the gilded bath houses. Banners of silver and blue decorated the path along the main road; with miniature flags jammed into every windowsill, flower pot, and unclaimed bread roll. He hadn't meant for it to go so overboard, but Alistair wasn't a party planning type and mentioning the idea to Isolde led to a flurry of activity that he ran scared from. He had bigger problems anyway.

"Why am I here?" she asked. Despite the invitation stressing so fancy you'll probably be buried in it attire, Lanny wadded the suggestion up, set it on fire, spat on the ashes, and wore her usual robes. They were clean this time, not even a speck of blood along the sleeves. Either she took the chance to launder them before attending, or the crown's attempts to clear up the roads were working.

"Because this is a party in your honor," Alistair answered. He should have been enjoying the rare moment of her in his arms swaying to the frilly music Isolde chose, even if it was with enough distance between them to let a boat through, but Alistair had other matters on his mind. His eyes kept hunting around the edges of velvet and silk ringing the dance floor searching for the signal. The rest of the dancers were polite enough to move out of the way of the distracted king lest he trample over them. More than a few skirt hems trailed off his boots.

"Why is there a party in my honor?" Lanny tried again. She was growing her hair out, already it was past her shoulders and expanding like a dandelion about to seed.

"Because people like to party," Alistair countered with. They were here, he knew it. When the Dark Wolf approached him he thought it was a joke. He remembered Lanny's little forays into larceny as a small joke against the gentry, though she was nimbler with her fingers than he'd have thought. Okay, maybe not as surprising, in retrospect. But the clearly elf-sized man in full armor interrupting his breakfast was not Lanny baring her underworld title. When the Dark Wolf revealed a list of names, Alistair stopped joking about tossing the man to the vengeful granddaughters.

"And we are back to the crux of the argument," Lanny continued. She folded her arms above her head to follow with some dance pattern even Alistair barely knew as the rest of the floor stumbled to mimic. They were quite the pair, like a bird trying to teach a rock how to swim. Neither cared about the steps for the dances, but they both had to fake it. "Why am I here? You could have hosted this for any other reason beyond we have a Hero. I hear cherry blossoms are popular. People would've drank in their honor."

"It's late fall," he turned to her fully now, breaking from his hunt for the conspirators moving through the crowd. Even with her lips pursed in annoyance, her eyes rolling upward at an impressive rate, and a swipe of accidental candle ash for rouge she was the most breathtaking woman in the room.

Lanny shrugged, "All the more reason to toast to them. Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

Maker was that true. He hadn't seen her since she'd begun her work as the Warden Commander. Even then, she'd been less than ecstatic to have him "stop by" and "check up on her" one time. They'd written, especially after the fall of Amaranthine, after months her letters slipping away from the cold distance of politics into her warm cadence as she informed him of her days struggling with things only Alistair would understand. The Arlessa visited Denerim to request aid, but this was the first sighting of Lanny he'd had in over a year and a half. It was good to have her back, and Andraste take pity on anyone who thought to take her away.

"Planning new holidays for Ferelden? I could give you my calendar to spice up," Alistair smiled, his eyes back to digging through the crowd.

"No thank you, I have my own mess to..." Lanny's words faded away and she whipped her head around. "Is that Zevran? By flames, it is. Zevran!" She shouted, waving to the elf who was supposed to be working through the crowds anonymously.

He perked up from within a circle of nobility, his blonde hair shining by the chandelier light, and the assassin slid into the middle of the dancers. "Why you look enchanting as ever, my dear warden. Have you done something with your hair or does the slaughtering of darkspawn make it grow so lush? If so, I may need to accompany you into those deep roads again."

Zevran's compliments splattered against Lanny's wall. She yanked her hands off of Alistair's back and eyed up the elf. "Maker's breath, what are you doing here?"

"Me? What am I..." His eyes only darted to the king for a second before he turned fully to Lanny, staring at her as if she was the only woman in the room - which was true to Alistair. "Why, we Antivans love nothing more than an excuse to celebrate, of course. Wine, women, dancing, sometimes at the same time if you're rather limber and don't mind a bit of drink going up your nose. They're the Antivan pastime. "

"Don't you have _something_ you need to be _doing_ , Zevran?" Alistair failed to fall into the assassin's smooth cover story. His skin itched under the surface where no powder would reach. He needed to do something, anything -- even having Lanny close, knowing they'd have to go through him to catch her still put him off. He'd been a jittering, nervous wreck the hours before this little game began. When he had to put his shoes on for the party, he jammed them on the wrong feet five times. Eventually, a servant took pity and double laced them just in case. It was a wonder they didn't pin mittens to his shirt as well.

"Ah..." Zevran nodded at the king then wrapped his hands around Lanny's. She didn't yank them away but she had _that_ look on her face. The one that said she knew she was being messed with but would wait to see where it was going before things caught on fire. "Forgive me, my dear. The king and I need to discuss a matter first."

"I know you're both up to something," she said.

"Me? Why I am the perfect picture of innocence," Zevran insisted as he batted those massive elven eyes. "King man, if you please..." he gestured his head towards a sidebar and Alistair followed. Lanny stood in the middle of the dance floor uncertain if she should leave as the guest of honor or keep swaying without a partner.

"Tell me you have good news," Alistair whispered near the elf.

"Yes and also not entirely. Oh, do not make that face, you'll grow wrinkles. We moved on the Sister's location. She thought she could conceal it behind a bookcase lever. You Fereldens are so delightfully simple."

"Zevran, the point," Alistair hissed. He didn't have time for the elf to show off, he needed to know she was safe from them.

"My people infiltrated the chamber and confiscated that branding iron of theirs. I'm not sure what the point of it was. If they wanted to drive information from her, you can do much more with splinters of wood hammered under fingernails. All you get off an iron is a fascinating new scar."

The elf whimsically spoke of his own opinion on torture, but Alistair couldn't hear it, didn't care. When the Dark Wolf told him what the conspirators intended to do to Lanny, rage boiled through his soul. He'd only felt the same level bubbling in his blood before, and everyone knew better than to even whisper Loghain's name near him. It wasn't enough that they kill her, oh no, they wanted to send a message to all mages. _If you dare to use your powers to help people, to save them, to make the decisions that others won't... If you do something they don't approve of, then they'll burn away your soul and leave only the empty husk tossed upon the throne ready to obey orders from anyone who gives them._ "Where are they?"

"...And of course the rack provides, uh, what?"

"Where are they? The Sister, her templars, the...the ones who were going to perform the rite?"

Perhaps the elf finally spotted that Alistair was not in his usual hearty mood. A vein he'd been noticing in the morning mirror bulged off his forehead and he clawed at the hem of his garment as if it was made of straw dragging across his skin. Instead of responding with a cheeky bon mot, Zevran tipped his head. "They are taken care of, though the Sister demanded clemency."

"Of course she did," Alistair growled. Despite her being the ringleader behind the whole disgusting idea, he knew she'd cling to her cloth the second things turned on her. He could have ordered the assassins to ignore it. Zevran being religious when it suited him might have argued but he had a soft spot for Lanny as well and could have been talked into it. What stayed Alistair's hand was...he didn't even know. At the moment he wanted to kick the Sister off a mountain.

Zevran waved his hand to cut through the king's red haze, "There is a problem, however. A couple of her templars slipped out of the back while we were embroiled."

"What?!"

"We think they came here to try and finish the job," now Zevran's eyes slipped through the crowd growing even more menacing than before. Alistair wasn't stupid, no one wore those creepy orlesian masks to obscure their faces. But far too many of the nobby ones showed up tonight; hidden somewhere amongst all the gentry in Ferelden were a couple of snakes.

"Andraste's flames," Alistair cursed. "Okay, I'll hunt for them." The assassin eyed him up in disbelief, but Alistair waved it away. "You get out there and dance with Lanny."

"I take it she is still unaware," Zevran spoke carefully. The king bobbed his head back and forth already having the same argument in his head. Yes, telling her would be wiser so she could prepare herself should they fail. It made the most sense to not keep it from her. But Zevran didn't read the guilt in her letters, the grief from her choice in Amaranthine. Lanny was many things, but heartless was far from it. Other people could sleep at night after having to burn the city to save what they could. They'd understand that old idiom about cracking chickens to make breakfast. Lanny however was...he wasn't about to give her the option. She was strong, and Alistair needed to believe in that.

"I'll find the templars," Alistair repeated, then waved his hand towards the woman still standing in the midst of dancers doing her best to look uncomfortable and out of place.

"As if you need to tell me twice." Smooth as a still pond, Zevran slipped through the crowd. His hand cupped around Lanny's waist, while another picked up her arm. "I believe you owe me a dance," he cooed, his eyes only on her.

"Do I now? You know I'll figure out what you two are playing at," Lanny spoke loud enough for Alistair to hear.

Whatever Zevran responded with, and it was probably dirty, faded into the voices of the guests as Alistair merged into the crowd. He should have sent Zevran. People looked past an elf, even one dressed all in green leather and glittering with knives. It was a little harder to disguise the king of Ferelden even without the damn crown on. But Alistair needed to hit something, anything and he was afraid if he didn't take his anger out on the one's coming to hurt Lanny, he'd turn it on some noble bragging about his golden socks which would lead to a headache and possible war down the line.

_Your Majesties_ , and _Highness_ followed in his wake as he shoved through the crowds. Alistair murmured something about the snack tray being good and that people should try the pickles. That got a few confused looks, but he didn't care as they turned in obedience to find these mythical pickles. Everyone already thought their king a fool, might as well cement it. He had to find them before they could get to her, even if his plan was madness. With what felt like half of Ferelden crammed into the great hall, discovering two secret templars was like looking for a well dressed needle in a refined haystack. Whipping his head back and forth, Alistair tried screwing his eyes tight in the hopes it would somehow make the conspirators appear.

A smell drifted above the cloying perfumes and colognes of the lords and ladies crammed into a poorly ventilated dancehall while wearing heavy wool. He shouldn't know it, having never taken the stuff, but sometimes Lanny bore that same right-after-a-lightning-strike scent after she'd been casting up a storm. Lyrium, and someone took a ton of it for the smell to be powerful enough to overcome the cheese tray. Following his nose like a mabari, Alistair sniffed the air towards a dark haired man leaning against the back columns. He wasn't dressed in the templar armor, it'd be asking too much for them to walk about in their full skirts. But his eyes kept skittering around the edges, his arms folded against his chest as he failed to blend into the background, and a sword dangled upon his hip. When those calculating eyes turned away from the woman dancing with an elf, they landed upon the king baring down upon him.

"You...your majesty!" the man struggled to rise up to a salute and Alistair grinned internally.

"Hey, how about you come with me?"

"My lord?" he asked, the eyes drifting back to Lanny.

"I need to get away from the crowd for a second and I could use some backup if," Alistair jerked his head towards the rest, "the nobles get a bit rowdy. You never want to come between an Arl and his shrimp puff. Learned that the hard way."

"I, uh," the man had no excuse that could hold up to the king's request - that was the one good power of the crown. Even still, Alistair grabbed onto his arm and dug in with his fingers. He felt chainmail hidden beneath the emerald finery, cementing that he'd picked right.

"Come on, just a quick slip out the back." Dragging the man, Alistair stepped backwards through the columns into a short hallway that connected to another bustling room laden in smoke, a longer hallway, and finally an empty antechamber.

The king released his hold on the man but kept an eye on him. "How are you liking the party? Festive enough for you?"

"It is quite grand," the templar said. His fingers twitched as if he ached to reach for his sword, but in the presence of royalty he knew better.

"I guess. We had a grander one a few months ago. Funny thing is, this wasn't even supposed to be fancy. Not like this anyway, with the fountains and shiny lights and ten lutists. Who needs ten lute players? I think we even have one of those turquoise chickens running around."

"Turquoise chi-? You mean the peacock," the templar said, then he grimaced at correcting the king. Alistair waved it away with a chuckle. He was known as a man of the people, someone who didn't shout 'off with his head' for speaking your mind. A real gentle soul.

Only the glimmer of lanterns from the distant party broke through the room far away from the festivities, firelight glancing upon their shoes. A sliver of the templar's eyes were visible in the stricken room, but they were unobtrusive and bored. He'd already written the king off.

Laughing again, Alistair gestured out the window, "Lovely night. You know what happened on this day three years ago?"

"No, sir," the man shook his head, staring out the same window. Stars pocked through the cloudless sky while a nearly full moon rose like the diva amongst a chorus. It was beautiful.

"Not a Maker damn thing," Alistair said. The templar turned towards him, finally sensing something amiss, but the king of the people, the simple one, smashed his fist against the man's jaw. A familiar ache radiated up Alistair's knuckles and a pang of nostalgia lapped over it. The templar's head snapped back from the unexpected blow. He tried to throw a fist in response, but the king easily dodged it. Wrapping a hand around the man's neck, Alistair held him still while he pounded his fist deeper and harder into the man's nose until he felt that old crack. Blood dribbled out of the broken nostrils pooling on the templar's ivory ruffles.

Even through the certain throbbing headache and hazy vision, the templar reached for his sword, but the king yanked it free first. "What are you...?" the templar cried. Then he gagged on his own blood dripping into his mouth.

Still smiling as if he hadn't a care in the world, Alistair inspected the templar's sword. It was a fine blade for a treasonous bastard. He'd had better of course, but there were perks to being a king. Alistair's knee smashed into the man's stomach and he barreled him against the wall, the sword's edge millimeters from the templar's throat. "Do you know why we threw this party? Why all of the Arls and Banns and -- I think even the Teryn is here -- got in their fanciest dancing shoes and trucked out here?"

The templar shook his head carefully, his eyes wide in terror. He went from not striking the king because of treason to realizing he couldn't strike the king because he wasn't good enough.

"We put all this on just for you, for your little conspirators," Alistair smiled watching the man's mouth slacken in shock. He wasn't supposed to know, no one was. They'd been working on it for months, scheming to try and take down the Arlessa of Amaranthine. But they forgot that Lanny had a habit of making friends, allies, people who really didn't want to see her harmed. People who loved her. "You came here to take her away, to..." Alistair shuddered at the idea burning in his soul, "but it's not going to happen. No one in the chantry, in the templars, in all of Ferelden will ever brand Lady Amell. Do you hear me? No one!"

Nodding in fear, the templar accidentally pushed his throat deeper into the sword's edge. He couldn't stop his adam's apple from knocking into the blade as he struggled to find any words to save himself.

"I trust you could tell them of this. Let all the rest of your conspirators know that she's protected beyond your reach."

Screwing up his eyes, the templar nodded again then risked speaking, "Of course, your majes-" He didn't finish his sentence as Alistair drew the blade clean across his throat slicing apart the vocal chords.

"Oh wait, they're already dead," the king stepped back, letting the blood soaked body flop to the floor. Crimson rivulets burst through the gaping wound to expand to a river seeping into the grout and across the stones. It was going to leave a hell of a mess to clean up. Alistair felt bad he didn't do it outside where the rain would help wash it away. Glancing around the room and making a mental note to mention it to Eamon or Teagan so they could send for someone to keep everyone else out, Alistair moved to throw the sword away. He paused and stared at the blade -- the sword of the templars, the chantry, the same one he'd nearly picked up before Duncan saved him. Even in the earliest hours of morn, when his traitorous thoughts kept him pacing through the halls like a forlorn ghost, he knew in his heart he never could have done it. He'd have lasted a week at most in the circle before the first failed harrowing or rite of tranquility sent him running from the tower. To think that Lanny and the rest of them suffered under that constant threat turned his stomach. She deserved better, they deserved better.

Without even wiping the blade off, Alistair stomped through the darkened hallways towards the light of the dance. There was still one more templar remaining and then they could put this behind them. Have a laugh. Maybe some hot cocoa to finish off the night. He barely closed the door when an elf grabbed onto his arm. "Sire, please, you must listen to me," she begged.

"Okay," he said, already planning on it.

"I am with Zevran's company." That drew Alistair's full attention. "There is a problem in the courtyard beyond," her finger pointed through the doors to the garden area where a hundred people stood in the way.

"Where's your boss?" Alistair shouted too loudly. A handful of nobles glanced towards the man, curious from his outburst. Then their aristocratic gaze noticed the glare in his eye, the rise of his shoulders as he panted from a physical struggle, and blood dripping off his knuckles across the hilt of the sword in his hand. In one breath, they widened away from the king who looked like he'd begun his own revolution in the palace.

"I don't know, Sire," the elf bobbed again.

"He was supposed to be guarding..." Alistair drew down his volume and hissed in the assassin's ear, "her."

"She disengaged and ventured into the courtyard when someone called for her attention."

_Oh no._ Alistair didn't realize he began running until he smashed through a side table, dooming a dozen canapés to death. Everyone scattered out of his way, their gilded heels churning through salmon tartar to escape his bullrush. _No_ , Alistair shook his head manically while looking even more like the mad king. _He had to get to her in time. Had to..._

His fingers missed in trying to open the handle onto the veranda, but Alistair's body was on a collision course and there was no stopping him. Throwing his shoulder into the door, the glass popped open without shattering. _Lanny was here, but blighted where?_ Another hundred plus people decided moving outside was a brilliant idea. Despite not being lacking in stature, Alistair couldn't see her around the piles of dead rats and birds shoved in people's hair. He tried hopping up higher, doing a dead jump from his knees and scanning in every direction for her, but there was nothing but more wide dresses and wider lapels. As if by decree of the Maker, for a brief moment all the chattering small talk died away at once. Through that gap he heard it, Lanny's polite chuckle.

Whipping towards the sound and shouldering away frilled up collars and feathered shoulders, he spotted a burst of Lanny's dark hair flanking the sides of a man eclipsing her. He easily loomed over her, his body blocking off Alistair's view of the woman he had to protect. Summoning up his best 'I'm a king, get out of my way,' walk, he sauntered over to them, shoving ladies and gentlemen out of the way with a flick of his stolen sword. Lanny's dulcet voice carried just below the drum of conversation, almost beyond range, but it was hers. He'd know it anywhere. He could still hear it in his dreams.

_No._ A sucked in breath reverberated in the night air -- the sound of someone struggling to breathe from the shock of a blade slipping through ribs, blood pouring down their sides taking life with it. Alistair stopped playing nice. Barreling down with all the force of a man trained to be on the front line, he threw apart the nobles now crowding around Lanny. Like dogs, they sensed something was wrong but were only useful at getting in the damn way. He couldn't see her, she was still eclipsed by the templar come to kill her, the one Alistair should have warned her about so she could save herself. _She was good at that, for Andraste's sake. He should have told her, trusted her. Oh Maker, let there be time. Just let him get to her before he..._

A halo of starlight landed upon the pair of them, Lanny and a brooding, imposing man, standing apart from the rest were flanked only by a ring of stone planters. They looked to be locked in a strange embrace, their hands knotted together beside their stomachs. Blood dribbled down their conjoined chests, pooling at the bottom of their feet like scarlet rain. _Andraste, no. How could he be too late?_ Alistair grabbed onto the templar's shoulders, prepared to slice his throat the same as the other, when the man's body fell limp against him. He slipped to the side and watched the body smack into the ground, the crimson blood blooming across his chest where a gaping hole struck through, the templar's final air wheezing out.

"I take it that was the assassin Zevran was looking for," Lanny said calmly. _She wasn't hurt, by the Maker's grace she was okay._ The templar's own dagger undulated in her fingers while she watched the man who tried to kill her bleed to death at her feet.

"Are you, what happened?" Alistair stammered. He grabbed onto her shoulders as if attempting to calm her down, but it was he who needed it, maybe to be a slapped a few times as well.

"The man asked for my attention. I gave it. He attempted to attack me with this," Lanny extended the dagger also bearing the templar hilt, "but was rather surprised when it bounced against my barrier. Which I've had up all night seeing as how _someone_ didn't want to let me in on the plan."

"You knew..." Alistair swallowed. Steeling himself for the tongue lashing he deserved, Lanny only crinkled up her face and sighed.

"I suspected. There have been murmurs of late and..." she wiped her slick forehead, dabbing it with the dead man's blood. "I think you were right, it's time I collect my phylactery from the chantry," she said.

"Okay," Alistair held her free hand, terrified if he let it go she'd vanish, he'd lose her to the templars or worse, "in the morning we'll go to the Grand Cleric and..."

"No," Lanny interrupted. She grabbed onto the sword he stole off the templar and brought it up to her face along with the dagger. "We do it now, in the middle of the night, templar blood fresh upon us, while brandishing their own assassin's weapons. I'll not be a pawn in the chantry's game any longer."

## Chapter Eight

**Bathing**

**  
**

_?:?? ?_

Lana's fingers parted through the still pond as she spooned a scoopful of water across her arms, her chest leaning off the edge while her hip dug into the stone ground. Without soap, the best she could do was try and scrape the grime off with her nails. Despite the waterfall thundering upwards in the distance, the pond sat still. A green sheen drifted around the edges, not from any algae lurking under the surface or reflecting the sickly sky waiting for a storm to break that would never come. If she twisted her wet hand she could watch the water shimmer like the scales of a verdant fish. Which would probably be some kind of warning to anyone not in the fade, but she couldn't afford to be picky. After five sleeps and two obliterated spiders she needed the wash.

"Are you going to keep looking at me?" she asked aloud. Having only one change of clothes that everyday marched quicker to their own grave, she never fully undressed. They required a clean as much as she did, so why not kill two pride demons with one fireball? Despite being fully covered and spirits not having a sense of modesty, it unnerved her to feel Jowan's eyes focusing upon her as she wet her skin.

"It's not like I have anything else to do, thanks to you," he pouted. He always pouted. There were some aspects the spirit got wrong about Jowan, but that mealy mouth was dead on.

"You're not getting into my mind," Lana sighed, alighting their old argument. In the distance, Nathaniel stood guard -- not that he could do much beyond shouting for help, but it made him happy. It happy. Maker, she was going balmy in here. It'd been too long since she'd seen the third one. It would be nice to have someone to talk to who wasn't going to salute after every sentence or question her every decision.

Sliding a leg into the water and watching it glisten a green as haunting as the fade rifts, Lana wished she had just a sliver of soap. She'd tried everything, even attempted to make her own with the fat off a pride demon's corpse, but that was the most unholy smell she'd ever suffered. Demon rendered lard wasn't going to be on anyone's menu.

As the water licked up her skin, almost as warm as a person's touch, she shuddered. No, it wasn't really soap she wanted. She leapt both legs into the pond, the water sliding up to her thighs. The pond barely shifted from her weight, whatever magic pressed in on this place held it firm and taut. Trailing her fingers against the glass water, Lana stepped deeper into it while her mind slipped back to where it shouldn't.

She expected to have to knock upon the Commander's door but it was thrown wide open allowing all of his minions free range of the place. One of the soldiers leaned over his desk, adding more papers to a pile threatening to topple onto the floor. The soldier's face glanced up and she lifted an eyebrow at the interloping mage.

"I was looking for Commander Cullen," Lana said shifting up and down on her toes. She felt foolish, the sun barely broke the jagged horizon and she had no viable reason to be visiting him at all, much less this early in the morning.

If the soldier could read her mind, she gave no indication to try and stop her. Instead she gestured upward, "He's in his loft."

"Thank you, uh..."

"Addley," the woman smiled.

"Right. Thank you, Addley," Lana bobbed her head in thanks and began the climb up his ladder. _Maker's breath, when he picked this room was he trying for the most awkward quarters imaginable?_ It was one thing to keep near the heart of action - even her rooms in the Vigil sat over the throne room with a view of the courtyard - but this was preposterous. What if he was injured and couldn't climb the ladder? Would he have to sleep on his desk? Maker, he probably would, and wouldn't even complain about it.

Prodding her head up through the hole, she spied the man's bed rumpled beyond regulations, the duvet trailing onto the ground from a man dragging it off him as he rose. Hm, seemed templars could get away with leaving their beds unmade but mages had to make it tight corners every morning. How unfair. Carefully sliding out of the hole, Lana steadied herself on the sloping floor then turned to find Cullen leaning near a mirror with a blade in his hand.

She'd had two to one odds with Hawke that he never actually shaved. Perhaps some old elvhen blood in his line kept the scruff from ever growing beyond its first quarter inch, but there he was shirtless, yanking down on his top lip to scrape his hair away with the dull edge. Cullen hissed when the blade skittered down his cheek, red dots rising in the wake from terrible razor burn. Screwing his eyes tight, he placed the blade back in its box and grabbed up a cloth to dab away the loose hair and blood. Judging by the way he sneered but didn't flinch this probably happened often.

Lana went from amused to blushing awkward as the time stretched on without him realizing she stood behind. Surely he'd turn around from his mirror and spot her, or he'd catch sight of her in the very mirror. But the commander must have been lost in thought as he never once turned to find her. Maybe she should have waited downstairs with Addley. After finishing with the razor, and stopping the blood, he dipped his cloth into the brass water basin perched on his end table. Water dribbled off his shoulder as he squeezed the cloth against it, rivulets canvassing every delectable curve of the muscles down his back. There were numerous good things to be said about the front of a man, for obvious reasons, but something in the play of shoulder muscle undulating with each move and the long canyon running the length of his spine until it disappeared into his pants and parts there of shut off the thinking center of Lana's brain. Abs were nice, in the right dose, and a chest of course for laying a head upon, but Maker did she love a good backside, perfect for gripping onto and curving the palm of her hand against while the straining muscles played against it. Few were blessed with the right combination, but the commander had it in spades.

Perhaps he finally sensed a presence behind him, or more likely he heard her struggling to keep in a sigh from water highlighting each taut curve of his body. The cloth paused in the basin and Cullen glanced over his shoulder at her. Surprise twisted his tongue giving Lana time to jump in.

"Good morning," she said.

"Uh, morning to you as well. I, were we planning on...? I don't remember if there was an idea to," Cullen stuttered around the confusion.

Smiling, Lana stepped closer to him. He still had his back turned to her, but his neck strained to keep focus upon her until she leaned beside him, her hip brushing against the table. "No, there was no plan. I," absently Lana picked up the abandoned cloth and splashed it in the basin, "I wished to see you."

"Oh," now the blush rose up his cheeks, his lips parting with a soft laugh, "I'm, it's nice to see you, too. Assuming it's nice to see me as well."

After wringing the saturated cloth out, Lana pressed it against the middle of Cullen's back, right in the area he couldn't reach. His eyes slipped closed as she stroked downward tracing the bends of his muscles she wished to follow with her lips instead. "I am surprised at you. The commander of the Inquisition reduced to taking a spitz bath."

He chuckled at her summation of his morning toilet while she soaked up more of the lukewarm water. A part of her was shocked it was even that warm; he struck her as a 'crack the ice off the bucket in the morning and wash with that' type.

"Surely someone of your lofted position can afford a claw footed tub and gallons of piping hot water," Lana continued. She placed one hand upon his chest for balance while the other wiped down his side. Below her fingers, the throb of his heartbeat thumped in an increasing allegro. Despite the morning mountain air, his naked skin was warm and inviting, tempting her to place her entire chest against his.

Cullen glanced down at her hand, but his arms remained dangling at the side, uncertain what to do. Even she had no idea what her endgame was beyond getting him clean. "Someone in my position can ill afford to waste time boiling away in a bathtub," he sighed, but there was no bitterness in his words, as if he had little use for a tub. Instead, he whispered it softly to her, his breath pushing into her hair.

"Come now, given the choice between cold water and a lone washcloth versus a hot bathtub and," she paused in her scrubbing to lean back and catch his eye, "someone to bathe with, would you really pick this?"

"Depends on who I'm sharing it with," he smiled with the curve of his lips that both curled her toes and broke her heart. Cullen was never the light hearted grinner that...others were -- his smiles came at great cost, which made them rarer and more precious. A bit like a butterfly that only lived for a few weeks before the golden wings shattered against the ground. The laugh was one thing, a quick bray that he pushed out for the sake of solidarity or because something caught his fancy. But that grin, that 'you reached my soul and I have no idea how to respond beyond this smile' touched her every time she saw it. A forgotten part of her never wanted it to end.

Releasing the washcloth in the basin, Lana slid around to face him. Her butt gently knocked into the mirror, but he was focused only on the woman placing her hands upon his chest and pushing up on her tiptoes, lips searching for his. She'd been dreaming of these kisses for nights now; when not hearing the archdemon chittering in her brain, at least. How he'd soften his lips from their tight strain whenever she'd press against him. Almost as if his armor melted at her touch, exposing for a brief moment the man beneath it all. That was what she wanted, yearned to have again just like in the Deep Roads.

Cullen's hand cupped her jaw, those strong fingers pressing gently into her cheek. He pulled her closer to deepen the kiss, his other arm wrapping around her back while Lana slid her hands around his neck to steady herself. Then the sound of a door knocking back on its hinges brought them both back to reality. There was all of Skyhold wandering in and out only a ladder's jump away.

He broke the kiss, but didn't slip away. Instead, he pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, "There's talk that the Hero of Ferelden will be attending a ball at the Winter Palace."

"Interesting," Lana said. So close she could see the damage he did to his cheek with the razor. She flinched from the specks still welling in a raging scarlet. Softly, her fingers trailed down the razor burn leaving a hint of healing magic in their wake. Nothing near as impressive as curing a broken leg, this was more like a dab of lotion upon a sunburn. "You think she'll show up dressed like a griffin? Or, perhaps she'd roll in on a cart drawn by darkspawn."

Cullen smirked and his fingers caught hers as they finished the spell. Already the welts were vanishing away leaving only poorly scraped stubble behind. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"I know," she said, her vision drifting from his panting lips up to those honey eyes. They rested downward themselves, only a hint of that amber color evident below his concerned brow. "But if it will help..."

"Are you certain you're up to it?" His hands didn't move towards her wound, but she understood.

"I'm as on the mend as I'll ever be. Don't worry, Cullen," she splayed her fingers against his soothed cheek, "I can handle myself." Leaning forward, she cupped her lips around his for another kiss. A curious hint of mint lingered on his tongue that hadn't been there before her spell.

"I know you are more than capable, even when injured." He breathed into her ear, "I only thought you would prefer to gnaw your own leg off than have to face down a room full of orlesian nobility."

Lana threw her head back and laughed, the mirth strong enough to jump to his face. His once doleful eyes sparkled in response as she curled up tighter in his arms. "You're sweet," she said, pecking against his cheek.

"Is that so?" he volleyed back, bearing a quirk to his lips.

"I've always thought it."

"Sweet is the last descriptor I'd have put towards me. As of late, at least," his eyes turned away from her, but she caught his cheek and tried to pull him back.

"Cullen," Lana whispered, "I..." A thousand thoughts rattled in her head. She knew about the rigors of command, how it was easier to harden your flesh to armor than face the unending pain of loss as your people were inevitably struck down. That one could easily lose themselves to the distance and think that all remained was the steel shell. But by the Maker, she did not see that when she looked upon him. He cared, sometimes she feared for how much he did and the toll it carried.

Sighing, she let every thought slip through her fingers. She couldn't find a way to voice it beyond some claptrap about maintaining one's humanity in the face of adversity. Instead, she snuggled her head against his bare chest, his skin radiating against her cheek. "I thought you were sweet in the tower. Remember the, uh, nickname you had?"

"How could I forget?" he sighed but shook his head, a soft chuckle at the end.

"Well," her fingers trailed along his collarbone, following the swoop until it fell into the divot above sternum, "It was I who began it."

"Really?" he started, his eyes trying to pry her off his chest so he could study her for a falsehood, but Lana buried herself deeper, a blush rising up her cheeks. For the Maker's sake it was over ten years ago, but she couldn't stop the giddy embarrassment at getting called out for it, even if she did it to herself. "I'd thought it was one of the other templars trying to prod at me. But it was you all along? If I'd known..."

"Nothing would have changed," Lana whispered to his chest.

"That," despite the chill whispering through his loft, Cullen was an oasis of warmth. He clung tighter to her, his hands meeting behind her back, "that's true, sadly."

"Life's never been a straight line for me, not the way it's supposed to." She didn't mean to sound bitter. All things considered, she was damn lucky she still breathed.

"Lana, I..." he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, pulling her with him as he thought, "Whatever path the Maker's set for me, for you, I'm grateful you stumbled back into my life."

"Me too," she whispered, rising up to kiss him again.

Lana's eyes snapped awake and she smashed both fists through the water, splashing herself in the face. Unable to notice the water dripping in her eyes, her mind burned in rage as she rounded upon the spirit reclining on the water's edge. "You had no right to delve into my memories, Jowan!"

"What, me? What did I do?" he pointed at himself as if he was the wounded party.

"We have an arrangement. One I can easily end with your death," Lana flared her fist in ice and the spirit trembled at the threat.

"Hey, wait, hold on. That wasn't me. Cross my heart and please don't stab it. What could I even get from you and your templar shooting goo goo eyes at each other?"

That was true. There was nothing of his idiom inside that memory, certainly no reason for him to risk their tenuous deal for it. "No one else here reads my mind. Nathaniel only takes the scraps from yours and she doesn't need to bother."

Jowan knocked his slipper into the rock rising around the pond's edge and he sneered at her submerged feet. "Like I'd want a thing off you being with _him_. Don't you know he's the enemy? Same exact type of dead eyed murderers that killed me."

"Because you poisoned an Arl!" Lana shouted at him. "You had every opportunity to fix your mistake, but you just kept running."

"I did what I could to survive. For me, and for the woman I loved. But what would you know of that, Lana the pure, Lana the untouchable? Never crossed a rule, always kept herself in line. Dare not open herself up for fear of any of that dirty heartache stuff throwing off her life. No. And the one time I come to you, beg you to help me, what you do but go right to Irving and rat me out. I needed you and you abandoned me."

"You. Were. A. Blood. Mage!" she screamed, leaping up and down in the pond.

"Which I did because of you, to prove that I could be as good as you. If it weren't for you, I'd still be alive. Do you regret telling Irving?"

The spirit's spell broke over Lana and she shook her head. Massaging her forehead with her wet fingers, she whispered, "You're not really Jowan," a few times to herself. "If I hadn't told Irving about it, they'd still have found you, would have stopped you. But if I'd turned you down that day, then I wouldn't be stuck here in the fade."

"How's that?" Jowan asked, the spirit caught off guard by the sublimation of her anger.

"Duncan never would have recruited me and I'd never have become a grey warden, much less stopped a blight, and I'd never have assisted the Inquisition to wind up in here with you. That's the thing about regrets, sometimes they cut both ways."

Jowan didn't sneer from her jibe, instead he smiled wide, a new dawn rising upon his face. "You're right. I never thought about it that way. Excellent."

_Andraste's holy knickers_ , this was going to drive her mad, assuming she wasn't already. Talking to her dead friends, constantly reliving what pushed them to their limits for his own instinctual needs, and all so she didn't starve while walking the fade. Another thought chewed on the back of her mind. If it wasn't Jowan who plucked at her memory, then what did? They weren't like a daydream, or even a true dream. When the spirits or demons slipped into her head, every moment felt real, her memory almost wiped clean of whatever came after. She could cling to the fact she stood in the fade to keep her grounded but within some of them she didn't even want that, wishing she could fully lose herself to what used to be.

Lana waded through the pond to the shore, her mind churning up thoughts and none of them coming up good. Sensing a change in his food source and potential only friend, Jowan spoke up, "What is it?"

She grabbed up her pack, ignoring the fire where she'd intended to dry herself and her clothes for the not-night. "We need to find the other one. I have to ask her some questions."

"Oh great, because she's just a barrel of fun," Jowan moped, folding his arms in anger.

Lana ignored him. Picking up her staff, she turned to look into the sky. Hanging far too close than she liked was the Black City, always looming over her every step.

## Chapter Nine

**Faithful**

_9:41 Skyhold_

He watched her thin fingers run the rim of the tea cup. She wouldn't drink it, or even acknowledge it, beyond circling the top as it cooled on his desk. The book Lana swiped off his shelves was proving far more interesting than a royal elfroot blend. Perched upon the edge of his desk with one leg off the ground, she'd been reading through it quietly while he was getting work done. Supposed to be getting work done. Every few lines, Cullen's gaze would travel up the slender arms calmly turning a page, fall into the gentle eyes lost in thought, and hunger for the succulent lips in a calculating pout. He'd accomplished barely a thing since she strolled into his office and he didn't care a whit about it.

Trying to ground himself, he reached for his own mug of tea and picked up the small goblet of milk. Why it was in a goblet was beyond his understanding aside from Josephine explaining, "There is a small dish problem that I am looking into. I suspect Sera is involved but haven't found the proof yet." Slopping a mess across the tray, Cullen managed to get a plop of milk into his mug.

"You're doing it wrong," Lana said, somehow watching him with her eyes still engrossed in the book.

"It's not my fault the glass doesn't have a spout," he said.

"Not that," she closed the book and placed it upon the desk. Spinning around, she placed a hand next to her own cup as she beamed those soulful eyes into him. "The milk. You add it first, then the tea. Everyone knows it."

"Why would I do that? What difference does it make?"

"What difference? All the difference in thedas," she threw her arms wide and hopped off the desk. Grabbing up the book, Lana moved towards the shelf to return it back where she found it. "By adding it first you ensure the perfect distribution of milk to tea, it doesn't sit there in a white blob on the surface."

"A problem which could be solved with a spoon," Cullen said. He stared at the white blob disseminating into the brown liquid in his mug. "What if I wanted to add more milk? I couldn't do it if the tea came after."

Lana pivoted on her hip and eyed him up, "You're over thirty, I'd think by now you'd know your preferred ratio of milk to tea." Her dead serious face didn't crack as she turned back to the shelf, her fingers drawing across his offerings as if hoping it had changed since she last looked.

The offended mug of tea sat idle as Cullen slipped away from his desk. His hands resting upon the sword, he stretched his neck. "Wouldn't adding the milk first scald it?"

"Oh, this old fallacy," she sighed, pinching her nose. "If you are drinking tea that warm, you clearly already despise your tongue and throat, and it doesn't matter what you do. Milk before tea, it's the only proper way to do it."

Running his tongue against his teeth, he gazed up at the ceiling. "This is the hill you intend to die upon, the proper addition of milk."

"I'm afraid so, Commander," she ruefully said, a trace of a smile breaking up her words. "The only solution to this impasse is a duel at dawn. Since you're the offended party, I'll let you have first choice of weapons."

Falling in behind her, Cullen slipped his hands around her waist to clasp tight to her stomach. Lana leaned back into him, her hair cushioning against his chest as she sighed. "I choose my arms," he whispered. To back up his claim, he increased his hug and bent his knees enough he could rest his chin upon her head. Whether it was her natural warmth or the sweet floral oils in her hair, peace curled through Cullen whenever he held her. Any dark or bitter thoughts vanished the moment she slipped into his arms, and when she'd touch his cheek or traipse her fingers through his hair, he'd dare to hope that for once in his life things would go well.

"I love you," he whispered. Contentment. That was what holding her was, like sliding into bliss personified. Happiness. _Maker, how did he find that?_

She twisted her head against him, then turned in his grip. Those deep brown eyes gazed up into his and she smiled. "That's cheating."

"I do what I must for the sake of tea drinkers who add milk later everywhere."

Lana chuckled then rose up on her toes to kiss him. Her lips wrapped around his, pressing them together in a hug of their own. It was an odd way to think about it, but that was her kiss as of late. Not the heated need to drag him off to a bed or blanket on the floor, but a gentle reminder that she was here and she was glad of it. He wished he could do the same for her, assure her that he had no intentions of ever turning away. Then his tongue would trip over itself, his mind would stutter to the usual smattering of un-words and he'd curl in on himself. At least he could kiss her.

Slipping away from him, Lana reached behind to pick up her tea cup. "Here," she tried to push it in his face. Reluctantly, he released his hold on her body and took it from her fingers. "At least try it. To see how much better it is." Taking a small sip, Cullen's face contorted. Lana sneered, "Oh, now you're being difficult."

"It's gone cold, nearly ice cold, in fact," he rushed to defend himself.

"Hm," she dipped her fingers under the porcelain cup and slipped her eyelids closed. He watched them flutter as she dug into the fade, her eyelashes as thick as a paintbrush. A silly part of him wanted to run his fingers over them to feel how soft they had to be. Opening her eyes quickly, Lana grinned, "There, it should be warm now."

Tipping the cup in thanks, Cullen brought it back to his lips.

Lana grabbed onto his wrist and shouted, "No, wait!" But she was too late. It only brushed against his bottom lip, but the burn was instantaneous, pain flaring across his flesh. He yanked the teacup away and less than gently tossed it onto the desk.

"Maker, I should have warned you. I'm so sorry," Lana rushed to apologize. "I...don't control it well, so they overheat and have to wait and... Is it bad? It's bad."

He tried to lick at the wound, but reared back from the attempt. The air itself bit into his burn but he hid away as much of the obvious pain as he could. Lana already felt bad enough from his own stupidity. Her entire face crumbled at the hurt she didn't mean to cause, hadn't planned on. Continuing to apologize, she blew on her thumb and placed it against his bottom lip.

Expecting it to sting, Cullen instinctively leaned back, but a cooling sensation radiated off her skin as if she turned her thumb into a block of ice. Gripping onto the back of her hand, he pressed her thumb tighter and her magic broke the burn.

"Heat I'm bad at, but cold I can handle," Lana explained. "Is that helping or...?"

Cullen nodded appreciatively, the burn already dissipated to little more than an annoyance. Gently, he nipped his lips against her thumb, savoring the chill melting into his mouth. A soft sigh reverberated in Lana's throat as he kissed her thumb. Moving downward, Cullen pressed his lips against every inch of her palm. When he reached her wrist, he grazed the thin skin with his teeth. Lana's body shuddered, her eyes tight as joy twisted up her lips.

"How..." her throaty voice strung against his own lustful heart, "can you still be hungry?" Lana's eyes opened and she chuckled while smiling at him.

Gripping around her waist, he brought his lips next to her ear. His warm breath tingled against her skin and she softly moaned. "It's not difficult when you're around," Cullen whispered.

"Only this morning we...Maker's breath, you're insatiable," she chided with her words while her body molded into his, her own fingers dipping lower to skim across the top of his backside.

_Yes, he was._ He'd kept himself aloof for so long, his libido locked away in his chest for the sake of his promise to chantry. To have it finally set loose like a caged animal turned him into a hormone addled young man all over again. He wasn't about to waste a second of it. Curling his fingers against her cheek, Cullen twisted up a strand of her errant hair and followed it down her buttery skin to rest upon her collarbone and that birthmark. "What of you? I believe it was your idea to 'skip the noon meal.'"

Lana laughed, her head thrown back, her cheeks stretched like apples in joy. She never fanned her flames in laughter, never dampened it down to a quiet smile. There was no pretense with her and he adored it. Still chuckling, she hopped up on her tiptoes and kissed him with that old fervor. Her tongue lapped against his bottom lip, pulling it into hers as she sucked upon it. Cullen's fingers dug into her hair, pulling the strands back the way she liked. Releasing her hold, she smiled into his eyes, "I never said I wasn't insatiable."

A knock broke against the door. Cullen shook his head, his nose crinkling up as the smell of salt and rotting fish rolled through the office. "Come back later," he shouted to the knocker, but it didn't stop them. The rapport continued louder, each beat thudding against his head, through his entire body. How was that even...

"Hey, wakey wakey now. We just struck land." The king of Ferelden filled Cullen's vision, the sight of Alistair's nose peeling from the sunburn inches away almost enough to turn his stomach. Not that the ship wasn't doing a wonderful job of it already.

Memories snapped back at him as he realized where he was and Cullen steadied his hand against the wall beside his hammock. But that was what he'd been in before, not a dream but an old memory. He and Lana had prodded each other about milk, he burned himself on the cup, and then they... Sorrow stirred in his heart from the bitter emptiness left behind after every dream he had about her. They felt so much stronger than his other dreams, sometimes even more so than the bad ones, as if the fade adored torturing him. Unless, Lana's being in the...

Cullen scrubbed his hands across his face, wiping away the thought. He rose carefully off the hammock, making certain to not smack his head on the low beams of the ship. Alistair already scampered off to do whatever he kept up to on the ship. Reaching for his shirt, Cullen slipped out of the hammock and tried to wipe away the last of his dream from his mind and body. _Maker, did the king notice? Would he wonder? Andraste's tears, would he ask?_ That would just add to his mounting misery.

Dressing slowly, and taking the time to scratch Honor's ears, the king's word suddenly broke against Cullen. Snapping up, he shouted through the hold, "What do you mean we struck land?"

By the time he got out of the hold, he could see for himself. The Siren's Echo drifted beside a port side city like none he'd ever seen. Houses with curved roofs and lacelike tiles dripping off the eaves leaked out into the sea, hoisted above the lapping waves on poles. Without a care, denizens would leap off the wooden walkways into the water, or slide down ropes canvassing the area. A good hundred of the houses leered above them, all colorful like stained glass from multi-dyed canvas stretched from one house to the next.

"Where are we?" Cullen whispered to himself. The people sported the same bronzed to dusky skin as the pirates, but despite a willingness to dive headfirst into the waves, they wore longer robes even more colorful than their abodes. Jewels and gold glittered through the braided hair almost as ostentatious as the ones in display at Orlesian estates.

"Welcome to Rivain," Isabela called from her perch next to the wheel. She didn't spin it seeing as how the sails were roped down and the ship tied to the dock, but she seemed in no mood to abandon her post to rush ashore.

"Why have we stopped?" Cullen rounded up the five stairs to the command deck with an ease that'd been foreign to him only a few weeks prior. Grabbing onto the railing, he pulled himself past the first three stairs, jumped on the fourth and landed in front of Isabela. Her eyes drifted across him for a moment, but he'd grown used to that once over as well.

"Same reason anyone stops; re-supply, check the news, get in a bath or bit of fun before hitting the waves again. Don't worry, it won't be more than a day. Right!" she called to her mariners who all grumbled.

"You don't seem excited about staying."

"It's not one of my top favorite places to dock, and we need to hit Tevinter before winter sets in. The northern seas are a favorite for storms," Isabela answered him before facing back to her ship. "By Andraste's tits, if you drop that again I'll hang you off the mast myself!" she shouted to her overworked crew.

Turning away from Isabela, he stared across the worn faces of the pirates. He may not know a thing about sailing or ships, but Cullen honed his sense for measuring the morale of an army years ago. With each passing day it grew more evident that they weren't ecstatic about this trip. Even the admiral would shake her head and mutter something under her breath whenever they passed another potential port, though she gave Kirkwall a wide berth.

"I find myself curious why you're helping him, doing this mission," Cullen said.

"There's a lot of coin in it. Plus, it's good to have a king in your back pocket, just in case." She tried to shrug it off as if the pirate queen had no cares beyond gold, but darkness circled under her eyes.

"It cannot be a matter only of gold."

"There is a lot of gold involved, and he paid upfront. Mostly. Look, I don't know a thing about all this magical fade shit, and I'm quite happy never going near that _place_ again. It was bad enough with Hawke," Isabela glared at the deck and a shudder ran up her shoulders. "But sometimes you owe a thing or two and, maybe I'm doing my Andrastian duty. I don't know, it feels like the least I can offer."

"I..." Cullen bowed his head. In his own solipsistic grief he kept forgetting that Lana touched other's lives, that they too would mourn and miss her. "Forgive me for prying," he retreated back into his cushioned shell. After her death, people from the blight would stumble across him, learn that they served in the same tower or knew each other and they all felt the need to bring up their great story of the Hero of Ferelden. How they watched her ride a flaming horse across the plains to strike down a line of darkspawn. Or that she obliterated an ogre and rescued them. They meant well, he could see that in retrospect, but every tale wiggled that nail in his brain - the one that told him there was so much to her he never learned. So much of Lana's life passed him by, both of them operating alone separated by the breadth of a sea and unable and unwilling to take the first step to close the gap. While her journal gave him peace, it was also a reminder that he wasted so much time only for the sake of punishing himself.

"If you want to find your friend," Isabela spoke up, "he's wandered off to the market."

Cullen frowned at labeling Alistair his friend. They'd spoken a paltry sum of sentences for the past month, keeping abreast of each other while pacing the decks. About the only advice Cullen took from his was to keep a tight watch on any lantern sparks, and that he needed to eat a lime every once in awhile. The rest was water off his back. But, a chance to stretch his legs off the ship and walk amongst actual land that didn't bob and weave with every step sounded tempting. Slapping his leg, he called Honor to follow him down the gangplank and into the heart of Seere.

It was easier to find the king than he expected. In spite of the city in the middle of a typical market day with every manner of ware being peddled up and down the docks to hungry and lonely sailors, the path of Alistair practically glittered in his wake. Even with the burn shifting into a pathetic tan upon his cheeks, the pale skin and yellow haired man stood out in the sea of Rivanians like a speck of sand in rich earth. Cullen stumbled as he realized he probably looked much the same, perhaps even worse as he'd been avoiding the reflecting rays off the water down in the hold. Not to mention the dog walking primly by his side.

Honor was on her best behavior. Despite every version of tempting foodstuffs drifting beside her snout, she'd only twist her head, her tiny tail thumping madly in anticipation. Not once did she launch forward to nab her own samples. Either she was hoping for a treat later or she'd already worked out some plan to sneak treats when Cullen's back was turned. Someone on the ship particularly loved slipping her cheese when he was unaware, leaving him to nearly die of poisoned gas in the night.

The stalls lined along the shore all looked out upon the sea itself. There wasn't the usual fluff he'd expect for someone trying to sell their merchandise as the best in all of thedas. Sailors wandered up to the counter, threw down whatever coins they had, then left. This was the staging area, where you ran out quick when you needed a few supplies and not the unwinding section of the city. Judging by the pink petals painted along the cobblestones leading west away from the sea, Cullen had a pretty good idea where the shoreleavers went. _Maker, at least the king didn't head that way._

No, instead Alistair was leaning against one of the stalls facing away from the glittering waves. Cullen called for Honor to sit and then he approached from behind. He'd been expecting to find an array of weaponry, or fancy foodstuffs, even the possibility of ointments, but this shop offered up nothing but jewelry. The king's fingers rolled around a golden necklace with beads of turquoise and sapphire dripping off it like a waterfall.

"That doesn't strike me as your type," Cullen said.

Rather than grumble or even sneer in embarrassment, Alistair only chuckled. He did that a lot. "Really? I thought I pulled off blues rather well." To show off, he placed the necklace against his skin and smiled wide. The woman at the counter shouted something Cullen couldn't understand, then pointed at Alistair's neck. "See, confirmation," he said, nodding at her.

"You speak Rivanian?" Cullen started. Somedays he was surprised the man could even handle Ferelden much less anything beyond its borders.

The king placed five coins in the woman's hand, then smiled and added another silver. "Not much. Just enough to ask where the bathroom is, how much for this piece of bread, and can I borrow your quill."

"And 'I would like to purchase this necklace,' evidently," Cullen continued, pointing at the jewelry still laying against the counter. "A piece of jewelry which you intend to give to..."

He said something to the shopkeep and she dropped down to a knee, hunting through the back of her stall. "Hm? Oh, it's for the wife. She loves trinkets, and doodads, and other bits and baubly shiny stuff."

"Right," Cullen shifted from jealousy to indignation in the span of a syllable, "you are married."

"Forgot about the Queen? That's got to be grounds for some kind of treason. Maybe one of those 'we chop off your hair' types. Make you wear a shirt made out of itchy wool while whipping noodles at you."

"Only surprised that you could be bothered to remember."

Alistair chuckled mirthlessly. He banged his fingers gently on the counter and tipped his head back to stare at the sky. "So, who are you sitting in judgment of now? Me for being married and still enjoying those extra curricular activities?" He turned to Cullen and an edge ran through this next words, "Or Lanny for that fact not stopping her."

Bunching a fist up tight, Cullen fought down the urge to smack his smug face off. Beside him he felt Honor tighten, her lolling tongue slipping inside as she focused on her master. "You made those vows, not Lana. Her only mistake was in trusting you."

"Ouch, you don't let the crown slow you down," Alistair shrugged and he turned back to the counter. The shopkeep popped up and passed over a small box to slip the necklace into. "At least you don't hold Lanny responsible. Maybe there's some hope for you after all, templar. Chantry has a lot of very concrete thoughts on adultery."

"All of which seemed to pass you right on by," Cullen bit back with. He bounced on his toes wishing he'd stayed on the ship with Isabela. Even if all the pirates ignored him it'd have been better than this humiliating torture. In their little remaining time together, he never asked Lana about Alistair, didn't want to know. Certainly never wanted to think about it, but now the man couldn't stop bringing it up. It seemed to be his favorite pastime after playing pirate.

Cullen's attack didn't sting. The king only shrugged again as he wrapped up the necklace and slipped it into his pocket. Smiling at the woman, he said what was probably thank you. Then she spoke a few words quickly, her finger jabbing at the king and then Cullen. Alistair's eyes opened wide and danced from the woman back to the even more uncomfortable man beside him.

"What?" Cullen pried, "Did she ask you to find the bathroom? Or need to borrow your quill?"

"No, no," he tipped his head down but couldn't wipe away the smile stretching his cheeks. "She asked if she could buy you off of me for one of her daughters."

"What?!" Cullen leapt backwards, falling out of the cheap sandals he'd worn on deck. "That is preposterous, and no, do not look upon me like that. No!" He shook his head violently at the woman.

"That's not helping your case there," Alistair spoke up. "That whole head shaking is more like a nod here for her, and...hang on." He slipped into the tongue that the man knew far better than he let on. Cullen had no idea what he said, but the woman's eyes widened first in shock, then acceptance before finally pity overflowed from them. She waved her fingers together in a heretical sign of Andraste's Eye and thrusted them at Cullen in a blessing.

Smiling at her, and then whatever affianced leper he turned Cullen into, Alistair broke away from the counter and tipped his head to the woman. Without turning back to the man he could have sold off, the king walked down the boardwalk his eyes following the line of soldiers winding out of a small food cart. Whistling for Honor to follow, Cullen pursued him but kept a good pace and a half behind, not out of respect but because he didn't want anyone else to think they were together.

"What did you tell her?" he called.

"Does it matter? It worked. She has nooo interest in you now. Is that often a problem for you? Old ladies trying to scoop you up for their daughters or granddaughters?"

Cullen growled and Honor repeated it, the fur along her back rising. He ran his fingers along it to smooth down the blue-black hair. His dog attacking the king of Ferelden would pretty much banish him from ever seeing his family ever again. _Why was everyone always on him about his romantic life?_ Early on no one cared beyond the occasional titter about how he lacked in whatever aspect made someone an acceptable catch. And in Kirkwall he...did not care himself. Even after the deep roads, it barely changed beyond the few wistful nights when he wished the world would realign itself just for him to be with her. But the moment he signed up with the Inquisition suddenly everyone was on his case about settling down, finding someone, being happy. Happy was overrated.

He didn't realize he'd frozen in his tracks until he looked up and spotted the king further along the sidewalk. Alistair paused as well, his head tossed back to jut out his chin while he thought. "It's not your fault if you've been with someone else."

"What?" Cullen whipped up, but the king didn't turn around. He continued to speak to a ghost in front of him instead of the man he barely knew behind.

"Two years, it's a long time. Add in believing she's dead, and..."

Cullen stomped towards him while hissing, "You have no concept of what I, I've never! And yet you, with..." He snorted, tossing his head to find a balance in his words before continuing. "I am not you. Do not presume to judge."

"Yeah, I caught on to that fact real quick. Are you allergic to laughing or is it a lifestyle choice?" Now the king turned on his heel and it wasn't that smug lording look in his eyes but a misplaced compassion. "Look, I get it. You're a man with all the corresponding urges and...yeah, I'm not finishing that thought. Point is, it's natural to move on, find comfort. Healthy."

"What makes you believe I've been anything but faithful?"

Alistair winced at that, "It's not being unfaithful if...Maker's breath, I was just trying to say that you shouldn't feel guilty for, you know, catching a few eyes and enjoying that."

"There have been no eyes caught here or otherwise," Cullen spat.

"That soldier of yours practically tossing her silk underthings at your feet while she waved goodbye seemed to be giving you the once and twice over."

_Andraste's holy pyre._ Cullen sagged at the mention of Addley. He hadn't meant it to be anything romantic, not at first. Perhaps not even after. She had served under him for years, even in Kirkwall. It may have been the reason why he found himself spending more time with her as he pieced himself back together. They shared a strange history of walking through the same fires and coming out alive. But, he'd never tried anything, never would have, even if on occasion... By the Maker, he hated himself. He hated he wasn't strong enough to have faith in Lana. He'd waited ten years, but he couldn't keep his mind pure for a couple more?

"Okay, that didn't go the way I meant. I'm sorry, uh," Alistair waved his royal fingers near Cullen's broken form without touching him. "All I was driving at was that Lanny's not a romantic like that. She doesn't wish on stars and believe in one true loves."

"What a surprise considering what you did to her," Cullen scoffed from below his hooded brow.

Alistair threw his arms up and buried his fingers in his hair. Even with passing sailors watching, he yanked his head back and forth like a metronome. "This is why I don't try to do anything nice for you. I'd be better off nailing my hand to the wall."

"There's nothing stopping you."

"Ha, that's true. Anyone got a hammer I could borrow?" he rose up on his royal toes to glance around the splintery docks. "You want to have at me, you can. Double points for my lacking hygiene and table manners. I doubt you could do more damage than Morrigan ever managed. She can destroy you with a single glance if she's half a mind."

"Play your games all you want, act as if you're the wounded party," Cullen cursed at him. He staggered back to his feet to face down the king. "I know why you'd engage in this journey, spend Maker knows how much coin to bring her back. You think this grand gesture will win her over."

Alistair blinked a few times in his face and then the softest laugh broke down his throat. It increased in jocularity, a braying punctuated between the laughs until it all crashed to a halt. "Wait? Are you serious? Maker, no wonder you've been like a poker up the backside. Lanny and I, we had our chance. A chance that I, yes, screwed up royally -- pun intended. In the end, we spent more time as friends, good friends. I knew she had my back and I had hers for anything, no matter what. She deserves everything at my disposal."

"You love her," Cullen said. He'd known, it was hard to escape the obvious fact staring him in the face. Someone didn't risk his life, his crown, his kingdom to chase a rumor halfway across thedas unless his heart was involved.

Alistair snapped his teeth in thought, then sighed, "Of course I do, it's Lanny. How do you not love her? But..." He wiggled his fingers through each other, watching them intersect like locking rings, "I'm not _in_ love with her. Not anymore. That's all on you now, so..."

'And I'm to believe that?' hung in Cullen's throat. It made no sense to think the man was beyond her, but the starkness in the king's face, the way he squared his shoulders while taking on the full brunt of Cullen's glare gave him pause. It smelled like the truth. "May I..." Cullen coughed from a bolus catching in his throat, "may I hold the phylactery?"

He expected the king to refuse, almost all requests got an 'it's fine, says she's still west,' but Alistair paused and nodded. Their conversation must have struck back at him, the king's own voice raw, "Of course." Digging into the satchel, he dropped the pulsing bottle into Cullen's cupped hands. "You can keep it until nightfall on the ship. I have a dozen more council members to buy shiny things for and I'd rather we not have to chase down some adorable street urchin who picked it off me."

As Cullen's fingers drifted around the glass, his mind snapped towards the Anderflls and the whisper of her voice carried on the wind. He couldn't make out the words, but it almost sounded like a song she'd hum under her breath. "Thank you," he said, lost in the promise of her life.

## Chapter Ten

**Peeling**

_9:44 Waking Sea_

"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm," Cullen's clasped hands trembled -- the skin raw from the tear of salt water, the calluses rising from every grip of striated rope. He kneeled in his corner where on occasion a few pirates watched from across the way. They never joined in, but they didn't call out or interrupt either. No one seemed certain what to do about the man who was neither chantry nor civilian.

Shifting on his exhausted knees, he began again, the drip of words from his brain as reflexive as parrying with his blade. "I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder." Endure. He knew that word far too well. Wore it in every scar upon his skin, screamed it in every nightmare embedded in his mind, feared it in the beat of his heart. Even as everything around him fell, somehow, Cullen endured.

"Who knows me as You do? You have been there since before my first breath. You have seen me when no other would recognize my face..." Cullen paused again, the next words rattling against his abraded nerves. "You," he wet his cracked lips and gazed down at the dog prostrated before him. What Honor got out of his praying was beyond him, but she never left his side. "Maker, You composed the cadence of my heart."

His tenuous grip slipped, Cullen's palms parting as the rest of the prayer faded from his mind. _Why? Why did the Maker have to build his heart to yearn for hers?_ Grief swelled up, devouring the meager strength in his body. He fumbled off his knees to land against a support beam, an unfinished nail swiping at his already tattered shirt. _What was he doing here?_ Bobbing on the middle of the northern sea passage on the way to Tevinter, he -- a once knight-captain of the templars -- risked his life, his position, his sanity for...for what? People didn't come back from the dead. They passed through the fade and on to the Maker's side. Two years, for over 600 hundred days he'd struggled through the grief like a man crawling across broken glass. And, just when he thought he found peace, fate threw him a final foolish chance.

_Peace._ Cullen snickered at himself for the thought. No, it wasn't peace. He'd found monotony, safety in the mundane of moving through the motions of living without risking himself again. He packed his heart away in the sky blue bottle along with her false ashes. _By the Maker, what was he doing here?_ They'd had, what, a few months together, and that was being generous. For all he knew, Lana had no plans to...

His head collapsed onto his chest and he shook it. No, he was trying to stir back up the anger because hating her, hating himself, hate in general felt better than the frozen lake of grief. As strange as it sounded, the idea that the king intended to swipe her out from under him kept him going. It struck against the primal competitive nerve. Before, Cullen didn't worry what would happen if they reached the end of their journey and discovered nothing; how he'd face the empty journey back. His only concern was in beating Alistair. And now... He believed him -- believed that, despite putting so much effort into finding her, he had no intentions beyond possible friendship. Not that Lana will be forgiving and forgetting his transgressions so...

He kept doing that. His mind waffled between past and present tense. Sometimes she was long gone, lost in the fade two years ago, nothing but ash in the wind. Others, occasionally even mid-sentence, he believed as fervent as anything in him that she remained out there, alive and reachable. If the ship didn't kill him, the hope would.

Patting Honor on the head, he rose to his feet. Despite dressing for bed, as much as one did on a pirate ship, Cullen needed to move and walk until his muscles collapsed in exhaustion or his brain would torture him the entire night. "Do you want to go for a walk, girl?" he asked Honor, but the dog huffed from her blanket. He was steady as a rock, but the mabari kept a schedule that couldn't be shattered by a sapper. No one loved her bedtime as much as Honor. "All right, guard the bunk while I'm gone then."

He wasn't concerned about the others swiping his things. To begin, he barely had anything worthy of attention. If that were not enough, the pirates also seemed slightly terrified of the ex-templar, a few of them protecting themselves with the same warding eye whenever he passed. Superstition ran deep on the waves. Cullen was uncertain if a templar on board was good or bad luck, and the pirates appeared just as lost on the matter.

A good three-fourths of the crew slipped into their own rocking beds for the night, an ungodly sound echoing through the maze-like hold as they tried to out snore each other. Cullen ducked low to avoid the higher pirates as he trekked not onto the deck, but deeper towards the stern of the ship. A tempting light flickered from below the generous gap of a closed door on the port side. Curiosity chasing away his dour thoughts, he pulled back on the knotted rag jammed into a hole to create a handle and found himself standing in the kitchen. It was a generous way to describe the room which held a few massive pots, barrels of salted meat, and the turned back of a man chopping his way through potatoes.

Of course, it had to be him. Alistair, the king of Ferelden, sat perched upon a three legged stool, his thumb guiding a dagger along the skin of a potato while whistling under his breath. He let the curling waste lay where it landed creating a potato skin moat around the king. When he finished, his half out-of-tune song paused, and he dropped the tater into the other barrel. The turn was enough for the king to catch Cullen skulking around behind him.

"Come for dinner?" he asked, holding up his sheered vegetable. "Or is it breakfast, now?"

"The sun's yet to rise. That's dinner as far as I am concerned," Cullen answered.

"Everyone gets all hung up on midnight. It is the new day according to these fancy calendars here. How about we call it the new day when we see, I don't know, daylight maybe?"

He could leave him, head to the hatch or return to his hammock and attempt to sleep. But Cullen inched closer into the room. "Why are you doing that?"

"Eating them with the skins on will poison you," Alistair said. He picked up another potato and got to work. "I need something to do, to keep myself busy or my mind's all 'Hey Alistair, now's a great time to talk about all the ways you've screwed up this week. And if we've got time, we'll go over your failures from a month ago as well your poor hygiene and posture.'"

Cullen waved his head at the blather but the man's words bore a semblance of sense. There were no other stools and barely enough breathing room as was, but Cullen inched into the room and hopped up onto one of the lime barrels.

Alistair waved at the pile of potatoes then lifted an eyebrow, "You wanna have a go at 'em too?"

"Why not," he shrugged accepting both potato and paring knife from royalty. For a good three or so they sat in silence, peeling potatoes that a ship full of pirates would eat in the morning. Cullen would look over and watch the king work through his mess like a trained chef. He was able to get an entire skin in one go, the knotted flesh trailing off his blade like a brown ribbon. "You are surprisingly good at this."

"I had a lot of practice," Alistair said. "The trick is to piss enough people off they send you to the kitchens to do this for hours." After chuckling at his own joke, he picked back up a whistle, but it wasn't the song from before. Almost under his breath, he began to recite a templar canticle. It wasn't anything known outside of the order, not for any secretive reasons. It simply held no baring to others.

"How do you know that?" Cullen asked, his own potato's skin dangling forgotten off his thumb.

"Know what?"

"The code, the mnemonic to remember the order of discipline for disrupting mana?"

The king blinked a few times as his eyebrows met in the middle. "Don't you know? I thought everyone knew. Boy, who do you have to kill and take the crown of to get the attention of a town cryer? Me," he patted his chest with his spud, "Alistair: the tale of the man who was a king, before that a grey warden, and before that...a templar."

_A templar?_ Cullen's eyes widened. No. This man was damn near heretical in his thoughts on the chantry, on the order, on... _Templars were her blindspot_ , he said it. Maker take him, he was right.

Alistair didn't notice Cullen's internal monologue. He dumped his fifth potato into the bucket and continued, "And before that a bastard child no one wanted. That old cliché tale." His fingernails dug into his next conquest and he turned to Cullen, "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Remember? I..." Cullen was still stuck on the king of Ferelden, the man who helped end the blight and who stole Lana's heart, being a templar himself. _How had he never heard it?_

"It's okay. Took my awhile to dredge you up, not that I don't do my best to forget every second in templar training."

"No," Cullen shook his head, struggling to try and pick through hundreds of templars who'd crossed his path over the years. "We never..."

"Yup, you and I grew up in the same order together. Even the same dormitory. Didn't have a thing to do with each other, thank the Maker. You had your little crew of devoted converts and I had..." he stabbed his knife into the potato and lifted it up to his eyes, "these guys."

"I..." he couldn't understand. He refused to understand. The king of Ferelden was in the templar order. He had been there, learned beside him, studied and fought beside him, and Cullen didn't even remember. "Why would you join the order?"

"Well, there's joining and then there's _joining_. I didn't get much say in the joining part. Threw a _royal_ fit over it when at ten they packed me off to the chantry because the Arlessa didn't like having a little bastard running around." He didn't sound bitter over it, only shrugged and plopped his finished work away. Then again, being king now he could have ordered his own revenge upon this Arlessa. "Never did the vows, or the lyrium, which worked out well given my ever changing vocation. I hated it, all of it. I didn't want to hunt mages."

"That wasn't what I wanted either."

Alistair tipped his head, "Wanted as a kid, maybe."

"And now," Cullen bit back. He anticipated a return to their argument, but the king accepted it for once or at least shut up, an even greater miracle.

"You were a few years ahead of me, and a model templar too. Always polishing your armor and what not. Bundled you off to the tower with rose petals in your wake. Me? I wonder what the Grand Cleric had in mind for what to do with a sulking, insubordinate fool. Her exact words. She threw an epic fit when Du- I was recruited into the grey wardens, but I was ecstatic."

A dark thought trailed through Cullen's mind and he couldn't stop a laugh at the idea. The king lifted a shoulder and then rolled his knife to encourage the man to explain. "We could have both been at the tower together. Both have met her..."

"Ah," Alistair nodded, catching on, "never thought of that, but it could have happened. Fate's a funny thing when you play that what if game." Folding his hands up around the naked potato, he held it cradled in the crook of his arm like a baby instead of a vegetable. "First time I met Lanny she, uh, caught me in an argument with a mage. I didn't start it but they got wind of my having been a templar and, oh boy, do mages like to start fights."

"It was one of their top five favorite ways to pass time," Cullen said.

Alistair snickered and nodded, "I'd believe it. She steps up to greet me and I ask her point blank if she's a mage. The color drains from her face, well, not all of it, that would have been terrifying to see. But, you know. Anyway, she asks why I wondered about her magehood and I tell her that I like to know my chances of getting turned into a toad. Then she does that Lanny smile, that quirk of her lips where just half of it lifts and you know she's about to start something on fire." He paused in his re-telling to lift his chest up higher. With his voice pressed out of his nose, he said, "'Well, I do happen to be a mage, but I won't turn you into a toad. They're overrated. I prefer something exotic like a parrot or anteater.' Anteater? Why an anteater? 'I think they're fun.' That. That was the moment I knew I was done for. She could have yelled at me same as that other mage, or sighed in exasperation and stomped off. At least cursed a bit at being saddled with me, but no...that anteater."

Tears watered at the edge of his eyes, the memory overwhelming him as he rocked on his wobbly stool. Alistair kept a tighter hold on the potato while staring back through time, back to when Lana was alive and also his. Blinking away the tears, the king's voice slipped out of its wounded cadence and into his normal effervescent self. "What about you? How'd you meet Lanny?"

"In the tower," Cullen said curtly.

"No, here I assumed she swooped in on her chimera she borrowed from one of the gnomes living in Nevarra to rescue you from a dragon nest. If you don't want to talk, you don't..."

"I first noticed Lana when," Cullen breathed deeply, his own memories washing over him. "She didn't speak to me, I doubt she even noticed me. Mages didn't see the templars."

"Wallpaper," Alistair interrupted. "You're big, metal wallpaper. Sorry, sorry, go on with your story."

"She was running from one class to another, and she paused at the doorframe I stood beside, dropped all her books, and suddenly had to rearrange them."

That drew a hearty laugh from the king, "Maker, she was always doing that. ' _No, no, this has to go after that'_ because whatever reasons were inside her head at the time _._ Save anyone that messed up her books. Whew."

"There was an apprentice once who tried to throw her off. When her back was turned, he rotated around a pair of books nearly the same size and color of binding. No one thought she'd notice, but the moment she lifted them up a cross look broke upon her face."

"Did she let him live?" Alistair asked, getting a nod from Cullen. "She was nicer in the tower. I bet Oghren still limps when it rains. I never understood her system. No, I rarely understood anything she said, but she'd give you this look like 'it's so simple a child can understand it' when you're pretty sure she made up a half dozen words to explain it."

"And the crumbs in her pockets," Cullen smiled from the memory he nearly forgot. "The tranquil would find all manner of dangerous things leftover in mage pockets and pouches while doing the laundry -- to the point they kept a templar or two on hand in case of danger. Lana never had anything that could explode, but there were regularly half eaten biscuits, crackers, once a slice of cake."

The king's laughs echoed with his own as they stared back through time. "During the blight, when we were all more or less homeless she kept leaving signs behind. Not wards, I could recognize those well enough. But after picking up her tent, she'd draw a marker in the dirt as if needing to tell the stars she'd been there. I always wondered why but I never," his head dropped down and he stared through the potato, "I never took the time to ask her." As if realizing he had a peeled potato in his lap, Alistair dropped the spud in the bucket and pinched the top of his nose. The move was enough to revive him and an ornery smile twisted up his lips, "She was a terrible blanket hog. You'd have to nail the damn thing down to stop her."

"I know," Cullen said. The pain dropped in his gut from the memory of discovering it. He'd watched her small body rolled up in their only heat source for far longer than he should have, the cold biting into his exposed skin. But Cullen couldn't stop smiling at the tender calm enveloped around her courtesy of sleep wiping away the strain upon her face. She slumbered so peacefully, so beautifully, it was as if nothing of the past ten years hurt her. He'd yearned to kiss her in that moment, but he needed her blessing first, so she had to rise.

Awkwardness burned between them as Cullen glared at his hands. Alistair whipped his head up and a strain of guilt etched through those Therin features, "And there goes our moment of bonding."

"It...it is a fact," Cullen danced around stating that they'd both been intimate with her, "but it is best if we pretend it isn't." It was as diplomatic as he felt he could be, extending a potential olive branch to the king.

Of course Alistair couldn't help himself, "So no trading tips, then?" Cullen glared which got a small chuckle from the king. "You wouldn't want them anyway, trust me."

"I believe that is the first thing you've said I can whole heartedly endorse," Cullen responded, a hint of a smile lifting his dour lips.

"She mentioned you once, well, said there was a templar. Didn't drop any names but I figured it out in retrospect."

"Oh?" Cullen grimaced. It must have been after they liberated Kinloch. Whatever she had to say about him could not have been kind, and for good reason.

"Lanny kept on about wanting to help in Kirkwall. Needing to assist the people and I didn't get why."

_Kirkwall?_ Her journal alluded to the wish of hers in visiting the city but he'd never thought she'd take it as far as petitioning the crown. Cullen twisted on the barrel, a mix of shame and pride curling in his stomach.

Alistair yanked up one of his peeled potatoes and jabbed the knife into it. "She'd kept out of mage politics and for good reason. If the chantry bastards got any wind of her involvement they'd leap on her, taking down everyone else with 'em." Then the king took a soft bite out of the potato's white, uncooked flesh. Cullen sneered in response to his culinary travesty, but the man didn't notice as he took another bite. "Suddenly, Kirkwall goes explodey and she cares. Maybe she cared before, she just couldn't afford to look like she did. Lanny had a habit of burying all her wants deep inside so no one would see them. Damn near tried every trick at her disposal to get me to agree to let her go, but I wouldn't. A mage walking in Kirkwall after that happened? They'd have strung her up on the spot."

He was right. Even if Cullen would have fallen on his knees to beg for her forgiveness while beyond grateful to see her again, it wasn't wise for the great mage of Ferelden to visit. Cullen himself might have tried to send her away for fear of what the people would do to her. In those months after the attack he had almost no control of anything, not the people, not the templars, not even himself.

"I think she knew it was dangerous, probably why she asked me. It wasn't as if she had to, or ever ran any of her other death defying missions past me. But this one, some part of her wanted to be in Kirkwall and it pissed her off to no end that she knew she shouldn't be." He twisted about the half bitten potato on the end of the knife, his finger running along the toothmarks.

"I'm sorry," Cullen said and he meant it. Not to Alistair, but to Lana. He had assumed she'd gotten wind of Kirkwall and felt nothing but contempt for the templars or for him after he allowed Meredith's rampage. Cullen never once thought to try to contact her for fear of what he'd get in return. He was too much of a coward to face up to that failure.

But the king didn't snicker, didn't wave his potato like some scepter, or even raise his voice. He scrunched his head deep into his chest, his neck almost vanishing, "Duty. All that honor stuff that got drilled into our heads growing up. You owe the world this because when you were ten someone sold you to the chantry. Or because this is the only path you can take to keep from starving in the street. Because your father had a fascination with chambermaids. I..." As if realizing he was eating a raw potato, Alistair yanked the vegetable off his blade and tossed it into the scrap pile. He knocked his fist against the potato barrel in an arrhythmic solo. "The queen is pregnant. No one's supposed to know, not until it's whatever babies do in the womb. That quick kick thing."

Cullen started at the news, "Pregnant? Why are you not with her? Your wife?" He added the last part as if afraid Alistair forgot.

"Well, she did yell at me to get as far away from her as possible. You ever try to argue with a pregnant woman? It's a wonder I have a face left. I figured the Anderfells was distant enough," Alistair sighed, "at least until the little sire's out."

"But this is the birth of your child. You should be there," Cullen harped on the nonchalant man peeling potatoes half way around the world from his family, but the king only rolled an eye at him and snickered.

"Who said the kid was mine?"

Cullen almost fell off his perch from the soft way the king of Ferelden landed that personal heartbreak upon him. "How can you be certain of that?"

That got him a sigh and Alistair ran his hands through his hair. "There are a couple things that need to, well one thing for certain that needs to happen for that baby making stuff to work. Which we've both been more than happy to mutually forgo in this most holy of unions. But even then, it's damn certain seeing as how I'm a..." He threw off whatever he was going to say, a look of guilt crossing his face, "It's not my place to tell you about that and all, so, uh reasons."

The king waved his hand through the air as if that would waft away the personal and also nearly treasonous secret he unloaded on this man he barely knew. But Cullen understood that the meat of the matter had nothing to do with his wife being adulterous and a simple matter of what he was, what Lana was. "She told me. About grey wardens and...I wasn't certain if it affected everyone."

"Maker, thanks for that. Last I needed was Lanny back from the dead whipping my ass for giving away that problem," Alistair sighed. "It gets us all after a time. The no kids thing. I didn't learn about it until a few months after I joined, and Lanny..." He leaned further back on his stool until the back of his head collided with the barrel behind him. Bashing it a few more times, he paused and looked over at Cullen, "I don't know if children is one of your breaking points but please don't hurt her over it."

After she told him, by the harsh light of morning, he'd thought about it, weighed the full severity of her confession. No children of his own seemed a high price but not if it meant losing Lana. She would win over some imaginary future he'd never before pictured for himself every time. "It is not," Cullen said.

"Good, good," Alistair bobbed his head while staring up at the ceiling. "You aren't noble or anything either, right?"

"No," Cullen curtly bit back, but Alistair sighed in relief. "My family are farmers."

"Farmers...? Maker, could you imagine Lanny unleashed on a herd of goats?"

Cullen had no idea what made that funny, but the king couldn't stop giggling at some mental image involving Lana and goats. Perhaps something humorous had happened to her during their blight days involving farm animals, or when she was an Arlessa. It struck him again that this man, the one who'd broken Lana's heart twice over, driven her to court death in the deep roads, knew far more about her than Cullen ever did. He'd watched from afar, getting only brief moments of her life, but Alistair had a decade of a friendship. Sometimes the Maker was particularly cruel.

Rising up, the king reached for another potato. "I probably shouldn't have told you about the baby thing. They wanted to wait to make sure it took and then have a fancy party to tell all the other countries that Ferelden's throne was secure, so no measuring for curtains there Orlais."

"While you're on the other side of thedas?" Cullen prompted.

"I may have left before telling some of my advisers about this trip. Like, all of them. There was so much to get ready it slipped past me. I needed to send a message to Isabela, and there's the packing. No matter how early you pack, you always forget something."

Cullen took the time to ask for permission to leave, but the king of Ferelden up and vanished from his own kingdom without so much as a note, all to find the woman he loves. In the tally of romantic gestures, it seemed Alistair was soundly beating him even with a wife and potential child on the way. "The inability to have children," Cullen spoke up, a cruel part of his brain stripping away their momentary bonding, "is that why you ended things with Lana?"

Sure enough, the king's sunny exterior crumbled, clouds blotting away the typical glimmer in his eyes. "I told her I did it because she shouldn't be thought of as some mistress -- to have that stigma follow her for the rest of her life. She's so much more than the blank blank of a man. She deserved so much more."

Cullen caught the beginning and asked, "Why'd you really do it?"

"Because..." The king of Ferelden, a man who had armies at his disposal and could easily ban Cullen from his home country with a wave of his hand, folded in on himself. Like a broken toy crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, he sighed, "I'm an idiot."

## Chapter Eleven

**Memory - Stirring the Pot**

_9:39 Antiva - Rialto Bay_

_At least she took the time to move the crates out of the way_ , Alistair thought while struggling to catch a breath. If not, he'd have been battered to the consistency of oatmeal from smuggled cargo smashing into his body after she repeatedly threw him through the air. He moved to wipe the sweat off his brow but found leather and grime stuck to his hand. The grip on his shield was worn almost to the point beyond repair, just like his body after too many years sitting idle on the throne. He thought he'd kept himself in some semblance of shape in between all the fancy pastries, fêtes, salons, and feasts, but she was proving that very wrong.

"Again," Lanny called. She'd shaken off her mage robes for one of Isabela's frilly pirate shirts, a black corset cinching her up. To anyone passing, she looked just like any other sea dog working the decks instead of the mighty savior of the world. An occasional glint of gold shimmered in her shortened locs courtesy of Isabela and a few other pirate friends. _When did she last cut her hair?_

Alistair waved his hand, "How's about we take a break? Maybe try and find wherever you threw my internal organs and stuff 'em back in?"

Lanny pursed her lips, deflating those luscious temptations down to a thin line. _No_ , he shook his head, _that was not the thought to be having._ It'd been eight years since the blight ended and through all that unending time he'd been able to keep himself in check. With Lanny running off to Amaranthine every time a darkspawn sneezed and Eamon skulking in the shadows ready to swoop in if Alistair so much as watched her walk away, it was easy. But here, far from his kingly duties and her from the wardens, with both of them back into the swing of things (her back in the swing of things, Alistair was struggling to not die) it grew harder to remember he wasn't supposed to be in love with her.

"The antivan prison nearly did you in. If it weren't for Varric's crossbow..."

"Bianca," he piped up.

That caught her, the determination to torture him slipping away. Lanny crinkled her nose and asked, "Who names their crossbrow Bianca?"

"Merchant dwarves that are good friends with pirate queens, apparently," Alistair said. Every bone in his body ached. They'd been holed up in the hold for what had to be hours with him waving his stick-sword, while she barely broke a sweat tossing him on his royal ass.

Lanny shook her head again at the absurdity, those golden knots jangling together, then she snapped up, all merriment slipping away. "Right, come at me again."

"How about we have a harshly worded debate instead?" Alistair sighed.

"This was your idea," she crossed her arms, her staff knocking into the low ceiling.

The practice sword, in reality a broken board borrowed for these purposes, nearly slipped out of his sweaty hand. He should have worn gloves, or at least real armor to try and cushion his fall. Maybe a big suit of pillows?

"And you went along with it. One of _my_ ideas. I don't know what you were thinking," he chided, still gasping for air.

Lanny parted her hands and twisted her chin down, "I'm growing addled in my old age. You wanted to practice, and Maker knows you need it. So, let's practice."

It'd seemed smart at the time. After slipping out of Antiva and barely any crows aware, with Isabela piloting the ship and Varric supervising, Alistair thought it best to dust off his old templar skills in case they had to fight Maker only knew. At least he hoped he'd be a bit more useful in a fight than before. But he forgot that sparring against Lanny was like running into a bear's den half naked and coated in honey.

"Fine," Alistair rolled his shoulders forward to get into position.

"Your arm's too high," Lanny gestured to his right hand waving around the threatening piece of wood.

Alistair eyed up his weapon, then turned to her, "Since when do you know anything about swordplay?" he asked, but lowered his arm.

Shrugging with a quirky smile, Lanny parted her hands. She didn't count for him, didn't wave her hands to say when to start, but he felt the mana twist in the air. The veil pulled apart fast from her machinations. Alistair lifted his shield to guard his face as he dipped into that hole inside him. It wasn't easy to explain to anyone. Lanny asked once, purely curious and not in any way planning some mage revolt against all templars. He'd said it was like covering the magic with a blanket to try and smother it away as one would a fire, but that wasn't it. Not really. There was reality and there was _reality-reality_. The hole ran deeper than that, a touch of pure realness that he'd use to choke away the veil. That was also why he never tried to explain it.

The veil sundered deeper, a taste of metal rising in the air as she dug up whatever evil spell knotted in her brain. Even exhausted, Alistair pulled upon the emptiness in him and directed it at Lanny. Her head snapped back from the pressure, her eyes falling closed. Maybe it worked this time. Alistair advanced towards her, a grin rising along his cheeks, when she blasted a force powerful enough to smash the air from his lungs and knock him backwards. Unable to stay upright, Alistair tumbled ass first towards the ground. His back bounced off the bowing deck, while his unarmored head managed to meet with some convenient rope. It cushioned it just enough to be incredibly painful without giving him a concussion so he'd have a handy excuse to stop.

"Uncle!" he called waving his sword limply in the air.

"Maker's sake, Alistair. I barely even felt that," Lanny stormed as if he'd been the one to throw her off her feet.

"Really? Maybe we should trade places then because I sure as shit did. Ouch." He rolled to his knees, grateful he'd kept up with the same pirate uniform as her. Breeches and a linen tunic were the only way to survive a constant wash of sea water across the feet and sprayed in the face. Struggling to rise while in full armor was a workout in and of itself.

"This isn't funny," Lanny stormed as she paced to him. He looked up at her hand dangling in front of his face. For a moment he wondered if it was a trap, but he still took it regardless. She gripped tight and helped to haul him to his feet.

Alistair shrugged, checking to make sure he hadn't broken anything important. "It's a little funny to see me sprawled out on my back."

"I'm serious," she fumed and the self deprecating smile on Alistair's face slipped away. This wasn't the Lanny that shot sarcastic eyes at Isabela whenever Alistair mentioned his plan. Or the one who screamed 'You have to be kidding me!' when she learned why they were in Antiva. He spotted a fear running through her that he hadn't seen in, well, eight years.

Grabbing up her staff, she returned to her sparring spot having not been shifted from it by him the entire time. "Maker only knows what we're going to find during this quest."

"Hopefully, king Marric."

"You know what I mean. Crows are one thing, and I've broken into my share of prisons before..."

Alistair eyed her up, "Since when? Did I get left off your mailing list on accident because I'd love to hear those tales?"

Lanny deftly batted his joke away, "But we're chasing down a witch, a swamp witch. Remember the last time that happened? Turned into a dragon, nearly ate us all."

"Morrigan's bite was worse," Alistair sneered.

She sighed, never having hated the swamp witch the same way he did. They even, against all Maker given sense, became friends. He'd never understand it. "You need to be at your best, okay," Lanny said, her eyes hunting through his while she pleaded for him to listen. Anyone else, Alistair could shrug off with a joke but she stung his soul.

"I'll try," he said bowing his head.

"Good, because I'm not taking your corpse back to Eamon," she smiled, but there was a barb inside. She damn well meant it. Throwing her arms up, Lanny commanded, "Do it again, and this time reverse the mana or drain it, don't do both."

"You can tell the difference?"

"Of course I can," she shrugged. "It's not something one forgets." They used to do it all the time during the blight. She'd thread apart the veil just for Alistair to yank it all away. It was the mage equivalent of pulling a girl's pigtails because you liked her, except in this case the girl kept insisting he "give 'em a good yank." She wanted to know how to fight mana drains, to prepare herself, or - sometimes he deluded himself into thinking - she liked any excuse to spend time with him. Sometimes, she'd even challenge him to dampen her mana during, uh... He rubbed the back of his neck to distract from that thought. It was not the time to be treading down _that_ old memory.

Situating herself, Lanny centered her body and prepared for his worst. _Okay, Alistair, you can do this. Remember all the stuff they taught you, when you weren't scrubbing every pot and pan in the kitchen._ The canticles were supposed to help, but he'd never found a single one that silenced the chatty part of his brain. Instead, he'd recite in his mind a silly little poem from childhood. _The teeny-tiny bronto went chasing down the road. Up from the ground, a thousand darkspawn rose..._

Raising his head, he met Lanny's challenging stare eye for eye. She grinned while parting the veil, even more fade energy pouring into this world. Whatever she was going to hit him with was going to hurt, bad. The nothingness flowed through him, wrapping around his body like a giant snake or clingy blanket. As the edges of her body glittered from the fade energy racing through her, Lanny lanced her fingers forward to spill it all against him. That's when Alistair struck. Pushing every inch of his being into that nothingness, he coated it around Lanny, around the spell flying off her fingers. Only the barest push bounced into his shield, which he flicked off with a wave of his arm.

Surprised, Lanny gasped at the drain. Then a wicked grin curved up her face and the damn woman dipped back into the veil. Instinct struck Alistair. Dropping his shoulder down, he barreled at the mage preparing another spell to destroy him. Energy crackled through the air thick enough to spark off every nail in the deck. Lanny had her eyes set upon him, but the templar used his other skills to take her down. His shield smacked into her chest and the force of Alistair's run shoved them both backwards until Lanny crashed into the ship's sidewall. Pinned tight, Alistair pushed his wooden sword against her neck.

"You're dead," he said, pride engulfing him.

She blinked a few times, then her lips quirked up, "So are you."

"What?" He began to argue when he felt the hilt of her dagger knocking against his stomach. If she'd twisted it around properly, she'd have driven the blade up through his ribs and probably into his heart. Dead as dead can dead. His head fell down and Alistair threw his shield to the ground like a spoiled child. "Damn it!" He needed to be better, he knew it. He had to return to his old fighting form in order to find...the king. To bring the rightful ruler back to Ferelden instead of his broken and sorry ass.

Lanny sheathed her hidden dagger, and she pushed his sword away from her neck with her pinkie. He expected her to shove him off her, but she let his limp arm crash into the wall beside her head. "It went better that time," she said, that fiery drill instructor banished. Now it was the gentle and calming teacher doing her best to help her most useless student.

"Yeah, I lived for five more seconds before you killed me. Great improvement," Alistair sighed, his breath rattling in his exhausted throat.

"Ali," her voice whispered. He broke from glaring at his shoes to find himself awash in her eyes. In the heat of faux-battle he hadn't realized that they were less than an inch apart, gasping for breath in the same space. With his hands splayed against the wall beside her, and hers resting near but not touching his hip, they'd be damn embarrassed if anyone suddenly walked in on them. They hadn't been this close since...since he broke her heart.

Lanny's eyes that'd been as unbreakable as steel softened to compassion, "You can talk to me. You know that, right?"

"I..." He watched her lips part ever so slightly in concern. Those thick, pillowy lips he'd wake to find himself yearning for. Her full, soft cheek he used to caress while kissing so he didn't accidentally hit her in the nose or something. _Maker..._ His body trembled that had nothing to do with the pain in his backside or the headache rolling across his brain. It grew more impossible to rein himself back in with every passing day on this journey.

Maric. Old pops himself. That was why they were here, why his butt had to be nothing but bruises. In his mind, Alistair could see how this would all work out. Maric would be rescued, huzzah huzzah, the one true king would take up the throne, and -- after warming it for eight years -- Alistair would be free. He could go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted, be with...

"You're not talking," she whispered, those lush eyelashes fluttering as she eyed him up. "It worries me when you're not talking."

"Really? I thought people loved it when I stopped talking. They throw delightful parades in Denerim whenever it happens. The Grand Cleric dresses in an oversized harlequin outfit to pass candy out to children."

Her dangling hand rose and she held onto his arm. Those delicate fingers dug into his strained bicep - their first touch that had nothing to do with a handshake, a friendly pat on the back, or playing nice to the gentry in years. Alistair tried to look away without making it obvious, terrified that Lanny could read the want across his face. He shouldn't be thinking it, shouldn't be feeling it with his own dagger almost pressed against her stomach.

"When you're not talking, you're thinking, and that never ends well for anyone," Lanny said.

Turning to face her, every smart ass remark died on his lips -- which was sad because he had a good dozen prepped. Perhaps it was the lantern light, or the shadows of the hold but he'd never noticed a small ring of gold circling in the depths of her brown eyes before. Gawking at the woman as if he'd never seen her before, Alistair struggled to form a coherent sentence, then even a word.

"What?" she asked, trying every trick in her arsenal to get him to open up. Her lips lifted in a smile and he was gone. Leaning his head to the right, Alistair bent his knotted knees to catch her luxurious lips in a kiss. For a heartbeat, Lanny stood still, uncertain what to do. In the back of his mind, he knew there was a good chance he'd find himself splayed across the deck again but the risk seemed worth it. He needed to do this, needed to know if there was even a chance.

She didn't crack open the forces at her disposal to banish him with a curt word or broken rib. Her own lips parted in a hungry sigh and she knotted her hands behind his neck, pressing deeper into the kiss. That was his cue to grab her waist and lift her up to him. Eight years faded away to nothing at the taste of her, like licking lightning if it was coated in sugar, and from the floral scent always ensnared across her skin even without any perfume. They melded together in a strange cohesion that shouldn't work, one neither of them seemed to have forgotten. He didn't want it to end, terrified that if he stopped kissing her then they'd have to talk about it, reason away why they shouldn't do it again. And he couldn't go back to before, not again. Not to the furtive glances risked when her back was turned, the almost but not grace of her skin upon his, the sweet smile she'd brandish that he yearned to feel pressed against him. He thought he'd ached for her before; stepping away now would kill him.

Absence made the heart grow fonder and other bits much harder.

Sadly, breathing was something both of them seemed to need and it was Lanny who slipped down, dragging her tempting lips away from his. Her eyes slowly opened and she gazed up at him. He couldn't read her. When she was thinking like that, this enigmatic blanket wrapped around Lanny rendering all obvious emotion down to an unreadable expression. Whether she was happy, or mad, or gassy was impossible to tell until she spoke up.

"Alistair," she whispered, her fingers parting through his scruff on the way to beard-central.

"I know," he said, accepting that this wasn't going to happen. It could never happen. They'd spent so much time and work becoming friends, burying past hurts. To blow it all away now would be a travesty -- one he feared they might never come back from.

But Lanny didn't shove him away. Instead, she raised up on those tiny toes of hers and also pulled his head lower. Her hot breath washed over his ear, pushing the last of his buttons. "Did you lock the door to the hold?"

"I, uh..." he tried to whip his head back at the hatch above them as if that could jog his memory, but she held him tight.

"Never mind, I have it." Waving her fingers, she blasted ice thick enough to coat the hatch sealing them off from the rest of the pirates. "That should give us an hour or more."

"Lanny, are you..."

Her palm pushed against his lips, the chill of the spell clinging to her skin but melting quickly from his own ragged breath. "Shh... that's enough talking."

By all that is good and gooder in the Maker's eyes, Alistair never imagined that he'd feel Lanny again. He'd never taste her, smell her slick skin, roll his fingers across her landscape. She'd been the one to lead all those years ago, patiently offering up directions and keeping him from breaking anything on accident. Now, with her pressing her lips to his, her body against his, he couldn't help himself. Alistair's hands slipped down the curves of her body, flirting with her breasts but not committing, trailing the inner knot of her waist and flaring out at her hips. Her bones undulated below his fingers as she hopped back and forth to keep high enough to reach him.

Maker, but he loved that, the way she'd scramble to cover their height difference that was almost out of reach. The woman never gave up for anything. His fingers dug into her back while his thumbs caressed the sides of her stomach. He used to dribble water across the flat terrain and watch the droplets roll back and forth as she twisted her hips. Extra points if she managed to get a drop into her bellybutton.

Breaking off the kiss, Alistair whispered in her ear, "Hold on tight." Lanny barely had a chance to dig her fingers into the back of his neck before he rolled his palms around her backside and lifted her off the ground. She yelped in excitement, wrapping her legs around his waist for balance. He could write sonnets, and odes, and other frilly poems about her backside. They'd be purpler than dusk and probably not rhyme, but he could do it. Ample was the disinterested way to describe it. Lush, intoxicating, like grabbing onto a pair of firm but comforting pillows, fun beyond compare. He'd probably go for one of those, add in some more adjectivey adverbs, and then find he had to rhyme orange.

She squirmed in his grasp struggling to maintain her upright posture as he pushed her against the wall. Even with her own pirate breeches in the way, he felt the heat from that part of her he wasn't supposed to dream of grinding against his own pelvis, all of it begging for relief. And that was when he realized his mistake.

Lanny's lips kissed along his jaw, her bottom one ruffling up his patchy facial hair as she worked towards his ear. Pausing to catch her breath, she asked, "What now?"

"I think I miscalculated. Usually you're in robes, so... What's with this sudden pants wearing?" He dug his fingers into her generous scoopfuls blocked off from easy access, feeling the line of smallclothes beneath.

Shrugging, she smiled that mischievous grin, "When on a ship, do as the pirates do."

He should put her down, let her adjust herself and then they could figure it out. But, what if in the interim Lanny sobers up, realizes that this was one big mistake and then it's back to throwing him overboard for starting it all up again? To hide the whirring of his mind, Alistair kissed her neck, pushing her body flatter against the ship and also into him. Maker's breath, that borrowed corset lifted her glorious breasts higher than normal. He wanted to bury his face in them and never come out. Smothered to death by cleavage, it seemed a kingly kind of end.

"Anything, yet?" Lanny asked, but her own breathing was raw on the edges, a hungry look in her eye. She seemed to want to get on with it as much as he did.

"Can you make clothing disappear?"

"Yes, but that involves throwing them out the window," she smirked. "Hm..." The woman, the little mage who carried around an entire nation's worth of books, unclasped her legs from his waist. Alistair groaned from the additional stress on his arms, but he took her full weight in his hands. _Maker, he did need to work out more._ Lanny kissed him hard, not some soft petal touch of lips. Her lips outflanked his at every turn, that tasty tongue of hers rolling around with his in ecstasy. While distracting Alistair, her legs climbed up the wall behind her and she pushed off.

After spending an entire day falling on his ass, he took the tumble well, managing to hit nearly every vertebra on the way down before adding another bruise to his ass. What he wouldn't give for her ample cushioning to stick the landing. Lanny tumbled with him, she didn't have much choice as there wasn't time for him to let go. But she had enough presence of mind to flip her feet out and catch herself.

"Andraste's ass, what did you do that for?" he whined even as his hands rolled over her hips and across her waist, lost in those womanly curves.

She slid down to her knees and bent her face to his, that canyon of cleavage darting into his field of vision. "Because now I can do this." With almost no help from the stunned man, Lanny grabbed onto the collar of his shirt and tugged it off. It should have been a bit harder what with him and her body pressing it into the floor, but she made it look effortless. Magic. Whenever she did something he couldn't explain, it was magic.

Laughing at her tossing his tunic to the side without a care, Alistair watched her eyes devour his naked chest. Eight years was a long time -- from barely twenty and now into his near thirties, things had to change. But Lanny didn't seem to notice or care about the squishy parts he should have honed down before starting this journey. Her fingers followed his trail of golden chest hair down and down towards the waistband of his own breeches. Reaching out quickly, Alistair caught her one wrist in his fingers. Those beautiful eyes rolled up to him from the challenge. He squeezed once around her slender wrist extracting a moan from Lanny. That quirk of hers was hard to forget, and damn fun when they first found it together.

He tried to pull her higher up, when he felt the waistband of his breeches fall slack. Damn, she'd managed to untie it with only one hand.

"I still have some of those old skills," she smiled, catching on to his indignant face.

"Do you break into houses to pass the time in Amaranthine or is this just a Satinalis and Feast Day thing?" Alistair joked, but he wasn't about to truly damn her nimble fingers. No, they should be celebrated instead. Have monuments built in their honor, and... "Ah, ha ha ha," his whole body lifted up off the floor as those lock breaking fingers slipped under the loosened waistband. Unable to help herself, she parted her fingers through his pubic hair like she intended to style it. Then she darted right for the main entertainment.

Maker, he could lie back and let her have her way with him so easily. But watching Lanny squirm instead of the other way around was what he'd dreamed about. Mostly. 60:40. "Hey now," he called out, then coughed a few times to bring back his voice. "I refuse to be the only one who's going to freeze to death splayed out on the deck of the ship."

"Is that so?" Lanny challenged. She didn't yank her fingers away, but they stopped doing that circle and rise thing she loved to torture him with. "Well," she positioned herself higher to expose the corset, "I'm curious if you think you can remove it without entangling yourself."

He had to release her wrist as he reached towards her back, rifling up an eternal knot of strings along the cursed thing's seams. If he had a real dagger on him he could make quick work of it, though Isabela might be less than pleased with it being returned to her in that state - especially for her missing out on the fun. Alistair clenched together his underused stomach muscles to rise higher. Even with his lower back on the deck, he nearly met Lanny eye to eye. She smiled at him so close to her lips, but Alistair was too busy trying to solve the riddle of female couture to fall into her kiss trap. He barely understood male clothing for that matter. Wrapping both arms around her, his hands rubbed up and down the back he couldn't see, looking for any kind of opening to appropriate. Lanny was no help, of course. She placed both her elbows upon his shoulders, raising herself higher to shove that distracting cleavage in his eyes. Did she want to be naked or not?

_Ah!_ The end of a string yanked free and continued to unravel without any snags. Alistair was still careful as it slipped free, opening up at the back. Without any fanfare, Lanny grabbed onto it and tossed it to the side along with his tunic. Then she returned her elbows to his shoulders, and raised an eyebrow.

"You've learned."

"I had a good reason to figure it out. Two good reasons," he said, his fingers sliding up under her tunic. He flattened them against her stomach, cupping the same small build of muscle he remembered all those years ago. Of course the Commander of the Grey didn't let herself get fluffy. She had all that darkspawning to do.

"For all the..." Lanny muttered. Taking her elbows off of him, she pulled on the collar of her own blouse and yanked it clean off without any fuss. "You're taking too long," she complained. After tossing her own shirt aside, she turned to let her naked breasts dangle right next to his own less impressive chest. Perfect. He didn't care what was in season or fashion for a woman's form, what the latest it-sculptors thought was right. Lanny's would always be perfect -- even age wouldn't change that fact. Just enough to flow out of his palm. And those freckles, a haphazard speckle of dots up the sides of both her breasts like her own leopard spots. They highlighted her silken skin like beauty marks placed by a renowned artist. He'd so badly wanted to connect them when he was younger, but couldn't work up the courage to ask.

Alistair giggled which caught Lanny. She rolled her eyes from the absolute joy in his face, but there was a smile mixed in there. Carefully reaching out as if he was about to touch the most precious jewel in thedas, he cupped his fingers under her breasts. His thumbs brushed against her freckles as if trying to knock away crumbs, which caused Lanny's nipples to prod even further out for attention. Sliding his body further under her for a better grip, Alistair lifted her breasts higher and proceeded to press his thumb into her nipples as if they were buttons.

"Maker's breath," she laughed a full chortle, bringing her forehead down upon his.

His eyes broke from her chestal game to stare up into hers. She'd shut them tight, her lips parted as she gasped from either pleasure or struggling to keep from laughing. "I've missed you," slipped out of him. He didn't mean to bring all the weight of this down upon them in that very moment, effectively smothering any chance he had, but he meant it. Thought the words often. He missed talking to her, watching her laugh to the point of snorting, kissing her lips, tugging on her hair, parting her legs and hearing her moan. He missed it all and so much more.

"I..." Lanny's dark eyes rolled open and he spotted the same golden halo again. "I've missed you too."

"I dunno," Alistair paused, his one hand slipping off her breasts to massage his back, "sure felt like you got all of me."

"Shut up," she chuckled, play swatting at his chest. He let her get in a few more half hearted slaps before grabbing onto her wrist. She eyed him up, a challenge floating through her face.

"Let's see if you can manage to get my pants off with only one arm."

Lanny smirked and he cuffed his fingers around her delicate wrist, nearly all of them meeting around it. Her free hand grabbed onto the edge of his breeches and began to slide them down. _Surely it couldn't be that easy?_ But even with him laying on the ground, she yanked them down like his skin was coated in butter. _Oh no, that was so not fair._ Sitting up fast, Alistair caught her other wrist and bound them together in his hands.

"Now do it with no hands!" he dared her, changing up the rules. He thought she'd call him on it but that dangerous glint rose in her eye, the one a lot of darkspawn saw just before they exploded.

Slipping onto a knee, Lanny pushed all her weight to her right side. With a flexibility he damn near forgot about, she raised her leg up and snagged the lowered waistband with her toe. After that, it was just a matter of yanking downward. He offered no resistance, too shocked to try and stop her. Now as naked as the day he came screaming into the world, Lanny situated herself above him and smugly smiled down.

"Your turn," she purred. Honest to the Maker purred. She'd never done that before, not without... Oh, she was going to drive him mad. To emphasize his descent, she began to gently rock back and forth right above his exposed dick. At least her own trousers were worn smooth, sliding freely right above him, which was a comforting thought until he felt that node building in the back of his head. _Warning, approaching point of no return!_

Releasing his hold on her wrists, Alistair grabbed onto her hips to get her to stop. "Hey," she complained, "that's cheat-" Her admonishment died as he undid her breeches in record time, the knot falling away by the grace of the Maker, and he pulled them downward tight across his own hips. _Well, it sort of worked._

Lanny chuckled at the attempt, then delicately rolled out of them, perching on her feet to get one leg free, then kicking the second off. Pants were too complicated. He was going full robe when he got home. Everyone -- that would be the new edict. Everyone had to wear a robe.

Running his fingers up her now exposed outer thighs, he paused at the infernal white strip of fabric draped across all her fun bits. She bent down, her breasts pressing against his chest, as her lips whispered next to his ear, "Now what?"

"Like that's ever stopped me before," Alistair growled, unable to keep the need out of his voice. His fingers shoved aside the last barrier between them and he damn near lost it again at how wet she was. Lanny threw her head back and groaned from the bottom of her chest at his slight circling of her lips. That was certainly new.

Her head fell forward, her lips skimming down against his face as she raised her back half higher to give him better access. He was about to try and ply off the last of her clothing, when she whispered, "I need you, now." There was no coy bumbling from when they were barely adults both trying to figure out the ins and outs of innings and outings. Lanny sat up high and grabbed onto his dick. Alistair's hands fell slack next to his chest as she pushed aside the strip of her smallclothes and guided him inside her.

_Sweet Andraste and other blasphemous things_ \-- this, this was what he missed. Alistair lay upon the ground, his eyes screwed tight as he tried to mentally emboss every single second of him sliding into her. He could die there, happy, as if every inch of him was swaddled tight in a wet, warm hug. Sadly, Lanny had other plans.

Those short thighs of hers raised her body higher and she began to take a few shallow thrusts of her own. Was that what it was called when a woman did it? Parry's maybe? Regardless, Alistair dug his toes in deep, chasing after that blankness inside him to keep going. The strip of her smallclothes rubbed in tantalizing ridges against his dick right before she consumed him inside. _Why didn't he think to try that before?_ Her breasts bounced, the hypnotic jiggle drawing him deeper into the point of no return, as Lanny increased her speed. Thinking he could slow himself, Alistair grabbed onto her breasts, holding them in place, but that didn't really help. Maker, forget death, just let him last a few more minutes. _Was that too much to ask for?_

He only had one more option. Gritting his teeth while pleasure wrapped around him and ground out through his core, Alistair thought of Mafarath. Andraste's husband. Betrayed her. Made for an ugly statue. One that filled the forgotten side of the courtyard, and it looked like someone tried to knock his nose off. Was it him? He couldn't really remember and... A moan rolled through his entire body.

Instinct took over. Grabbing onto Lanny's hips, Alistair met her thrust for thrust, increasing in tempo as he was certain he would either finish or his heart would explode. Lanny's eyes were screwed up tight, her chest bouncing from both the sex and her panting - which was also caused by the sex. All of it combined into knocking Alistair ass over end into coming.

"Flames and other fiery things that we curse at," he cried, bucking his hips while losing himself to the ejaculate pumping out of him and into her. In retrospect, maybe his heart exploding would have made less of a mess.

Lanny rolled her head back and forth, coming back from wherever she'd slipped off to in the excitement. He expected her to slide off him, but instead she smiled down at the man panting in total ecstasy. Sweat glistened off her skin, sweat she never broke into the entire time they sparred. Maker's breath, but she really did glow - that sienna skin dewey in the lantern light. Humming as if she'd eaten a great piece of pie, she swallowed a few times, then asked, "Hessarian?"

Of course she'd remember. She'd know. She knew him better than he knew himself. Chuckling, Alistair struggled up to his elbows. "Mafarath actually."

"Oh? What happened to Hessarian? That seemed to work a treat before," she ran those delicate fingers down his chest, tracing the muscles as if playing a game. Maybe she was.

"It did, until they put a new Hessarian statue in the throne room and I realized it was a bit tricky to explain all the unexpected saluting in my trousers whenever I passed it."

That got him a hearty laugh, Lanny curling at her stomach from the image, her hand flying to her mouth to catch herself. "I almost wish I'd been there for that Landsmeet."

"Men fainting in the streets, women uncomfortably glowering. Total nightmare," Alistair threw his arms wide beside his head, smacking them against the wooden floor. "But you...When'd you go all yes ser, no ser in bed?"

"I, uh, don't know," she shrugged. "Rigors of command." He caught the trace of shame riding up her stomach, but Alistair reached upward and cupped her cheek.

"I liked it, but I like being bossed around in bed."

She curled up into his hand pressing her skin tighter, "You like being bossed around everywhere."

Eight years as king and he'd wish anything to have her ordering him around again. Even if they fought, even if she kept telling him to jump in a frozen lake, or smash his own hand, or eat his vegetables, he'd do it. More than that, he'd be happy to do it. He wanted to be free. "Lanny..."

"Hm?"

"Ready for round two?"

She laughed, and wiggled above his deflating staff, "I rather doubt you are."

"Psh," Alistair waved his hand at the logistics, "don't need that bit for what I had in mind." Her body trembled from his offer, and she rolled off of him onto her back, ready to let his tongue have its way with her. Just for fun, Alistair left her smallclothes on to work around.

* * *

Far in the back of the hold, the hammock swung haphazardly in the rocking waves, embedding that diamond pattern deeper into his naked skin. He should have been cold, but his own living blanket stretched across him. At some point Lanny wound up fully naked too, though it took them awhile to reach that stage. Alistair draped one hand across her beautiful ass as if guarding it, and the other kept pushing off the wall to rock the hammock more. She'd sigh with every shove, but didn't raise her head to tell him to stop.

"You know," her lips mumbled beside that weird mole on the left side of his chest, "we're going to have to talk about this."

"Nonsense," he gave another push on the wall, "what's talking ever solved? Nothing is what. The best approach is to not talk about anything, ever. And that will somehow fix everything."

"Alistair..." her voice crackled in exhaustion. By the Maker, she should have passed out long ago but somehow the woman kept going. Lanny tried to lift her head by placing her weight on her elbows, but she couldn't get any traction from the flimsy hammock. "Was this, is it only a one time deal? No bullshit, okay. If it is, that's fine. Whoops on both our parts. We get up, dress, and drink until it's not awkward anymore."

"Only took about three years last time," Alistair grumbled. His free arm gave one final shove against the wall. Satisfied with the rocking, he ran his fingers across Lanny's back. What did they call skin that soft? Taffeta? Seersucker? Some kind of fabric. Whatever it was, Lanny's was that and more, with this almost elegant curve to her lower back joining with her backside. Sometimes it reminded him of fancy table legs swooped out to help support the whole thing. Maybe that was why she was so steady on her feet.

"I'm guessing by your silence that's a yes, then?" she interrupted.

"What? No, it's..." Alistair dug his head deeper back into the hammock, his eyes tracing some misspelled graffiti carved into the wood above as he tried to think. "I love you. I know I'm not supposed to. Should have stopped years ago, but I couldn't. Even when we were being-"

Her fingers smooshed up against his lips, the tip of one accidentally banging into his nose. "I love you too, you idiot," she sighed and a weight lifted off him. Not literally as she didn't move, but the metaphorical one. He wondered as they played friends and occasional confidants thrown together into the shitstorm that was politics if it was ever possible to be more again. To go from what they had to what they didn't and back again. Lanny pulled her hand off his mouth, trailing her fingers down his neck, "But that doesn't change anything."

_Why couldn't it?_ That was the whole point of this mission, to change things. To set right what somehow went wrong years ago, to leap back and put the right ass on the fancy chair. Alistair wasn't meant to be king, Cailan was. Whatever drove Maric to Antiva couldn't be valid once he learned his son, his real son, was killed. He'd be sure to rush to Ferelden to take all that responsibility off his bastard's shoulders.

Alistair's fingers rose up her sides so he could wrap his arms over top of her, snuggle her tighter to him, and protect her. "Lanny, I probably should have asked this before all the pants flying off parts, but, is there someone else in your life?"

She paused for a moment, just enough to make him wonder if he'd stepped onto a creaking bear pit and there'd be duels of honor waiting for him in Amaranthine, when she sighed in resignation, "No. And I don't need to bother asking you as I know the answer."

"Yeah, that's a big scoop of complicated on top of a convoluted pie with some knotty chocolate shavings on the side. And now I am starving."

Instead of leaping off him like any sane woman would after he went into dessert talk, she burrowed deeper into him laying her cheek flat against his sweaty chest. "Some things never change."

But they had. Change was inevitable everyone kept saying, you couldn't fight it. Maybe that was the real problem. People kept giving up against change because they'd rather roll over than fight it. "Is there," he wrinkled up his nose and struggled to find the words to address a fog that'd been around her for some time, even since before they left Ferelden, "is something wrong? I mean aside from donning the velvet hat with an old lover who's trying to find his father to get anyone else but him to sit on the throne."

"It's complicated," she said, not answering his question.

"Lanny... if it's about the wardens you can tell me. If it's about the chantry or mages you can tell me. If it's about me, could you wait until I put pants on?"

That earned him a snicker, but she took her time to rouse her thoughts. With her finger fluffing up and then down his chest hair, she kept puffing up her cheeks then deflating them - either stalling for time, or terrified to dredge up her deepest concerns. "I know I have no right to complain, to even feel this but..."

"Yes you do," Alistair interrupted. "After all the crap, day in and day out you get, I think you can yell at the world every once in awhile."

"Maybe, but I keep coming back alive and whole... unlike the others."

_Ah shit._ He knew this one, felt it himself at times but nowhere near as deep as she did. Lanny tried to explain it once, to give him a hint of how magic wasn't just a matter of knowing the right incantation or waving your fingers. Her skill set came about because of what was primarily inside her; the makeup of her soul was her way of putting it. She called it the darkness - a black fog that'd wrap through her thoughts, deaden her muscles, and drag her down with it. Because of it, she had some innate and nearly terrifying skill with all those entropy hexes - the ones involving horror and death in particular. But they themselves took a toll upon her, needing that darkness inside to work and almost feeding it back upon her with herself. Alistair barely understood then, and probably made some flippant joke after she told him. Now, he still couldn't wrap his mind around it fully, but he got that it was bad. Enveloping her deeper into his arms, he tried to burrow her safely into his chest.

"You want to be free of it?" he asked while also telling. "I get that, I do. I really really do."

Her head rolled up, her chin digging into his sternum so she could catch his eye, "You wanted to be a warden more than anything, Alistair."

"Yeah, a warden, not _the_ warden. Certainly not in charge of anything. Look at me now, got a whole kingdom that keeps asking for attention all the time. I thought that if I kept focused on that, did all those kindly king things one does - rescue chantry babies and kiss orphaned Sisters - that I'd, I don't know, find some peace. I keep looking for it, but all I find is more 'Your highness, you can't do that because it would enrage blah blah blah.' 'Your majesty, you must put our efforts into do de do or else something something end of the world.' I'm tired of being called your. I'm not a you. I'm an I, I think."

"Well, you're no we," Lanny said, chuckling into him.

"Maker, I didn't even think about all the Orlesian shit heaped on top of the usual feces pile that is... This wasn't supposed to be about me, was it? Crap."

"No," she knotted her fingers against him and pushed up. Those beautiful eyes met his, "But I have my answer."

"Lanny, I don't want to go back to the way things were. I didn't want to when the way they were is what they are before they became what they were..." he waved his fingers around to try and track that sentence, "I think."

"You know you come with an awful lot of baggage," she said while leaning towards him. He intercepted her attempts and met her lips with a soft kiss of his own. After their earlier fun, his lips were going to need a recovery period before he could attempt anything harder.

"Says the mage who's technically an apostate but also a grey warden that kinda saved an entire country by stopping a blight. You're sure there's no one else, right? Some burly ex that'll pound me into the ground with one tap of his fist?"

Lanny only rolled her eyes at his insinuation. "When have I ever gone for the burly type?" Sighing, she lay down upon his chest, "This still does not solve anything."

"I know," he held her close for one last hug, then he reached over to push against the wall. With luck, eventually the rocking would drag them both down into some much needed sleep. And after that they'd be one step closer to finding Maric, one step closer to putting him on the throne, and one night more until Alistair could be with her forever.

## Chapter Twelve

**Dreams**

_?:?? ?_

Lana dug her staff deeper into the dirt that stopped being stone floor twenty five meters back, and left it free standing. She needed that line against the horizon as her eyes twisted towards the rotating parlor above her head. It hung at not quite a 45 degree angle with the ground and no discernible way to climb up to it. Of course, it was where she was waiting for her.

"I really don't want to see her. She hates me," Jowan whined, throwing off Lana's concentration.

"Fine," she shook her head. "You can both wait here," she said to the two spirits following her.

"As you say, Ser," Nathaniel would have saluted if he could. He didn't turn around or wander off, instead his corporeal form seemed to fade away into the distance as if he shut down.

"Oh no, I'm not leaving you alone with that one. She's up to something," Jowan complained.

"The commander gave you an order," Nathaniel snapped out of his hazy almost existence just to shout at his fellow spirit.

"Last I checked, I'm not her little soldier boy. I was her friend until she went behind my back and..."

Lana waved off their bickering that amounted to nothing. It was one thing when Anders and the real Nathaniel would tear into each other. They had their own platforms, their reasons for fighting. Even if it was pointless squabbling it bore the weight of reality. The way the spirits competed it felt more like a play being poorly acted from a pair of non-actors who had their lines fed to them. It was the lack of interesting curses she missed the most.

Her current concern was in solving the puzzle. That was always what she hid behind: puzzles, games, tricks. A series of three colors lay upon the ground, but each stone had a symbol etched in gold inside it. So, was it the symbol that was important, or the color? Perhaps both. Needing to start somewhere, Lana yanked up her staff and jabbed the end into the green circle with the symbol that looked like an M baring a forked tongue. A sound like a great bell tower bonging out the time echoed through the ground and a single stair rose.

"Okay, this might be easier than I thought," she said aloud and pressed upon the blue color. The lone stair retreated back from where it came and a heart stopping BWAM shattered up her knees. Lana threw her hands over her ears to minimize her hearing loss. Both spirits stopped their bickering to glower at her. "If it's so easy, you do it!" she shouted at them. It took her a few more tries, and a few more BWAMS, before she figured out it was based upon complimentary colors and the runes were just to throw her off. After pairing the blue and orange, the last stair rose and connected with the floating platform.

She took one step onto it when Jowan reached out and snagged her hand. So much time in the fade, and it unnerved her how lifelike he felt. It wasn't just a warmth, but a solidness to him. She believed there was blood pumping through his body, muscles shifting beneath the skin of his fingers. But it didn't seem possible at all. Jowan was dead.

"You're not going alone," he said.

"Why?"

"I'm not about to let her have my meal ticket."

_Of course_ , Lana shook her head. "Here I was thinking you might have developed a latent case of compassion, silly me." She was being silly. This wasn't Jowan. He or it wasn't capable of changing his spots, they didn't do that. Yanking up her staff, Lana hitched her waning belt higher up and began climbing up the stairs. It was in some ways comparable to scaling those hanging metal staircases wound so tight you grow disoriented in the rapid twisting. The fear of falling to your doom was certainly a comparable aspect in both. She had to keep her eyes shut tight or the reorientation as her foot and body moved through space to line up with the stair would catch her and the panic could cause her to fall. Climbing upward twisted her entire frame into the new dimensions until she finally stopped at the top of the platform.

The smell of cleaning soap - the rose scented kind used to scrub Orlesian parlors - wafted over her. A painting hung suspended above a mantle over the fireplace. It was impressive as there was no wall behind the mantle, only gaping space where the green sky of the fade leeched out in its sickly light. The portrait was of a young man dressed in mage robes of a circle, though Lana didn't recognize him. A rosewood table with curves instead of straight legs took up most of the platform, and someone bothered to set out enough plates for three. Chairs composed of varying woods sat around the table, the last little more than a stool with the red paint peeling off the top.

"Hello dear," the woman she came to see spoke. She was turned away from Lana sitting primly in the host seat at the table. Her white hair was pinned up in a bun with a stick running through it that bore a striking resemblance to a sword Lana had forged ages ago - Starfang.

"We need to talk," Lana said.

The woman placed down her teacup which she'd been sipping despite it being empty. Slowly, she turned in her chair and Wynne smiled at her. "Of course you do."

Lana scooped up the ends of her tattered robes and slid into a chair beside Wynne. She regretted not having a chance to clean off her split boots before stepping into the parlor, which was stupid seeing as how there was nowhere to clean them and they were in the damn fade. Manners hardly mattered here.

"You brought him," Wynne mused. Her manicured fingers reached towards a small tray and she scooped them around an invisible biscuit or pastry.

"I didn't have a choice," Lana said. Her eyes darted up to Jowan who stood at the edge of the platform, a glower implanted upon his face. Shaking his head like a wet dog, he stomped back and forth across the stairs unwilling to step any closer.

Wynne paid no heed to Jowan's tantrum, she never did. "Nonsense dear. We all have a choice. Is that not what free will is?"

"That isn't what I've come here to talk to you about," Lana began. Jowan kept throwing her off, either because the spirit on occasion bore such an emotional resemblance to the unstable man or because she desperately needed someone to be real. But in her bones she knew what Wynne was. As much as she'd wish for the woman who helped guide her for years whether it was asked of Wynne or not, this was not her. She bore the same patrician face, had identical genteel gestures, but there was no kindness in her words, no compassion in her deeds. This Wynne cared only for one thing.

"We haven't spoken since you felt the last fade rift close, which was a long time past," Wynne said.

Lana winced. The rifts opening at random throughout the fade had been what she thought was her best opportunity of breaking out of here. The only problem was she had no way to predict when they'd open or where. There was only one she saw within close distance and reachable on foot if she hurried. But demons swarmed around it like moths to a flame and as she began to formulate a plan to hack through them, the rift shuddered away. Either it buckled under its own force, or on the other side the Inquisitor did what he had to. She kept trying, watching the skies of the fade twist and pop, hoping for another opportunity but none ever presented itself. Then, they stopped all together.

"That's not why I'm here," Lana began, but Wynne waved her hand over the invisible treats as if she intended to snatch them all away.

"Do you ever wonder why you sleep?" the spirit twisted into her own ideas of how the conversation could go. That was the danger of talking to her, what should be a minute long question could lead into hours far off topic. It would annoy Lana if she had anywhere to go.

"Because if I don't, I die. Or are we going to debate whether or not this is the afterlife again. A rousing good time until you decided to stab my hand with your letter opener," Lana sneered.

"It did solve the conundrum, did it not?" Wynne shrugged. "At least as far as it is solvable. Can any of us ever know if this is life or merely another illusion?"

"She's trying to break you," Jowan spat up from his vantage point. "That's what she'll do, take you all to herself."

"Do try and quiet your little lamprey. He encroaches upon our fun," she arched an eyebrow but didn't look towards Jowan. She didn't need to. The spirits didn't really see out of their eyes, they sensed in all directions. It took Lana awhile to adjust to that fact and even longer to get over any sense of modesty with her cavalcade always watching.

Lana picked up her plate and slammed it against the table. Porcelain shattered upon the polished wood, splintering into five pieces. Spinning in shock, Wynne pointed at her, "What did you do that for?"

"To see if anything here was real."

Wynne grinned and gently clapped her hands. "Excellent show. Perhaps you should toss the cup at your lamprey's head next. That would solve one of your problems, at least."

"Jowan's not a..." Lana began to stick up for him as if he was her real friend. Then again, what else did she have now? There was no one else to speak to but Jowan. Nathaniel was as good as shouting commands down a well and listening to the echo, while Wynne... That spirit could strip her brain raw without touching a single memory. She didn't need to, didn't want to. "Tell me something, did you dip into my mind? Take out a memory without my permission?"

"Oh, dear," Wynne tutted her tongue then twisted her own mug around in her hands as if inspecting the maker's mark upon the bottom, "I thought you were wiser than that. It's as if you're fresh faced and placing your first steps into our world all over again."

"I am low on patience and even lower on answers," Lana sighed. What she needed was a good night's sleep. Not on the ground surrounded by wards waiting for whatever from beyond the void hungered to finish her off, but curled up on the featheriest mattress one could stuff, with pillows stacked ten high, fur blankets from every animal warming her frozen body, and him... She bit her lip to drag away that thought. It did no one any good, at least not her. So much time, she didn't even know how much, and to think he'd...  Shaking her head again, she turned on Wynne, but the old woman smiled again.

"How are your dreams, dearie? Anything interesting?"

"I don't care about my dreams. They are not important."

"Are you so certain of that? Think of what you can discover in your dreams, what treasure you'd find," the old spirit continued. Unlike the real Wynne, this one wore a ring upon almost every finger except her pointers. Some were simple gold bands, while others far more elaborate and jewel encrusted. One swung open to reveal a hidden chamber to hide poison, while another had a deadly hook on the end to slice into the back of a person's neck. When the spirit was pausing in thought, she'd spin one of her rings around. She twisted the sapphire upon her left hand, as if that meant anything.

"My point, which is why I came, is that someone dug into my memories."

"You let that thing back there have a go at you whenever you're hungry. It was probably that," Wynne waved her hand at Jowan.

"It wasn't him."

"How can you be so certain?"

"He wouldn't care about what was in that memory."

Wynne's fingers paused in their twisting and she smiled her patronizing look upon Lana - as if she was the humble apprentice being schooled all over again. "Excellent. You are correct. So, puzzle the logic out. If it was not the regretful one rifling through your head scouring for his taste of mortality, who was it?"

Lana curled her face up, shaking her head to find sense, "There is no one else. Everywhere I go, the rest of the spirits scamper, leaving behind only Jowan, Nathaniel, and you in your floating fortresses."

"And you've never once wondered with all the spirits in all the fade, why no one else comes for you? Why only the..." she waved her jangling hand towards Jowan, "contrite clings to your skirts. Oh, I'm sorry, you've switched to breeches since I last saw you."

She was right. Lana had walked nearly every day since she entered the fade, struggling to find some way out. Spirits and demons alike haunted on the edges beyond her, but whenever she'd reach them the entire fade would shift molding itself to her life, a disjointed smattering of places she'd visited and known pieced together like broken puzzles. There would be no more spirits or demons, only Jowan, Nathaniel, Wynne, and...

"There's another one," Lana breathed.

"You're finally using your brain, it seems," Wynne breathed.

"Not just any one either. This has to be a powerful one. A spirit that's kept me safe and never revealed itself." Lana rose out of her chair, her legs needing to pace. She found herself twitchy if she rested for too long.

"Or perhaps it did, you simply didn't know what to look for."

"What does this spirit want? What is it?" she leaned her body onto the table, trying to draw Wynne's attention.

The woman shrugged, "What could you glean from me? I seem to be as much in its wake as you, either as a service for you or because it enjoys my company as well. Either way, would you trust me to answer that?"

She was right, of course. That was the curse of talking to her. This spirit would dig claws into you, but you knew every word out of her mouth was somehow the truth. Sometimes Lana missed a good old-fashioned white lie. "You've given me much to think about." Rising off the table, Lana nodded to Jowan who yelped in joy that they were leaving. The woman continued to stare at her teacup as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Perhaps it was to the spirit. Lana left her to it, her mind awhirl with questions as she stepped towards the exit.

"Dear, you forgot something," Wynne spoke up. As Lana turned to her, the spirit heaved her cup against the table where instead of breaking it bounced with enough force to fly into the air and land in Lana's fingers.

"What is it?" Lana asked, twisting the fake cup in her hand.

Wynne spun on her chair and the coldest eyes stared through Lana, "If you are physically in the fade now, where do you go when you dream?"

## Chapter Thirteen

**Tevinter**

_9:44 Tevinter_

Cullen's hand absently stroked Honor's sloppy head. She tried to shake it to slough off the sea water, but he pressed her closer to his leg to quiet her down. Every deckhand stood on edge glaring through the shifting fog to see around the rocks puncturing the waves off the coast of the Nocean sea. Stormy skies obliterated the stars rendering them near blind save a few lanterns skimming above the surface of the briny water to try and see further than a few inches past the bow. He had no idea what the plan was, or why they had to navigate the coast by night, but the nervous energy was palpable to grip him. Isabela gritted her teeth from her perch, her right hand man knuckles white to the railing as he shouted her few orders in a whisper.

"Slow the mains, we need to crawl in," he waved his bronzed arm against the grey skies. Cullen stood just below and was able to see him, but he had no idea how any of the pirates could hear or much less understand the order. And yet, they scampered off, tugging down lines and putting others up to align the sails and slack off on their slide towards the rocks. He expected Alistair to get into the fray with them, instead the king stood next to Cullen, his own eyes narrowed to try and peer into the fog.

"What I wouldn't give for a mage right about now," Alistair whispered aloud to himself.

Cullen shook his head, "What good would a mage be? They don't have preternatural sight."

"No, but it'd be nice to have one on hand to mend our broken bodies after they're dashed against the rocks."

"That's a fair point," Cullen admitted while grabbing onto the satchel across his neck. He'd been told to pack and not been given much more information than that. Alistair began to explain when Isabela called all hands to the deck and, after stuffing their meager belongings away, they both came upon the macabre sight.

Even after a month and a half on the waves, Cullen was not a fan of sailing, but the occasional swell and drop of a turquoise wave was perfection compared to this. Fog as grey as a dead man's skin wafted above still waters, the pounding of the sea abated to a gentle glug-glug against the hull. Silence reigned in this land of the beyond. Cullen feared he could hear his own heartbeat shattering through the quiet air disturbing whatever demon waited from the shadows. While sliding deeper into someone's nightmare, every hand watched for a shattering of black rock hidden inside the enveloping haze that would crack apart the Siren's Echo wooden flesh.

"I see land!" someone called from the front of the ship, her arm waving through the fog.

Every hand rose above every eye to try and spot whatever the pirate claimed. Slowly, a smattering of acceptance rang through the deck. "Yes, there was land _."_ Cullen couldn't see it. All that appeared to him was more darkness hidden inside the fog. Their admiral seemed to see what he couldn't. She spun the wheel madly to the left and yanked her free arm down.

"Clew up, get the lines ready. We're doing this as quiet as possible. List her in..."

Without any wind to puff up the dead sails, the Siren's Echo relied upon only the remaining momentum from the waves to gently wash her closer to this imaginary land. It wasn't until they were almost upon it that Cullen realized his mistake. He'd expected another port of call, docks, buildings of multiple stories stuffed with people and goods. But this wasn't an official landing spot for ships, this was a true pirate's cove. The ship drifted deeper inward, sliding past unscalable cliffs slick as wet slate hundreds of meters high above their heads. Cullen glanced upward and spotted some kind of raptor circling through the fog almost keeping pace with them. If he was back home he would probably recognize it, but here he could only spot a tail as black as night fanned out while the brown bird dived towards the trees pocked along the rocks.

"Now!" Isabela yelled, her voice shattering the whisper of before. The noise was so jarring, Cullen jumped a bit and felt Alistair hold onto him. The king shook his head and mouthed 'Not us' before releasing him.

Deckhands burst into violent action like ants pursing a dropped crumb. Lines launched off the ship to embed deep into the walls of the cliff pockmarked from the same holes. With a heave-ho, every man and woman grabbed onto the ropes and spun the ship to align with the coast. As a few waves broke against the _Siren's Echo_ , Isabela gave the order to weigh anchor.

She dusted off her hat and handed it to her right hand man before stepping down towards her two passengers. "That could have gone worse," Alistair piped up.

The pirate queen glared at him for a moment as she wiped off a shake in her hands. Apparently neither of the landlubbers knew how close of a call it was. "You two ready?" she asked instead.

"As we'll ever be," the king spoke for them both. Cullen was about to interrupt to ask what they were supposed to be ready for, but Isabela shook her head.

"Good," raising her voice to her crew she commanded. "Draw the gangplank. If I'm not back in an hour, set sail without me."

"Yes, ma'am!" the crew echoed but no one seemed happy about this possibility. _Maker's breath, what were they doing?_

Isabela eyed up the two of them, "You still have your big sword?"

"Always." Alistair, the king who'd been dressed for the life of a traveling merchant finally put himself in partial armor with a longsword knotted at the waist.

She rolled her eyes, "I know all about yours. I was more concerned about that one." She tipped her head at Cullen, who glanced from the two of them. Despite his suspicions and their constant flirtations, he'd never caught any sign of Alistair and the pirate queen being anything more than friends - the king's nights spent snoring in a hammock suspended above a pickle barrel. It was a complicated kind of friendship of course, but nothing tawdry. It unnerved him more than he expected.

"I am armed," Cullen said, "but would like to know for what reason."

Against the black hole of the stone shore, a golden light broke through drawing everyone's attention. Isabela knotted a checkered rag around her hair and she checked her own daggers, "You're about to find out, regs. Hamish, you have the ship. The captain's going off board."

Isabela took the lead, her weapons sheathed but she kept reaching back for them at the slightest sound breaking over the calm sea air. Behind her walked Alistair, who for the first time Cullen felt a strange urge to guard. Not out of any loyalty to the man, but due to far too many years in the order training him to protect the most valuable in the chantry hierarchy. Sadly, kings were included in that list. Cullen and Honor took up the back as they crept down the quickly retracted gangplank and deeper into the shores of the Imperium. The broken lute string call of the frogs echoed through the warmer fog of the north. It felt strange to be so near winter and not even require a cloak while walking the rocky beach, but he was far from home.

Creeping against the broken ground, Cullen eased his toe in front of him before committing to the step. Even then, the few pieces of armor he strapped on would shift in the blanketed world of the fog, the sound bouncing off the rocks and back into everyone's ears. His heart thrummed at the burgeoning anticipation of battle seeping out of every dark corner, shadows shifting as if filled with eyes and blades. Still, he kept his hand upon his sword's grip but didn't unsheathe it. Reaching out with his spare hand, Cullen stroked along Honor's head. She shook him off, even the mabari knew this was working time.

They slipped further away from the shoreline, tracing after a golden glow that would occasionally part the grey fogs from the distance, then vanish in seconds. At first, Cullen thought it was running away from them and they'd never catch it, but as the fog dissipated revealing gnarled trees stripped dead of all bark and branch, the distance lessened. No voices echoed through the imposing canyon above their heads, only their guarded footsteps scrabbling across rock wearing away to a saw grass followed them. The grass was tanner than what he knew in the south, but it chewed through raw flesh the same. Cullen tried to swipe a path for Honor, but the dog either didn't feel the sting or gritted through it as she stomped onward.

"Come no further!" a voice cried out of the dark and a blinding light landed upon their faces. This wasn't courtesy of any torch, but veilfire bursting off someone's fingers into their darkened eyes. Wonderful, their first meeting was with a Tevinter mage.

Alistair and Cullen froze on the spot, but Isabela waved her hand in her face and shouted, "Knock it off, Darius. I can barely blighted see with that shiny shit in my eyes."

This Darius sighed in relief, and the veil fire vanished. "Thank the Maker. It's Izzy," he shouted to the rest behind him.

"Izzy?" Alistair asked, nudging the pirate queen.

"Try that and you'll be feeding the barnacles on my ship," she hissed back at him before waving her hands wide and stepping up an incline. The two men and one mabari followed behind her cautious and confused. He expected more pirates, perhaps with their own smuggled piles of goods or stolen treasures needing to get out of Tevinter fast, but the reality was the furthest thing Cullen could have imagined. Elves, over a dozen of them, sat curled up on the rocky terrain in the darkness. They ranged in age from a young child up to a withered old man leaning upon a broken branch for support. Each had a shawl tucked over their heads as if to try and hide their faces or ears, while they huddled around where normally a campfire would be. Exhaustion and hunger seemed rampant in the group, their faces grey and lips slack. But their eyes flared up at the intruders and, as one, they slid further away from them.

"Darius, you promised us..." one of the elves spoke, a middle aged woman with the scar from mage fire across half her face.

"Calm yourself, Izzy's with us," Darius was the only one in the group who was human. With a waxed mustache, pointed beard, and his hair swooped high over his forehead, he reminded Cullen more of Dorian than a smuggling pirate. "She's your ride out of Tevinter."

Every elven eye swung to the pirate queen. Isabela didn't offer comfort or even look at them, instead she focused on Darius. "There's a good fifteen here! You told me six at the most."

Darius shrugged his barely covered shoulder, "I had an opportunity to free more and took it."

"Andraste's tits, do you have any idea how hard it is to sneak six onto a ship, much less _all_ of them?" She waved her hand over the elves as if they weren't there or couldn't understand her. Perhaps a few didn't, but the rest clung tighter to each other at her words, terrified of what would happen if the pirate wouldn't take them.

Darius touched Isabela's hand and he smiled, "You'll find a way, you always do."

"You're gonna owe me something big when this is done," she sighed, then rolled her head around to stretch weary muscles. "I hope a few of you don't mind sleeping in shifts," she finally addressed the group.

The elves all shook their heads no, but none of them rose. Instead, they clung tight to the ground as if afraid a giant's hand would crack the clouds to swat them down and drag them back to Tevinter. They chattered for a moment amongst themselves, their eyes darting over the pirate woman picking at her nails, and then the two men standing beside her. "Darius?" the burned woman spoke up. "How can we thank you?"

"Get out of here and live your lives free. That's all the thanks I need," he smiled magnanimously, gripping her offered hand in both of his. Then he finally turned to the lost men behind Isabela. "Which one is which?" he asked, pointing from Alistair to Cullen.

Isabela waved her hand, "I can barely tell most days. If he answers to idiot, it's him."

"I," Darius paused and blinked. He must know that Alistair is a king, otherwise no man would re-think using the word idiot. "We have a slight problem, uh..."

"It's him," Cullen spoke up, jabbing his finger at Alistair.

"Of course, thank you," Darius bowed his head at Cullen then took up counsel with the king, "Your highness."

"Eee, ex-nay on the highness-ay," Alistair interrupted, bouncing on his feet and peering over at the elves. "Incognito here and all."

"Right, naturally," Darius nodded his head, but his eyes darted to Isabela, a burning question asking her if this was really a king and not some lark.

"For the Maker's sake, I don't think a bunch of elven slaves are going to blab about you wearing a crown," she shot back. "Doubtful they could find Ferelden on a map, or read a map for that matter."

Alistair shrugged but he kept peering through the huddled masses as if there was a spy hiding in their midst. Still uncertain how to proceed, Darius watched Isabela while speaking to the king. "We have a situation that must be dealt with promptly. Massimo will be in attendance at the swap."

"Shiiit," Isabela groaned, stretching out the word as she winnowed her head towards the ground. Then she snapped up, "Oh fuck, let me guess, _he's_ going to be there too."

"It seems most likely," Darius nodded his head, catching on to whoever this third unnamed person was. " _He's_ been pursuing Massimo for a few years now. This is the first time anyone can get close to Massimo outside of his fortress, even _him_."

Alistair waved his fingers between the two of them, "I'm guessing this Massimo is bad news..."

"He's a shit eating bastard," Isabela cursed, then tacked on, "present company excluded."

Darius took over for her to explain a bit better, "Due to shifts in the power structure over the years, Massimo is currently the most powerful slave broker in Tevinter."

Chuckling, Isabela spoke up, "By _shifts in power structure_ you mean _someone_ keeps chopping slaver heads off and ripping hearts out?"

"That is the more accurate way to phrase it, yes. _He_ is an agent of chaos but it's served the underground well. Until the power vacuum yerns to be filled, as is their want, and in this case it was by Massimo. Ten years prior he was little more than a bit player running unawares to our operation, but over time, and..." Darius gestured at Isabela plastering her hand against her chest and pretending to rip her own heart out, "that affair, he's grown dangerous."

Alistair bobbed his head, obviously keeping abreast of whatever was going on, "So the deal's changed."

"Not changed, only complicated itself. You can avoid it if you'd like, but I am afraid I will not. I must try to intervene if I can," Darius said, and the king nodded along. Cullen tried to be patient, piecing together their double speak and sideways glances, but he couldn't stand it anymore.

Grabbing onto Alistair's arm, Cullen whipped the king around to face him. Darius blanched at the impolitic move against royalty, while Isabela was busy miming chopping her own head off. "All right, I've put up with much from you on this trip but I think I am owed an explanation as to what in the void is happening here."

The king tipped his head back and forth and smiled, "In order to get out of Tevinter, we're going to pose as a couple of slave traders with Darius here. Originally, we were going to visit the market, slip in with a slave route, infiltrate it, and use that to take us into the Anderfells, but now it looks like..."

"We will assassinate Massimo, travel his route, and destroy all the slavers along the way," Darius finished for him.

Alistair jabbed a finger at him and smiled, "That, more or less. Sounds like we'll have competition on the finishing off Massimo plan though."

Darius groaned, " _He_ is competent, but...brash." Isabela snorted at the assessment, and the hairs along Cullen's neck rose. If she of all people thought this man was brash... _Maker!_ "I fear we may lose him entirely if there is no one to assist."

"So," Alistair turned on Cullen, the last holdout of the group. "Are you up for killing a bunch of slavers or...?" he waved his hand back in the direction of the boat.

Slipping his eyes closed, Cullen gripped tighter to the hilt of his sword. "I'm in."

"That was quick," the king responded, taken aback. "Took you longer to decide what you wanted for dinner, and...fine fine, don't look a gift druffalo in the mouth. Got it."

"It's been a lot of fun and all, but I'm afraid this is where we part ways." Isabela reached her hand out to Cullen and he took it, surprised at the calluses they shared as they shook. Then she turned to Alistair who extended his hand as well. Instead of taking it, Isabela grabbed onto both of his cheeks and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Both Cullen and Darius shuffled uncomfortably and stared off into the distance as the pirate queen macked all over the regular king. Just as the awkwardness was reaching into the huddled elven group, she broke from his lips and Alistair gasped in air. "Do what you need to, and feel free to flag me down if you ever need some pirate assistance."

"I will, uh, think about that," Alistair stuttered, seeming as shocked by her goodbye as the rest of them.

Isabela cupped Darius' fingers once more, then she said, "We'll get 'em out safe, then I'll be back sometime in six months if the weather plays nice."

"Agreed."

"Oh, and if you see _him_ before he's all blood ragey, tell him Isabela says his underthings are...green."

Darius eyed up the pirate queen, confusion knotting his brow, but nodded, "I will do that."

She smiled wide and slapped him once on the shoulder, buckling his fancy feather stylings, "Good on you." Turning to the elves she shouted, "All right, let's get all your asses on the ship before the Tevinter guards come poking about. Daylight is not our friend, so move it! I don't want to leave anyone behind, but we're not waiting either!"

As she rounded up the elves scampering towards the _Siren's Echo_ and freedom, Darius handed a pair of scarves to both the men. "Here, slip these around your heads to try and disguise your, well, Southern coloring."

"Delightful," Cullen sighed, weighing the damask pattern in his hands. "What of my dog? I will not leave her behind."

"Ah, the Ferelden mabari, yes? It may draw a few questions, but we can pass her off as an oddity of yours. She will prove useful in a fight, at least," Darius scampered around Cullen, his eyes drifting towards the dog who only wagged her stump of a tail harder from the attention. Then the mage turned and tried to assist Alistair, who'd managed to knot the scarf around his neck.

After un-choking himself, the king smiled wide, "Nearly got it. This thing's a bit tricky."

"Ah, indeed, sire. I mean, ser," Darius sighed with a weary list to his voice, the same that Cullen felt in his heart every time he stepped near Alistair. What an odd place to find a kindred spirit in a Tevinter magister. "If you will follow me, we have a long way to walk until we reach the city proper."

Killing slavers. Out of all the things Alistair could demand from him to get Lana back, this was the one thing Cullen felt no hesitation for.

## Chapter Fourteen

**The Wolf**

_9:44 Tevinter_

Despite his life constantly veering to the left, Cullen never expected to find himself in the Tevinter Imperium where blood mages ruled and templars were little more than yappy lap dogs, neutered and chained from effecting any change. The city they traveled to was unlike anything he'd seen before. Where Kirkwall bore the occasional mark of the Imperium under her bones, the Marchers made it their own. Val Royeaux was its own painted up city, a bit like a war horse with ribbons knotted through its mane - power lurking below the glitz. But this city loomed around him overstuffed with architecture built upon even older and ancienter still. A modern building sat next to the crumbling ruins of a columned facade baring the faces of what looked like the old gods. They strolled past an ancient chantry built perhaps before the third blight, its walls made of plain sandstone, unnoticeable save the etchings of Andraste. A lone chanter stood outside speaking the heretical verses of the north. Streets weren't laid out in any plan, but undulated through the city as if someone placed down cobblestones while pursuing a cat. And moving through it all were mages, brash as the bright sun. They bore their staves glittering in jewels and priceless metals as a badge of honor. Robes were the fashion, of course, but even those were more decadent than the typical mage fare in the south.

"And I'd believed Dorian extravagant," Cullen mused to himself watching a man waltz past with pomegranate juice dripping onto his silk slippers embroidered with a family crest in golden thread.

Darius didn't speak much to either of them aside from a few curt suggestions that they voice few words seeing as how they both bore rather obvious accents. Of course, the king smirked and shouted, "I have no idear what you mean." Uncertain how to respond, their guide only nodded along and kept up their march deeper into the city.

"Where are you taking us?" Cullen asked. He walked beside the man while somehow Alistair and Honor slipped into the back. Realizing they'd both been rather quiet for awhile, Cullen turned and found an empty space where king and mabari should be. Wonderful.

Darius, unaware of their new problem, spoke up, "To the center of Asariel. There is an open air market located upon the old Imperium's circus ground, one of the largest."

"A slave market," Cullen spat, needing to dig deeper into that wound. His fingers itched just being near this many mages -- countless could be malifecarum or worse. Would abominations themselves walk freely through the streets?

"Yes," Darius bowed his head, "a slave market. One we will be disrupting, hopefully permanently."

Cullen's eyes trailed a woman with her hair rolled up like plump sausages, each link pinned around her head in a circle. Three elves trailed behind her, they couldn't have been much older than ten or twelve but they didn't behave like children given free run at market day. Their heads hung low out of fear of risking eye contact, while the tallest one held onto his mistress' skirts to keep them out of the dust.

"Are you a magister?" Cullen asked.

Darius chuckled, "You do draw from the south. No, I am not."

"But you're of high standing, a mage in the Imperium. An altus?"

That drew the mage's attention, his baggy eyes twisting towards the southern barbarian who never managed to knot that cursed shawl over his head. "You are aware of our...? Yes, I am an altus, but it is complicated. More complicated than I'd prefer to go into."

Cullen shrugged. "I only wonder what would push someone of the higher class to risk his neck for sl- the elves."

"I wish there was an easy answer to that. Some momentous event when perhaps a slave saved my life and asked only for freedom as recompense. A heartwarming story to appease people uneasy with their higher lot in the life. There are a few in our small group who bare those tales, but I'm afraid mine is not as simple to pin down," Darius slowed and shook both of his hands as if knocking away excess water after washing them. "While some try to enact change within the laws of the Imperium, others prefer a more direct approach. I, without the backing of my sundered family, require the latter."

Cullen suspected as such, or something similar. People didn't break out of their bubble unless they felt they had no other choice. It was a rare person living in a secure position to throw it all away because of the injustice heaped upon someone who wasn't them, who didn't touch their life.

Darius coughed, his steps slowing to a crawl, "If I may be so bold, the, um..."

"King," Cullen threw out.

"He mentioned you being a templar. Is that true?"

"I was a templar, I am no longer. Haven't been for many years, in fact," Cullen sighed. He had no idea what he'd have to do to get the man to stop calling him that, but it'd probably involve a board and rapping it against Alistair's crown.

"Forgive the intrusion, I am only curious of a niggling fact. If you will indulge me, had I been born in the south would I not have been taken from my family and placed forever in one of your circles?"

"The circles no longer exist," Cullen said fearing he knew where this line of questioning was going.

"But they did for hundreds of years, and most of your people - the nobility, the merchants, the fishermen - they would think nothing of the plight of mages. To have people forced against their will to be trapped within a tower or, I even heard, some were held in dungeons."

"Mages could come and go with permission, once they'd proven themselves capable of withstanding the temptation of the fade." He hadn't despised the magister before, but now a sneer crawled up Cullen's face and refused to leave. Out of all the arguments he thought he'd get into on the trip, this was the furthest one he'd feared. Though the day was young, perhaps Alistair would finally pluck up the courage to ask him about his bedroom antics with Lana. It didn't seem beyond the pale now.

"And those who didn't perform properly, didn't appreciate the gifts their masters -- sorry, Chantry -- gave to them, they were punished, yes? Not beaten or chained, but had their link to the fade severed."

"I know what correlation you are driving at, and it is not comparable," Cullen hissed. "Mages can be dangerous, to others, to themselves. The circles protected, were supposed to protect mages as much as restrain them."

Darius nodded that patrician face, his aquiline nose sniffing as if he first smelled the horse shit piling up in the street. "Interesting. If you were to only protect mages then why were children born to mages plucked from their mother's breast before their first cry? Taken by the chantry to never be seen by those who gave them life? All in the name of Andraste and what was best for the people?"

"What is your point other than to antagonize me?"

The mage's thin lips slipped up in not a smile but a ruefully smirk, "When you joined the templars, offered up yourself to them for life, you must have agreed with every tenet of the order, every bad choice made for the sake of the rest?"

"It's not that simple," Cullen growled.

"It never is," Darius smirked again. Cullen found himself missing Dorian. Sure, he could be a pain in the ass and gave him a splitting headache, but at least he wasn't a smug bastard about it. "Hate the Imperium if you must, templar. Despise every inch of it out of fear or misunderstanding, but we see just as much pain and misery in the south as you do in the north."

Now he understood. This wasn't some concerned citizen who stood up one day to fight for the slaves. He must have owned some, his family, or perhaps personally. For years he thought of them as little more than furniture that came with his lifestyle, as disposable as a bangle. Cullen could call him out on it, try and drag out that hypocritical past Darius tried to shy away from, but there seemed little point. He had his own demons to slay, and none of them included a small time Tevinter mage who needed to feel better about his life choices.

Unwilling to retort to Darius' gotcha response because Cullen refused to tell him of his own past with mages the two men glared upon each other. Cullen feared how long the silence would last with denizens curious about the stranger among them, when he was rescued by the king loping up the side with Honor upon his heel. He carried a doughy pastry stretched across the full length of his arm, while the mabari kept lapping up the juices dribbling off Alistair's elbow and down his pants. Maker, she was going to smell terrible later.

"No idea what this is, but it's amazing!" the king crowed. With his fingers, he dug into a section and passed the doughy offering to Cullen.

He weighed it in his hand as some kind of ground meat and boiled vegetable medley spilled out of the wrap. "How can you consume so much food? It is baffling to me," Cullen said. Then he took a soft bite of the meat dough. A sweet spice clung through the savory textures while juices dripped off the vegetables, flat and soft from boiling. It wasn't half bad, all things considered.

Alistair slurped up an entire forearm's worth of the roll in a disgusting bite, then smiled, "It's my taint!"

"Um," Darius bounced back on his heels, wanting to say something to the king, but his tongue held in check by the crown.

Unaware of the uncomfortable pressure put upon their guide, Alistair continued grinning, "Lanny can put it away too when she has half a mind. The lone perk to being a Warden is our impressive taint."

A strange swell of camaraderie rose through Cullen even as Alistair mentioned Lana. He'd often assumed she bore a hollow leg given her preponderance for eating her way through a feast and love for anything doughy and/or tart. During a dinner at Skyhold, she - this tiny woman who barely skimmed above most people's chins - actually reached over to the Iron Bull's plate and asked if he was going to finish something off. Cullen had to excuse himself as fast as possible before he broke into a laughing fit from the look of shock upon the qunari's face. Maker's breath, he missed those little moments.

As if she could read his thoughts, Honor nuzzled against his leg, her flat head bouncing off him until she got the right number of pats. "Good girl," Cullen whispered to her, shaking away the emotion simmering in the air.

"Right, ah," Alistair hopped back and forth on his feet, then offered some of his dish to Darius, "Where are we heading? Are we there yet?"

"Nearly, your, um. Sir, would you mind covering your head?" The mage rolled his fingers around the crown of his head to mimic the scarf.

Alistair crammed the last quarter of his late breakfast into his mouth. Spraying crumbs, he scampered, "Got it," then draped the scarf upon his head as if it was a hood, the ornate ends dangling upon his shoulders.

"I, uh," the poor Tevinter had no idea how to dismiss royalty, so he waved his hand. "It will be sufficient. I pray. Come, the market will open soon and we should arrive quickly before _he_ does."

While Darius led them deeper into the paths of other denizens of Asariel all winnowing towards some great open air amphitheater in the distance, Cullen whispered to the king. "What do you know of this Massimo?"

Never able to be serious, Alistair curled one hand up as if holding a platter, "No idea."

"And this _he_ they keep speaking of."

The king rolled up the other hand in a full shrug, "Also no idea."

"So we're walking blind into what could be a trap placed by the Imperium hoping for royal blood, or a few mages out for whatever vengeance they could find against a southern templar," Cullen summed up.

"You can still turn back if you want. Isabela's ship can't have gotten too far and I assume you can swim," Alistair gestured in the wrong direction towards the Siren's Echo.

Swallowing down the foreign Tevinter dirt, Cullen shook his head, "No, I cannot."

"Hold your tongues," Darius commanded, for the first time raising his voice to the king. "We've arrived."

As Cullen stared around this sky open den of misery his first thought was it should have been raining. An azure sky with only cottony clouds to break up the sunlight belied the torture of people shuffled into caged carts about to be sold off like livestock. The market wasn't grimy and aged with splintered signs poorly painted advertising horrific wares. Crisp linens wafted in the breeze off each ten foot tall pole and stretching from stall to stall of important Tevinter families and businesses. Each stall bore a seal burned into a wooden sign. Some took the time to paint it while others would emboss it in gold. There were no signs indicating whose stall belonged to who, the assumption being everyone in the Imperium knew family seals better than their own language.

Cages lined the rim of the market, or more precisely, a single giant cage that stretched unending in a circle. Each stall was partitioned off by a wall, slotted in place that could be risen up like locks upon a dam from a mechanism dangling above their heads. The gears and most likely magic echoed out of the tevinter dragons flocking the columns ringing the open air theater. In the middle of the entire market stood a dais taller than even the dragon statues. Perched upon it was a throne, golden enough to be ostentatious without gaudy. No one currently occupied it, but Cullen had a good idea who it was meant for. A circus required a ringleader.

"This is despicable," he struggled to bite back his tongue, his fingers drifting towards the sword at his hip. Even the king of Ferelden, who seemed unflappable in the most flappable of situations, looked ill at ease, his peeling face turned down in a glower.

"Your job is not to judge," Darius hissed back at them, then he flipped around to face a woman dashing towards him. Ribbons trailed her like feathers would a molting bird.

"Darius, darling. It's so wonderful to see you," she smiled at him, then kissed his cheek. He returned it without his lips getting anywhere near her skin. "Have you seen the newest stock? It's all skin and bones, I fear. That's the problem with elves, it's impossible to fatten them up and the moment they come down with one of their filthy diseases they're wiped out instantly. Complete waste of your investment. I'd rather invest in the human stock coming next week. Hello," her dithering tone shifted to joy instantly as she turned to the men wandering behind Darius. "You've brought friends. Are they in the market to buy or sell?"

Cullen bit down the urge to slap her gilded hand away, while Darius jumped ahead of them, "They're with me, first time here from Minrathous where they're well known buyers for some of the...I shouldn't say."

"Stars and bodkins," the woman's green eyes lit up in greed, "are you saying they work for..." Whatever mystery patron she thought of, she seemed terrified to mention the name as it could summon a demon. Maker, in this heathen land perhaps it could. Instead, she zipped up her lips and nodded widely. "Well then, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she stuck out her hand hoping for someone to take it.

Both Cullen and Alistair shared a look, neither willing to throw themselves upon that petard. "Ah," Darius mumbled something so quickly in tevinter Cullen couldn't follow, and then smiled wide. "It's best to remain at a distance in case. They are looking out for you."

"Oh, such darlings. Well, when you're ready to shop you know where to find me," she smiled that turn of her painted lips like a shark tasting blood, then waved again. Scampering off to trounce upon others, the three men side eyed the woman as they slipped into the throngs.

"Fasta vaas, would it kill either of you to maintain cover?" Darius hissed for the first time showing real anger. "If anyone here suspects me, then the entire operation is endangered. I don't know if you're aware what ripple effect that would have but..."

"I am sorry," Cullen interrupted the rage.

"Me too," Alistair added. "We don't mean to mess up your life. Whatever you need from us, we'll do it. Just say the word and point."

Darius' feathered shoulder shuddered for a moment and he turned back to the royalty he reamed out. "Yes, of course, your um-ness. We need to approach this two fold. First, find Massimo and second, find the elf."

"If it's any elf you want, that should be rather easy," Alistair joked waving his hand around the proceedings, then he caught the sight of a woman barely out of girlhood struggling against her wrought iron manacles and his face fell.

Missing out on the forest for the trees, Darius spun around and hissed, "This isn't any elf, it's _the_ elf. We, some call him the wolf, others the mortiferum."

"That sounds spicy," Alistair interrupted. "What's so special about this elf, unlike all the other not-special elves here?"

Darius' eyes flickered around at the layout filling quickly with tevinters looking to buy and browse, then he sighed, "For the past four or so years, he's traveled the Imperium taking down slave traders. Not only him, he's building his own pack of sorts, elves left in all the main cities to liberate others. Though soldiers in his little army fall, no one can obliterate it all. The makeup of the pack is always changing, the only consistency is their leader."

"Do you have any idea what this elf looks like?" Cullen asked.

The mage began to speak when Alistair interrupted him, "Does he have white hair, crazy spiky armor, and glowing tattoos across his body?"

"Yes, how did you know that?" Darius rounded on the king. Lifting both eyebrows, Alistair pointed behind him towards the entrance. Gasping echoed across the sunny grounds as the crowds recognized this wolf first. Scores of people scattered as fast as they could from the man and another dozen or so elves standing behind him. He glowed brighter than a chantry pyre, his skin a white hot blue as he waved a massive greatsword around his head. Something clanged in Cullen's memory but he couldn't quite bring it forward.

"Bring me Massimo!" the elf shouted, his voice deeper than a craggy canyon. The rest of his pack unsheathed their own weapons; a gamut of daggers, swords, bows, and even a few magic users.

"Stop the rats!" someone ordered from beside the dais. Cullen turned to trace the voice and spotted a good thirty guards erupting from behind it. There was no way this small posse could survive that many without help.

"So much for subtle," Darius sighed.

Unsheathing his sword, Cullen spun around fast, catching a thunderstruck guard in the chest. His body collapsed to the ground, coating the well manicured grass in blood. Before the others had time to recognize the new threat, Alistair leaped into the fray, his sword shattering against weaker arms and legs. Catching on that the elves weren't their only problem, two of the guards tried to attack Cullen at once.

He dodged wide of the first attack, cursing not bringing his shield, then met the other with his sword. This stance left him open to a blow by the first guard, her sword drawn back to slice into his exposed side, when Honor's teeth bit down into the guard's thigh. She screamed, not expecting a mabari attack, and was about to slice into his dog, when Honor shook her head pinning her teeth deep into her prey. Then she crunched down harder, splitting the bone.

"This is madness," Cullen screamed, "there should be an order to the attack."

"Okay, go tell them that," Alistair jabbed a hand at the rallying guards, then yanked his sword out of a dead one's spine. "Or them," he added, turning around to wave at the glowing elf. _Maker, that sounded familiar._ He didn't have time to puzzle out that memory as the taste of the fade filtered into the world. Someone was casting magic, and in the Imperium, it was anyone's guess from where.

Dragging deep into the wells of the beyond where he never thought he'd touch again, Cullen dropped to a knee. It used to come so easily to him, to yank away their mana and leave them bereft, but his mind skipped away from the beyond. He couldn't touch the nothing because another heartbeat filled it. Shaking his head, he willed that foolish thought away.

"Any time, templar boy," Alistair called. "Hey, give me that," he yanked away one of the guard's shields then smashed him back in the face with it. Properly slotted on his arm, the king pounded a fist into the man's stomach then slashed his neck with the sword.

Like stepping into a frozen pond, Cullen gritted his teeth and dove fully into the blankness. A wave of dispelling erupted off his body, canceling all spells in every direction. He watched magister's fall back, shock twisting up their painted faces from someone daring to drain away their mana and blot away their spells. In his younger days he could have managed a radius twice that size. For now, he could only hope to take out the handful backing up the guards.

"I'll get the mage first," he shouted, gesturing at one of them carrying a staff covered in manacles. The mage blinked at the threat, then raised his hands as if the mana should be here. Unused to a true templar in their midst, Cullen cut him down before he thought to use his staff, his blood slicking up the grass. Alistair smashed through another guard, the body count piling up quickly, but even as they sliced through the unexpected mass, there was no way they could defeat the reinforcements running towards the commotion.

"Darius?!" Cullen called. The mage looked stricken having been caught in the same blast from Cullen as the rest, but he rallied.

"We need to find Massimo first. This can be dealt with later."

"Any ideas on that, oh wise one?" Alistair called. Blood coated his arms but if it was from himself, he bore no pain, only exhaustion creeping up as another dead guard heaped onto the pile. "Maker, I haven't done this many since the blight. I miss being twenty."

"I..." Darius glanced around as if an idea would present itself, but someone else was way ahead of them.

While the rest of his group handled the guards attacking them, the glowing elf knocked one of the magisters to the ground. Rather than slice his head off, the elf lit up bright and somehow shoved his fist through the magister's chest. "That's gotta sting," Alistair whined, watching the same display. "Can all of whatever he is do that?"

Squeezing inside and past the magister's ribs, the elf grunted, "Tell me where Massimo is."

"Ah! In the staging area, to the east. Please, please!" the magister shrieked, sweat pouring off his brow.

The elf yanked his hand out of the man's chest and sneered, "If you're lying..."

"I'm not, I swear."

"Good." He lobbed off the man's head with one thrust of his giant blade, and took off alone towards the east.

"Let me guess, we chase the fisty, chesty, head chopping guy. Today's been such an adventure so far," Alistair spoke in such a way Cullen couldn't tell if he was sarcastic or serious. Perhaps the king wasn't certain. Darius didn't bother to respond, he was already in pursuit of the elf. Despite his smaller stature and over the top armor, the elf moved through the screaming hordes with ease running towards what must have been the staging area.

Together, the pair of them hoofed it after both, swiping away guards and other magisters trying to stop an inevitable insurrection. "If they release the cages now, all the slaves will be put in greater danger," Cullen shouted, watching as the elf's pack filtered towards the mechanisms, arrows bouncing off the ropes holding the doors in place.

"You can go tell them that if you want, but I don't think they're the listening to humans type. Maybe if you sang it." The king tossed his shield at Cullen -- who caught it despite no warning -- and he rolled his fingers up his side. "Maker, I don't think all this blood is vintage Vint. Uh, go on ahead without me," he pointed towards the retreating pair.

"You expect me to leave the king of Ferelden alone and unprotected in the middle of a slave revolt in Tevinter?" Cullen asked. Hate him or no, he couldn't let the man risk his life so foolishly.

"Hold that thought," Alistair tossed his sword to his right hand, swung around to catch a blade from behind him, and punched his left fist flat against the guard's face. Blood splattered along with the crunch of the nose as the man tumbled back. Kicking him in the side of the leg, the king thrusted his sword deep into the man's chest as he plummeted to the ground. Tugging the blade free, he turned to Cullen. "You were saying?"

"I... As you command, your highness," Cullen bowed. His muscles slotted the shield in place, raising the sword slightly higher while protecting as much of his arm as possible. It wasn't a conscious thought he knew, because his mind was busy echoing the same complaints as Alistair. A few years on the sidelines watching the drills instead of participating were all wearing on him now. _Maker, how embarrassing would it be if he had to stop for breath before reaching this staging area?_

Screams and the scamper of pampered feet were all Cullen had to go on as both the elf and Darius vanished in the distance -- a trail of bloody grass wafting in their wake. Cries out of a massive tent went from ones of shock to pain and agony. He had to be drawing close. Situating his shoulders back, Cullen stepped through the crimson curtains and stumbled into a massacre. Blood splattered off every trampled blade of grass while the few surviving Tevinters groaned, nearly everyone missing a limb, and some without heads. The whirling bringer of death stood stock still as he glared upon the man of the hour.

Cullen expected this feared Massimo to be hulking, with a mass that could be attributed to muscle as easily as fat, from a life of excess; but he was reed thin with gaunt cheeks and a face as clean shaven as the elves he traded in. It was the eyes where the true corrupted heart lay. Burning with contempt at what the elf was instead of what he did, the magister raised his hand about to cast some spell upon his foe. Cullen dipped down to dampen his mana, but there wasn't time.

Fire burst against Massimo's barrier, a few sparks scattering behind to land upon his house banners. Darius waved his fingers, prepared for another attack, but it was enough of an opening for the elf to leap forward. He didn't bother with his gigantic blade. With skin glowing like lyrium veins buried deep inside the deep roads, he smashed his shoulder into Massimo, the pair of them tumbling into the slave dealer's chair, that upended backwards to the ground.

The elf's hand pierced the man's chest and he snarled, "I know what you did to them. What you thought you could do. Never again, mage." A pop as if someone broke open a water skin echoed through the tent and Massimo's body slumped back the life snapped. The elf slipped his hand away, a tremor across his shoulders and down his murderous arm.

"You are the wolf," Darius began, stepping closer to him. Without taking a breath, the elf swung around his clawed fist and closed it around the mage's throat.

"Another one," he hissed, dragging Darius to the ground.

"Stop," Cullen shouted, "this man assisted you."

The elf didn't turn away from his prize as he growled in that bottomless pit of a voice, "He sensed an opening to take down the big fish so he could fill it. That's what they do, let others accomplish their dirty work, then rush in to fill the gaps."

"I..." Darius struggled against the grip, his soft fingers unable to take hold against the elf.

"He's not a slaver, he works for the underground that frees slaves," Cullen tried to slide closer to stop him, but the elf increased his grip, cutting off Darius' air.

"Ha! That's what they all say when they know their time's come."

"By all the..." Cullen leaned back about to smash his shield into the elf's head, when the memory struck. "Fenris." The elf shuddered, his head swiveling back to look at him. "Your name is Fenris, you used to travel with the Champion of Kirkwall."

"Many people know my name," he said, but by the sneer in his lips from the revelation, that didn't seem to be the case.

"I'm, I was Knight-Captain Cullen."

He slackened his grip on Darius' throat and the mage gasped for air. "A templar? What are you doing here?"

"Assisting the underground with destroying Massimo, freeing the slaves. That man, the one you're about to kill, he is friends with Isabela." It was a long shot, but surely they knew each other through the Champion. Whether they were friendly was another story.

Cullen expected Fenris to either glare at him for the insinuation, or break off his attack, instead he pushed both thumbs deeper into the mage's throat. "That's a lie!"

"She..." Darius coughed, his words barely coherent through the narrow gap of his trachea. "She said your underthings are green."

The elf's murderous eyes widened and his sneer fell slack. Both hands slipped off Darius' throat and the mage rolled to the side struggling for air. "You, you know her. Why would you...?" Fenris jabbed a finger at the coughing man, "I have seen him before. He purchases elves often at these _things._ "

"To free," Darius gasped. "I buy the ones I can to free them."

"Admiral Isabela," Cullen continued, "we..." he began to point to the lack of a king behind him. "I arrived here on her ship, the _Siren's Echo_ , and she left with a good dozen elves once under this man's care. She's taking them to the south."

Fenris growled, his strung body pacing through the tent like a caged wolf while he took in the facts. "Then why did you pursue me?"

"I was ordered to kill Massimo," Darius croaked. "They were afraid he would stop you, end you."

The lack of faith in his skills got another snarl, but the elf extended a hand to the man splayed on the ground. Darius watched it for a moment, then he grabbed it. Fenris lifted the man he nearly killed to his feet.

"Turns out the Vints really don't know what to make of a templar's skills and..." Alistair skidded to a halt beside Cullen as he stared around the carnage, "Did I miss the strawberry jam explosion?"

The wolf, bringer of death to the slavers, slapped Darius on the back once and grunted, "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right, I understand. Sort of," the mage pulled at his collar trying to keep anything away from his bruised neck.

"You look familiar," Fenris said turning to face Alistair.

"Ah, I'm the face of the Little Lord Leapin' soaps. Little Lord'll get your noble ass clean every time," the king threw out with a forced grin on his face.

Cullen groaned at the terrible lie. "We're pursuing a matter, looking for a mage."

"What do you want with this mage?" Fenris asked. He grabbed onto the dead Massimo's silk robes and wiped his blade clean.

"Oh, that is really not something any of us need to think about," Alistair responded getting a sneer as powerful as the elf's off of Cullen.

"We fear there is something that could break apart the veil. The plan had been to travel this Massimo's slave routes to get to the Anderfells." Cullen glared at Alistair and mimed, 'Was that so difficult?'

Fenris didn't react from the information, his fingers carefully tending to his blade. Cullen heard bits and pieces about the man over the years, but after the chantry explosion all of Hawke's companions vanished into the night. His face looked worn, the pores as deep as eroded sandstone, but there was a spark that gifted a preternatural youthful glow to him as if he had much to accomplish before he could grow old. "Cullen, you said your name was. I remember you from the Gallows." The elf glanced from the pair of Ferelden men coated in blood already seeping into their clothing under the armor, to the Tevinter unrolling a silk hankie to dab a spot off his nose. "Ha," Fenris snorted once, "how does it feel mage knowing you were rescued by a templar?"

"I..." Darius glanced over at the man he'd argued with not an hour earlier. "Thankful."

Nodding as if he didn't care about the response, Fenris kicked the heel of his boot into the bottom of Massimo's throne. Scrolls tumbled out, which the elf snatched up to pocket away. "I will help you reach the Anderfells," he said turning to them both, "as long as you agree to put down the slavers found along the way."

Cullen reached out a hand to shake the elf's, but it was Alistair who spoke up. "That was already the plan anyway, so sure, why not. Hey, if you don't mind my asking, how does that whole glowing thing work?"

Both Fenris and Cullen groaned.

## Chapter Fifteen

**What's In A Name**

_?:?? ?_

Green light warped around her body, distorting the creeping chill inches beyond her consciousness. She could feel it leeching through her shut eyelids but not see it. No, that wasn't right. There was an image, a hint of something lurking in the distance beyond the wobbling light. Lana thought she could make it out if she just screwed her eyes up tight and...

The dream faded away and she snapped awake, her heart pounding against her ribcage as if she'd stabbed the archdemon again. Lana reached for her staff always laying at her right side, but found her hand shaking too violently to obey. Numb and useless, her fingers batted at the staff, unable to pick it up. _Okay, this is not a problem_ , she breathed, trying to steady away the anxiety burning behind her eyes. She merely slept on it funny. Having a rock wedged into her spine would do that. Shaking her hands to bring back feeling, Lana tipped her head back and screwed her eyes tight. She wasn't going to cry, she wasn't going to scream, she was going to hang on to reality, rise, and find food.

Pins and needles rose up her arms as blood flow returned bringing with it dexterity. As she reached for her staff, fingers finally closing around it, her eyes opened. The Black City hung suspended above her, the closest she'd seen it since entering the fade.

"It's a rather tempting sight, isn't it?"

Lana jumped in her seat and spun around to find Wynne perched upon the top of a column. The spirit carefully sanded down her nails without a care, then gestured towards the downfall of man. "You must be curious about it."

"The last people to tread there blighted the world," Lana repeated. Grit stuck to her teeth and she fumbled for her water skin to try and wash it away. Checking twice to make certain it wasn't the poison bladder, she drank the stale water while Wynne watched her.

"All the more reason to want to see it for yourself. Think of the truths you could learn."

"You sound like White," Lana sighed. She dropped her head into her lap, her fingers pulling back at the skin of her cheeks as she tried to calm herself. Waking grew more laborious with each passing day, shattering apart her psyche with an ice pick after each session, and she couldn't understand why. She also didn't understand what Wynne was doing here.

"Where's Jowan?" Lana asked. That was the spirit who waited beside her while she slept, usually with the promise of breakfast and the request for another memory.

Wynne dismissed her request, "Wherever leeches of his type squander off to. Probably flouncing in a puddle. I'm certain he'll be back like any bad copper." She finished sanding down her nails and placed the cheese grater in her pocket. Coy eyes turned to Lana. "You remember it, don't you? Your dreams."

"Except," Lana lightly bit down on her tongue, willing away the horror gurgling in her veins, "they can't be dreams." She'd thought upon the old spirit's words for days. It wasn't as if she had anything else to pass the time. Every morning -- or what passed for her mornings -- when Lana woke, she knew she'd dreamed but couldn't dredge a single image or memory of it to her consciousness. It was as if her eyes were closed and her ears shut, but she felt the dream happening around her, knew time was passing beyond her deaf and blind body.

Wynne crossed her legs at the ankle and placed both hands upon her knees. "Now we come to the crux of the situation. If they are not dreams..."

"What are they? Yes, I am ahead of you on this question," Lana sighed. She used to love this -- quick banter back and forth with mages, scholars, anyone who could catch her curiosity. Now it exhausted her. The spirit never gave anything back, it didn't care about the answers; all it wanted was to pick at the questions like a scab never allowed to heal.

"Well, you must have postulated a theory."

"About my dreams?" Lana rose to her wobbly legs and reached for her belt laid out on the ground. "I am no Rivaini seer. I cannot predict the future from my dreams, the placement of the stars, or what month I was born in. If you're looking for someone to read your palm, you'll have to try elsewhere."

Wynne didn't rear back from her admonishment. The old spirit only waited, primly smoothing down her robes as if she had all the time in thedas. In the fade, Lana corrected herself, all the time in the fade. This wasn't thedas at all.

"Very well," Lana smacked her hand against the broken forearm of an old bird statue, unable to withstand the spirit's withering gaze. "There was a green light, not emanating from an obvious source but surrounding me. And the world beyond it was off, like staring at someone through a water glass. Or...a barrier!" Yes, that was it. Exactly like staring through a heavy barrier. Not the typical fighting one, but a powerful blockade placed so no magic came in or went out. _How had she missed it?_

"Now you're on to it," Wynne snapped her fingers. "Was there anything else?"

"No." Even thinking about the green place exhausted her. She knew she'd slept for at least a good eight to nine hours but her brain felt none of it. Instead, it was as if she stayed up the whole night cramming in chantry history before an exam. "Wait...I do remember something. There was a-"

The ground rumbled below her feet and Lana reached out to catch herself against the statue's stomach horns. _By the void, what?_ In all her time, she'd never experienced an earthquake in the fade. Rocks often shifted off their precarious perches, some of them sliding properly to the ground while others floated up higher into the air. Things like that used to bother her, now it got an at most confused shrug. But there was never a full on earthquake before. At least she had someone to ask questions of here.

"Since when do...?" Lana began, turning towards Wynne, but the spirit turned a literal white - all color vanishing from the once human body as a glowing haze skirted around the edges. Before she could shift her question, the spirit vanished. "Great," Lana dug a line in the sand with her staff for wards and she rolled her shoulders preparing for an attack. The spirits only spooked when a demon approached.

For all the time she'd spent in the fade, there hadn't been many demons to cross paths with. Lana gingerly touched the vibrant scar across her eye. There were enough to keep her ill at ease at all times, but she'd anticipated droves of them stampeding across her the moment the breach closed. Swallowed by the horde should have been her end in either the deep roads or here. Instead, only a handful of demons slipped into her range. The hunger demons were almost her reminder she needed to eat, though she'd never consume them. They tasted of charcoal and spicy peppers. She'd certainly raised her pride demon quota since before the fade, thirteen and counting. But whatever was coming raised the hairs along her body, the air thickening to a paste dampening all sound to a crawl. It was no pride demon. Lana gripped tighter to her staff, worried that it was the one demon she barely scratched the surface of.

Fading out of the air itself, golden light shifted around to lend form to the arriving creature. It looked human, the silhouette almost a painfully thin female without hair or legs. Instead, the torso aimlessly drifted in the air as if the creature was above using legs or wasn't capable. No, the latter couldn't be it. Lana tasted the power rising around her - far more formidable than anything she'd felt before. There was a hint of a face beneath the light but the features were nondescript, only a dark shadow inside the light to give away the nose and mouth.

It floated above her, not spitting fire or lightning, when a voice both smooth as silk and hard as ice flowed through the air. "I thought it long past time for introductions, Lana Amell."

"Am I supposed to be surprised you know my name, demon?"

The creature chuckled, "Demon is what you call those that attack you, and yet I have done nothing of the sort. Do you not recognize me?"

She shut her eyes tight almost terrified of whatever form this one would take. The others came to her as the borrowed faces of her dead friends. Lana never questioned it, assuming they were plucked from her mind the same way they dipped in and out to take whatever else they wanted. "No, I only see light. A lot of light."

"Perhaps it is my failing. I do not tamper in the realm of mortals often."

"Then why are you here?" she shouted, her eyes watering from the strain of staring into this feminine sun.

"Because," the light dampened slightly and the spirit floated downward towards the ground. The torso and head skimmed six feet above the surface almost as if it bore legs. "You drew me to you, as you did the others."

"Another one? Wonderful," Lana groaned. Jowan already had free rein of her memories. What could another pick from the remains?

The spirit chuckled again, a disturbing laugh that began bubbly and sincere until reaching an edge where it shifted into a sarcastic bray. "No, my darling, you misunderstand. I am not new, I have been here the entire time of your banishment. I've always been with you, since you first entered the fade."

Lana shook her head, "No, I'd have felt you. Seen you. At least tried to kill you like I did Nathaniel." He took it rather well, all things considered-- the spirit always popping back up after her attacks and kindly asking for new orders. It was around that point she accepted he probably wasn't a demon. By the time she discovered Wynne, Lana grew used to spirits showing an interest in her.

Something inside the spirit's chest lightened to a rose gold, lines of power streaming out like ribbons through its body. "You have felt me."

"I..." she gulped, her fingers digging into her stomach, "someone, something saved me from the nightmare demon. Healed me before I died and then kept me pinned here while it was sucked deeper into the fade."

"You're welcome, dearest," the spirit purred.

"I'd assumed it was Jowan..."

"Sadly, our little regret cannot handle much beyond himself."

Lana snorted, that sounded just like Jowan. Even then, the real one often needed someone to help him helping himself. "Why help me?" Spirits weren't altruistic unless they were the spirit of giving. They took for the sake of need, and crossing over into want could give rise to a demon. She'd only managed to strike a bargain with Jowan because his nature already skirted the line, and if he ever tipped the wrong way she'd strike him down instantly, which he was vividly aware.

The spirit craned its flat face towards the Black City and sighed, "Because I am nothing without you."

"You were the one who-who snuck into my brain, who stole that memory when I was bathing," Lana riled up from the disturbance, waving her staff in the air.

"I did nothing of the sort. I do not need to violate your memories, you created that thought of your own volition. The idea of you washing your skin reminded you of washing his."

"That," Lana threw her hand up, awkwardness rising through her legs. She did not want to have this discussion with a spirit, "that's not the... You listened in on my memory."

"Of course, we all do," the spirit hummed, its fingers parting through the air as if it was trying to comb the thickening clouds.

"Maker, it's just as I feared..." Lana sighed shaking her head. If the nightmare could easily pull out their greatest fears, then the other spirits and demons had to be browsing all the time as well. She hoped that maybe being here could change it. That her being a mage might protect her from their claws, but every ounce of privacy she once held sacred fled from her the moment she fell into the fade. "Why have you come?" Lana suddenly asked. "If you don't need to talk to me to take whatever it is you are, then why reveal yourself?"

"My dearest is sharp," the spirit hummed and Lana felt both proud and dirty from the tone. "I am here for your sake."

"Mine?" Lana scoffed.

"You need something, a want that's aching from your bones. It's so powerful its drawing the others near, others I've been keeping at bay for your protection."

"I...I didn't know that." No wonder she'd been able to sleep at times, to have quite days, to survive at all. _What was this spirit?_

"You're glowing brighter than usual, your flame attracting more demons from the darkest parts of the fade, and I would like to help."

"To help how?" Lana didn't trust it, didn't trust anyone anymore. She couldn't afford it.

The spirit parted its hands and hung them wide as if it was blessing Lana. "However you require, of course."

Lana touched her forehead, raking her filthy nails across the skin as if that would dredge up the memory of the unexplainable. "Why do I dream?"

"I'm afraid that's not my speciality," the spirit said.

"Then you are no help to me. I need to speak to Wynne to solve this. It's my first possible answer since the breaches closed. I..."

The spirit's hand lashed out and grabbed onto her wrist. While the others felt warm with human skin, this one's temperature altered from a boiling heat to a cold deeper than the most barren tundra. "There is more to this place than what lies beyond. Surely you've noticed by now that you shape this land. It is drawn to you, the only mortal here, twisted by your thoughts, your memories, your soul."

"So I gave myself poisonous apples and that two headed horse creature?" Lana snorted.

"Mortals are surprisingly complicated creatures. If you let me help you, guide you, then you can change things here."

That caught her attention, "You're saying I can alter the fade itself? Maybe even find a way out? Make myself a way to freedom?"

"Anything is possible," the spirit said. She'd had nothing to go on for what had to be months now. Lana lost track of time in this night-less world, but she felt the day of the last breach slipping further and further away from her. After combing through the few books washed up in the fade, and trying her hand at gathering lyrium to burst through, Lana was out of ideas. The worst remaining option hung in the air high above her head, taunting mortals for daring to breach it, and she refused to even contemplate it.

This may be her last hope. "What do you need of me?"

The spirit smiled bright, "Relax, give me your memory."

"Why?"

"To alter the fade, you have to alter your mind, put yourself at peace. I know an easy place to begin. Here, let me." Before Lana could object, the spirit plucked into her head and yanked her back in time.

_9:28 Kinloch Hold_

Pain boiled up through her wrist from the slap against her knuckles and Lana tried to twist away from Aaron's thrust. Or maybe it was a parry. She had no idea what was proper sword fighting terminology, not that they were using swords. Someone thought it a grand idea to teach the apprentices to use wands to channel their mana, which lasted all of five minutes before they broke off into groups and started fighting with them.

"Hey!" Lana shouted from the attack, shaking her wounded fingers. She spotted the beginnings of a bruise across the back of her hand. Slicing through the air like she held a saw instead of a stick, Lana tried to attack Aaron, but at nearly a foot taller he easily swiped her away and then struck her again. The wand scattered from Lana's fingers, flying across the room and clattering off the tower's stones.

"What is going on here?!" their senior enchanter for the day flew into the room, both hands on her hips and a sneer already in place. Every apprentice froze mid-attack and sheepishly lowered their arms. "We are to be using these wands for practice, not amateur swordplay."

"That's practice," one of the mages spoke up, "just not the magical sort."

"Give me your wands!" the senior enchanter hissed extending her hand. Muttering half hearted apologies, each of the apprentices dropped their stick into her bracken fingers and they shuffled out of the room with bent heads hoping someone else would bear the brunt of her wrath. "What about you, Solona? Where's yours?"

Lana frowned at her proper name, then pointed at Aaron. "He..." but the mage snickered and stuck out his tongue at her as he dashed out of the room, avoiding any possibility of punishment. "I-I lost it, senior enchanter," she said.

"Well, you're going to bloody well find it," the woman curled her fist up around the nearly full pile in her fingers. Waving her free hand over the box, the locking mechanism gave and she deposited nearly all of the wands inside. "And you're not to leave this room until all the wands are properly stored away. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lana sighed, her foot shuffling in the direction she saw it roll towards. Appeased by Lana's placating to her show of power, the senior enchanter sauntered off leaving Lana more or less alone. As alone as a mage ever got in the tower. She knew the whack sent her wand skittering across the floor, but there was no obvious stick resting upon the ground waiting for someone to trod upon it. Sighing, she dropped to her knees and then her stomach, patting the floor to find her errant wand. Nothing remained by the light of the clouded windows. The only possibility was that the wand fell under the bookcase.

Laying her palm flat against the floor, Lana slid her fingers as far as they could reach and skimmed it along the edge but nothing unearthed from below. "Damn it!" she cursed. Rolling around flat on her stomach, with all of her attention upon the case now, she called up a ball of light on the tip of her finger and thrust it under the case. Sure enough, there was her wand resting against the wall far beyond anything she could reach. "Double damn it!" she shouted again, even while jamming her hand back under. No matter how much she scraped up her forearm, there was no way she was reaching the wand.

"Th-this might help," a voice spoke above her. Against all common sense, someone placed a sword in her hand. Not the fake sticks they were playing with, but a real one with sharp edges and bearing the templar symbol on the hilt.

"Uh..." Lana held it limply in her fingers terrified that a knight was going to catch her and chuck her into the dungeon for touching a real sword, but it could probably get at her wand. Taking a few tries, with her one hand still lighting up under the shelf, she managed to wiggle the blade back and forth enough to knock the wand forward. Tossing the sword behind her, Lana reached in. "Got it!" she crowed, yanking the offending thing forward.

Rising to her knees, Lana turned around to watch the templar pick up his sword and stick it back in its holder thingie. Without the typical head obscuring helmet, he was free to reveal the curliest hair she'd ever seen come in such a pale color. His curls were almost as twisted as her own, which she didn't think was possible.

"Thank you," Lana said while scurrying to her feet.

"It-it was...you're welcome," the templar stuttered and then he looked up at her. She didn't know him, but she recognized those eyes in an instant. They had a nickname for him, well, she had a nickname for him that caught like wildfire among the apprentices. Lana never learned his real name, but she wondered often, much to Margie's consternation.

"Uh, um," Lana twisted the wand to her left hand and stuck out her right. "Thank you."

She cursed under her breath for repeating herself like a foolish child but the templar took her fingers and he shook them. Pain lanced up her knuckles and she sucked in a breath. "Maker, are you all right? I didn't, did-did I, uh, hurt you?"

He crumbled so instantly from that faceless walking statue into a stammering heartfelt concern, it threw Lana off more than her knuckle bruise. Shaking her hand like a wet dog, as if that would cure it, she hissed, "No, it was Aaron's attack. Bastard kept wrapping me across the knuckles like he was some chantry sister." That got her a soft chuckle from the holy templar, and she gulped a moment trying to wave away a flush on her cheeks. "It's not fair, I couldn't do anything against him because I'm too small to reach."

"True, a shorter stature can be an issue, but there are ways around it."

"Really?" Now Lana perked up, curiosity covering over the pain in her fingers. "Like what?"

"Form is vital, of course," the templar spoke aloof, his eyes darting above her head as if he read that phrase off a chart. Did templars have books that they studied, too? Ones with pictures of sword fighting?

Lana's nose prickled and she lifted the wand higher, "Is there something wrong with my form?"

"You, uh..." It had to be her imagination that the templar's cheeks flushed bright red. She'd never known one to not be as stoic as an iceberg. Well, there was one, but that was a long time ago. "Not-not that, it's the stance, you're too... Here." Tender fingers cupped her elbow with the barest of touch and pulled it down. "You want to keep your arm low. Too high expends energy and leaves your entire side open for attack." To elucidate his point, he waved his hand down her side between arm and chest, giving a wide berth for the chest part.

"Okay," Lana shifted back and forth on her feet as she lowered her wand sword. "What else?"

"Put your shoulders back, you want to keep your head high."

"Like this?" Lana asked as she stuck out her chest.

"Uh..." the man's eyes flickered and he dug his fingers through the back of his hair for a moment. "Y-yes, that's um, good." Against all common sense, the templar didn't walk away or dismiss her back to her studies. He fished one of the wands out of the box and mimicked her stance. "Go on and attack me."

"Is that wise? I don't want to hurt you."

He grinned and Lana's eyes fell to the ground, a humiliating blush rising up her neck. _Maker, how could he have that adorable of a smile?_ Shaking off the urge to curl her toes and also curl up on the ground in embarrassment, she lifted her arm again, then lowered it to an acceptable height. He nodded his head, "I will do my best to block you, but this is a good way to learn."

"Okay," Lana nodded. She flexed her arms a couple times, then whispered, "Do I count to three or..."

_Maker's breath_ , now he laughed and she was certain she was going to die on the spot. "You can if you'd like, but most foes are not so kind."

"Right, right," Lana nodded, feeling even more foolish, which seemed impossible at this point. With the force of a kitten swatting at string, she lunged for the templar. He easily knocked back her stick, his own wand meeting hers out of nowhere -- as if by magic.

"When you attack, don't go for the wide open swings. They're showy but they also exhaust you faster and leave you vulnerable during the wide stance. What you want is to watch your opponent, learn their pattern, then strike."

Lana nodded her head. "Makes sense. Like chess but with swords."

"Ya-you play chess?" he asked. For a moment his own arm dropped lower, his wand waning down.

"I try," she smiled. Following his advice, she pulled her arm in closer and tapped in rapid succession. One of her attacks glanced against his wrist before he pulled back. "Not well, mind. Not as well as I should, but... I've been trying to build my own board from various pieces found throughout the tower. It's a right mess of different sizes, materials. My black king is actually an old bit of carved brimstone no one wanted."

His wand smacked against hers and she slipped nearer to him, almost tripping, but her feet caught in time. "I'd have, um, thought the mages would own multiple chess sets in the tower."

"Maybe for the senior enchanters, up in the," Lana paused in her attack to wave her wand above her head, "higher echelons, but nothing down here. Which is probably why we fight with wands."

"You're getting the hang of this," he encouraged. Never pressing his own attack, he was playing fully defensive. She doubted she'd last longer than a snowflake in a tea kettle against his real offensive.

"You are..." Lana huffed, exhaustion tearing up her side as she stabbed towards him. Of course, he scattered her attack with a flick of his wrist "...a terrible liar." She laughed at the end of her sentence, joy overcoming the weariness. It felt like ages since they'd moved around in exercise. With spring around the corner, most of the apprentices were going stir crazy. Maybe they'd get out into the garden soon.

"I am surprised that a mage would care about swordplay."

"It's fun, like dancing but with more stabbing," Lana said, then blushed even harder from her idiotic statement. But he smiled at her, either taking pity or partially agreeing. "Sometimes we sit on the balcony and watch the templars sparring in the ring outside."

"You, uh, y-you do?" His arm hung in the air a second too long from the block and Lana stabbed her stick deep into his chest. It skittered a few pathetic sparks from the attack down his armor. She leapt back triumphant at scoring a hit.

As her exuberance faded, she stared up into the templar's shocked face, but it wasn't at the fact she'd managed a point against him. "It's, um, you know," Lana snapped her free fingers, struggling to find words, "exciting, with the swords clanging into each other and, uh..." the men in tight pants and often no shirts flexing sweaty muscle in the bright sun. She hadn't seen him in the ring yet, only having a few spare hours here and there throughout the week to visit the mage's secret viewing spot, but -- she had to admit -- she'd hoped to eventually see him and that he was one of the ones to go bare chested. _Oh Maker, why was it so hot in here?_

Shrugging her shoulders and obliterating her fighting stance, Lana struggled for an escape, "Mages, we get bored a lot, so you know, anything to break up the monotony, and uh..."

"R-right, of, of course," he nodded his head, probably not believing her lie but not wanting to face the truth of it, and Maker she was not telling him the rest of it. Some mages bet on the proceedings, while the girls tended to have their own wagers and lively discussions that had little to do with the actual fighting. Everyone had their favorites for varying reasons.

Lana twisted her stick in the air absently, trying to distract from the blush burning up her skin, and a dribble of ice tumbled off the end. "Andraste's tears, these things are idiotic. Why would anyone use a wand?"

"Is there a difference?" he asked. Falling back to his defensive stance, he had his chest well protected now. Lana wasn't getting back at it. She nodded her head, and began again, meeting stick for stick.

"Staves are common sense. You want something with heft to hold a full spell, or baring that, to whack someone hard in the head. What can you do with this piddly thing? Poke an enemy in the eye?" To enunciate her point, she jabbed at thin air and he chuckled.

"But you could hide a wand better," he said, his mind whirring through the possibilities of war, "like a dagger."

"At least a dagger is sharp. The most this thing can do is give you a good jolt, like putting on a wool coat in winter and touching a metal hinge. Annoying, but it's not going to hurt much. Then you're back to the eye poking."

Lana surged forward, sensing an opening, but the templar twisted his arm around deflecting her. Unfortunately, she forgot to compensate for the weight displacement, and all of Lana tumbled towards the ground. Faster than she thought possible, the templar wrapped an arm around her waist and he rolled, pulling her body with his so both remained upright. His arm was still fully around her waist as she staggered to catch a breath from the whirlwind move. Then her heart beat even faster as those gorgeous eyes sparkled an inch from hers. She gawped to will a word, any word to her tongue.

"Lanny!"

They both sprung apart at the same second, leaping even further away as Marguerite slipped into the room. Lana's friend folded her arms up and sighed, "What are you doing in here? You're missing lunch. Come on, they're making noodles."

"Oh, noodles! With the cheese sauce?" Lana hopped up onto her toes.

"I don't know," Marguerite rolled her eyes, "do I look like the chef? What were you doing in here, anyway?" Now she glanced over from Lana at the templar trying to slide further and further away into the shadows.

"I was, uh, picking up the wands under the Dragon's orders," Lana slapped hers into the box and slammed down the lid.

"Ugh," Marguerite groaned, "we don't all have to learn to use them, do we?" Lana shrugged as she grabbed onto her friend's arm to drag her out of the room. Certain that Marguerite barely even noticed the man trying to merge into the shadows, Lana released her hold outside the door.

"Soooo, was that all my imagination or were you and Honey eyes there...?"

"Shut up!" Lana shouted, whipping her head back to see if he heard the question.

Marguerite smiled wickedly, not dropping her voice, "I take it that's a yes."

"I said shut up!" She whacked her palms against Marguerite's padded arm which only got her more laughs.

"Fine, fine. I suppose you won't care to know what Honey eyes real name is then," Marguerite grinned wickedly with her hard won prize dangling just above Lana's reach but she let it down instantly, unable to keep back her information. "I overheard it from one of the enchanters. Any guesses?"

"Margie!" Lana moaned, deathly aware how hot her cheeks burned now, her eyes whipping back to the room terrified he'd overhear it all.

"Not a bad name, very...sturdy. I suppose." Marguerite grinned wickedly into Lana's stricken eyes, "It's Cullen."

"Cullen," Lana repeated the word rolling the vowels around in her mouth. She tried it out a few more times silently.

"Yup, and the other word is he's got it bad for some mage in the tower," Marguerite knocked her eyebrows high three times and then she gave a long glance towards the senior enchanter stomping out of the library to collect her wands.

"Oh, shut up," Lana shoved her again, unable to beat back the burst of butterflies in her stomach.

## Chapter Sixteen

**Rivers& Bathtubs**

_9:44 Tevinter_

If he'd jumped head first into a butcher's shop scrap pile then run straight through a dragon's gullet while waving a sword, Alistair wouldn't be anywhere near as gory as he felt after three days traveling with the wolfy elf. Fenris was good on his word of getting them west towards the Anderfells. He also felt it his duty to stop and slit the throat of any mage that looked at him funny, which was a lot considering his very pointy armor and lightning storm haircut.

"We could try stopping," Alistair tried again. "Maybe slipping into a little town's cozy inn that's got bunnies on the wallpaper and serving girls with bosoms the size of your head."

"Humph," Fenris grumped.

Alistair waved his tacky hand in the air from behind their hunched leader and shouted, "One day I'll get more than a solitary syllable out of you."

"Unlikely," Cullen came back with. When Isabela's letters suggested they try the ol' infiltrate a bunch of slave gangs to get through Tevinter routine, Alistair thought - _hey, I can do that_. The hardest part would be picking up his old templar skills from the box in the attic and then it was smooth walking into the Anderfells. But somehow no one mentioned the ambulatory stick in the mud that was their own dark wolf, or whatever he called himself. Glowy McGlowface?

Worst of all, the damn elf and templar got on like a mage on fire. They didn't say more than a grunt here and a nod there, but they already shared a mutual respect between them slowly driving Alistair mad. Killing slavers, sure, he could get behind that. Had on more than a few occasions through import reforms and tax levies as well as literally grabbing a sword and chopping off heads. His regime was one the historians were going to have trouble explaining beyond throwing up their hands and trying to change the subject. But the clear hatred off the elf of anyone with a shred of magical powers kept confusing him. The elf glowed, he could reach inside chests and play a drum solo on people's internal organs. If that wasn't magic, Alistair would eat his crown.

"I knew you'd stick up for the Grouch," Alistair whined at Cullen. "You've managed to dodge out of almost every artery splitting attack."

The templar shrugged, blood caked across his gloves but almost nowhere else. Alistair needed a miracle from the Maker to salvage anything he wore, even his smallclothes felt sticky. "Hey, Honor," he whistled to the dog. She dropped the stick she picked up a few miles back and turned to him, her tail wagging. Trying to roll up his sleeve, and ignore the crunch of dried blood sloughing off, Alistair held his gory arm out. "Go on, lick it off." The dog paused, her eyes widening in canine concern as she glanced towards her owner.

"What are you doing?" Cullen asked, his fingers drifting towards his dog's head as if he needed to pull her away from the mad king.

"I used to know a mabari that'd lick you clean right after battle. He seemed to like it, in fact."

"That's disgusting."

Alistair held both his arms up and whined, "Better or worse than being a walking hemorrhage? I could attend a masquerade as a blood clot. That'd for sure win me the best costume prize."

"What are you even...?" Cullen massaged his head with his fingers then called out through the wolf pack to the leader, "Perhaps it would be in our best interest to stop."

They'd lost half of the members Fenris and the gang started with, not to the sword but helping all the freed slaves back in the market and as they continued their bloody campaign. Only five remained of varying degrees of talkativeness. A few could almost be civil provided the shemlan stayed behind, and all obeyed the word of their leader.

"Why?" Shiny Glow Pants asked.

"Night will fall soon, and..." Cullen sighed, "unless he gets a bath I fear we shall suffer him for hours."

Fenris's piercing green eyes darted from the templar back to the human sized liver. "Very well."

"Oh!" Alistair cried, jumping up and down, "that was two syllables!"

Having given his two word order, the elves scattered to prepare for camp. They were far enough off the road it seemed unlikely anyone would come hunting for them. Keeping through the brambled woods while not easy on the backside did draw the average Tevinter eye away, though at the moment it was farmland stretching in the distance. Rows and rows of wheat danced in the winds, golden brown and ready for whatever one did with wheat. Cullen kept eyeing it up and grumbling, "Should have harvested it by now."

Given magisters, either winter took longer to hit here, or they had some evil plan to sacrifice their crops to raise an evil god to do evily evil things. It was hard to guess. While the party broke down into their goals, Alistair tossed his things in a heap and, with begging eyes, asked, "Would you watch my stuff?"

"I suppose I..." was as far as Cullen got before the king unbuckled his sword, threw down the borrowed shield, and streaked off in the direction of the river.

"Does he know where he's going?" the templar asked aloud.

Fenris shrugged, "Either way our problem is solved."

_Ha, showed what they knew._ Alistair may have sat on the throne for, shit, had it really been 13 years? Whatever, he still knew how to find water and there was a river lopping over Imperium rocks just beyond the trees. It was a strange skill almost unexplainable in someone who wasn't a mage, but it'd served them well during the blight. Before anyone wondered where a water source was, they'd all turn to watch Alistair wander off in a random direction and fall ankle deep into a pond, lake, river, creek, or any other wet area of land.

Bursting out of the tree coverage, he spotted the glistening ribbon rolling below a small drop off. He could take it easy and try to find a deer trail down to the promising bath, or... Alistair jumped off the rocky ledge without a care for broken bones or potential blunt force trauma below. Giving a very kingly whoop, he curled his legs up to his chest and splashed ass first into the river. Freezing cold would have been preferable to the depthless heart of ice crawling up his skin, wetting his clothes, and dragging him deeper into the water. With both hands, Alistair rubbed up and down his arms at first to get a bit of warmth in and then to try and break up the caked on blood. He rolled up his sleeves to find the gore had crawled up his arms and dripped down his back.

"By all the, how did that happen?" Alistair complained while ripping off his shirt. Dropping it into the freezing water, he whipped it at the rocks a few times because that's how he'd seen other people clean their clothes. It probably did something.

"You do not do anything in half measures," Cullen spoke above him, gesturing to the river leap below. He must have watched him in what had to look like a fall to his death.

"Come to watch me bathe?" Alistair cooed. With his shirt, he scooped up water and dumped it over his head. "Oh that was dumb. That was really, really dumb."

"I thought I should keep you from killing yourself. I'm realizing this is more than a one man job."

Alistair snorted. His shirt mostly clear of blood, he wadded up to chuck onto a branch above the waterline. "Feel for my poor bodyguards."

"Believe me, I already do." The templar could have returned to his tight lipped elven friend but he sat down upon a boulder overlooking the river and watched. "That must be cold."

"No, no, no," he shook his head, his lips trembling, "it's as warm as a summer's creek. Really, you s-s-should try it."

"Don't kings prefer hot baths brought by servants?"

"I'd guess anyone with nerves in their body would prefer that to a frozen river." Alistair dug his fingers forward through his hair, giving himself a terrible case of bangs.

Cullen nodded his head to acquiesce Alistair's point, "Yet you don't demand it."

"This is far from my first time bathing in a river," Alistair shouted. He'd either grown used to the cold or the first few layers of his skin died. Either way, it didn't pain him now so he took to splashing palms against the calm surface splattering water against himself. "During the blight it was jumping into creeks real quick while hoping the elf didn't see everything, sponging off in water basins, or...No, there was nothing in the deeproads aside from keeping downwind of everyone until you got out. If anyone ever asks if you ever want to head into the deeproads, you say no."

"Actually, I've already been there before," Cullen said and the way his voice skipped down to a whisper drew Alistair's full attention. In the silence, the templar continued to elaborate, "Lana required my assistance on a matter."

"Lanny took you into the deeproads?" the king whistled, "That must have been before you two, uh, you know." He banged his hands together to try and dredge a euphemism up from his brain then froze at the one he'd created.

Cullen almost jumped up from his perch in shock, "That's...how did you know?"

"She'd never take anyone she cared about into the path of the blight. If she even let you near it, near darkspawn, she must not have been that invested."

"There was little choice," the templar thundered.

"Okay, okay, not judging here. It's just that, in Amaranthine the blight became more virulent because of talking darkspawn something something, I forget exactly. It was bad, people were going ghoul faster than normal. And Lanny, she was the only healing mage for most of it," Alistair picked up a rock smoothed by the river's current and weighed it in his hand. "There's no way to cure it, but people'd cling to hope - think they were the one exception. Too bad even the way out isn't a way out." He chucked the rock further down the stream eyeing it splash, the water rippling against his legs. "I'd bet you ten sovereigns she was watching you for a good week after."

"What?"

"The blight can take a few days, sometimes a week to appear. After that, your only hope is joining the wardens and all the benefits that come with it: nightmares, darkspawn hunting, early death. Oodles of fun." He stirred up the silt with his toe enjoying the way it clouded over his pale/burned legs. "It'd have killed her to sentence someone she cared about to that life, even if it was the only way to save their life. So," Alistair glanced up, a smile back on his face, "good thing you didn't get the blight. It's a pain all around."

He watched the templar massage his thighs while staring through the forest. A grit twitched along the man's jaw even evident from all the way down in Alistair's watery gulch. _Great._ Alistair was trying to be nice this time.

"What was Lana like...?" Cullen spoke up.

"During the blight? Exhausted, scary, tired, jittery, and really ticklish."

"No," Cullen groaned massaging his cheeks, "as an Arlessa? Or, further into it over the years. Was she, did she find happiness in it?"

Swatting at the water instead of bathing, Alistair tried to think. _Why'd he suddenly care about that? It's not as if Lanny'd be heading back to... Oh._ "It's hard to tell with her. I mean, you ask that woman to carry ten bricks up a hill then back down for the good of the people and she'll do it. She'll curse up a storm the whole time and probably set your knickers on fire, but she'll do it. There weren't a lot of good options when it came to Amaranthine. Giving it to the wardens, that seemed easy. Someone had to move in to air out the old furniture and get rid of the traitor smell. But..."

He rolled his fist against his palm, losing himself in the rhythmic tug of knuckles against his calluses. Kings weren't supposed to have calluses, but somehow he kept growing them, which annoyed a few of the softer skinned nobles to no end. "I didn't want Lanny to go there but she wanted to get as far from-- As far from Denerim as she could. Needed a clean break, to reinvent herself. For a time she built a not bad life. I'd hear about friends, the typical adventures and the less typical ones. She once sent me a ten page letter about her attempt at purchasing a cake for one of her warden's birthdays. Needless to say, it ended with demons."

"Doesn't it always?" Cullen responded. His voice almost startled Alistair, who'd nearly forgotten the man was there and lost himself in his memories.

"Lanny had settled in what she thought was possible, tried to find a few lovers - though it never seemed to work. Not my fault, by the way. I always heard after the fact. But..." Alistair stirred his arm through the water like he was afraid the soup would burn.

"She hated it," Cullen filled in.

"I don't think it was ever her. For the ol' sake of duty she wanted it to be, tried to make it be, whittled herself down to fit into the hole." _And you knew she hated it. Knew she was tired of being an Arlessa the same way you were tired of being king. So, what did you do?_ Instead of helping her, giving her the right out, he took advantage of her. Tried to cling to her as leverage for his own freedom. _Look how well that bit you in the ass, Alistair._ "Whatever you're trying to ask without asking, Lanny's never going back to being an Arlessa. Not that it should matter much to you."

Cullen rose up, his voice dropping low enough to rival the glowing elf, "Why?"

"She wouldn't give two golden shits if you were the commonest commoner to ever walk out of the commons. If she loves you, she'd be with you, unless you do something stupid. So, try to avoid that stupid thing, if you can."

"I...that wasn't what I was attempting to ask, but," he patted his thighs now, the sound echoing off the cold trees, "thank you for whatever that was. Advice, I suppose."

"Now that I've made myself feel like warmed over bronto patties, I think I'll finish washing up in this freezing river if it's all the same," Alistair called. The templar said something but Alistar bent over, dragging his hair through the frigid river to try and revive his cold brain.

Regrets weren't just white birds with long legs. He used to tell himself that if he did it over again he'd never have broken Lanny's heart. His young age and inexperience made him put the crown and his duty before his wants, before her. It was a nice lie to help Alistair sleep better at night, right up until he did the same damn thing again. He could have done anything else after they found Maric, asked her to be by his side in Denerim, to share moments when he visited Amaranthine, even sent a letter back to Eamon saying he drowned on a ship and then run away with her, whatever she wanted. But no, all he kept thinking was how he'd failed. Alistair put his own wants ahead of Ferelden's needs and it got him a dead father, also the information that there might be some dragon blood inside of him which sounded far grosser than the awesome it should have. He needed to chastise himself, to feel the proverbial switch, and who was around to do it but Lanny?

Was it any wonder she hated him? All the templar did was order her to kill her friends, called her people abominations to her face. Alistair had crushed her heart in his fist twice. Maker, she deserved better.

"Is it too much to ask that I'll turn around, head out of the river, and it's the year 9:30 all over again?" he shouted to the crisp night. Remembering he hadn't been alone, Alistair twisted up to where Cullen sat but he was gone. What kind of mess did he get himself into where the blight was happier times? Bathing in freezing cold rivers, eating something that approximated lamb stew if you didn't ask too many questions, facing death every minute of every day, falling head over heels in love with the woman at his side, feeling his stomach flip over his tongue whenever she laughed. Maker, he'd give anything to hear that laugh of hers again - loud, brash, and with a snort if you got lucky. People thought the grey warden Solona Amell was too stoic to laugh, joke around, or ever prank someone. They had no idea.

_  
9:31 Denerim_

Alistair slipped lower into the clawed tub built deep enough it could water a dozen horses if they all packed into the small side room. He'd forgotten to compensate for his own weight before leaping in and the stone floor circling it sparkled in the firelight. Despite not wanting a thing to do with the crown, nobility, and suffering a rash the moment anyone bowed to him, he did enjoy the perks that came with this potential kinghood. At least it meant he didn't have to bathe half frozen in a river while the assassin pretended to not watch.

Bobbing along the surface was the full bar of soap the servants entrusted him with before beating a hasty retreat. No one seemed to know what to make of the man who might be a king but probably shouldn't be. Even though he'd been to Eamon's estate as a child and knew where things were kept, the servants insisted they fetch everything for him. They'd at least been wise enough to leave a mountain of towels behind.

Alistair smacked down on the soap watching it bounce off the bottom of the porcelain tub only to rise up from its depths. "Nothing shall sink the royal Bubblecake! Not even giants from the north. Oh no, what's this?" With the scrubbing brush, or maybe some lady's hairbrush -- he wasn't certain -- Alistair hovered above the unaware sailors upon the Bubblecake. The poor men and women serving aboard had no idea they were about to be set upon by the bristles of doom. His hand slammed down, the brush smacking into the soap and splashing more water over the edge.

Cackling from the unbreakable spirit of the soap once again returning to him, Alistair paused as he heard a sound. The unmistakable noise of a hand lifting the latch to the door outside his room. "Um, this is occupied!" he shouted. Whoever was on the other side must not have heard him as the certain sounds of his door opening, closing, then the lock slotting into place filled the air. _Maker's breath, why didn't he think to lock it before ripping his pants off?_

"I, I'm here. A person is inside the bathroom," Alistair cried, sinking deeper down as if he could vanish through the translucent water, "in the bath. Naked!"

He was so deep only the top of his nose and eyes skimmed the surface, darting to the door of the side room. As that latch lifted, Alistair ran out of coherent words and yelped. Leaping out of the water, he reached for a towel, exposing himself to the cold air from the waist up, when in walked the intruder.

"I know, I heard you the first time." Lanny smiled that wicked grin of hers that meant she had mischief on her mind. His fingers froze in place and his face twisted up in excited relief. _Thank the Maker, it's just her._

_Oh shit, it's her!_

"You, uh, you could have said something," Alistair stuttered as he twisted back down into the tub. What did she want? To talk? That had to be it. Anything more in Eamon's estate could, well, it would be... Fun. A lot of fun. They hadn't since, and never here under the Arl's nose because that'd be... How many canticles would he have to recite for that one?

"And then I would have missed the panic upon your face," Lanny grinned, both of her dimples in evidence as she stared deep into the tub and his pale body refracted through the water.

"True, though you could have gotten the same effect if you'd stood outside and shouted 'Archdemon spotted and it's shitting out ogres!'" Alistair said rolling around on his legs to try and shift away the burn that had nothing to do with the piping hot prince stew he sat in.

Her fingers... Maker, he loved those fingers. Loved watching them fold in and out of pages, to grip tight to her staff exposing the taut tendons below as she froze their enemies solid. Especially loved them...uh, suddenly unknotting the belt to her mage robes. _Andraste's tears, what was she doing?_ Lanny shrugged her robe off without a care, the fabric hitting the wet floor, his spilled water seeping into it. "I shall remember that next time," she joked while unhooking that binding tight bit she wore around her midsection. Alistair tried to untie it once and somehow got his own splintmail knotted up in the laces. After that she only came to him after having removed it on her own, or with a spare dagger in her boot.

"What are you...?" The words thudded from his brain as the corset plopped on top of the robe. Dressed in only her shift he could see the shape of her breasts prodding through the thin fabric. Her gorgeous dark nipples crested just below the surface, both drawn out for attention. Or from attention, he wasn't entirely certain how it worked.

"Hm..." Lanny prompted, her voice sweetly naive but that grin - her 'I'm about to suggest we don't need a tent to take off the armor' smile - warned him that she was playing.

"Doing," Alistair stuttered out by turning away and glaring at the ceiling. "What are you doing?" He twisted his head around, now curious about the reliefs etched above him. They almost looked like a pair of people engaged in combat and...no, that was not combat. _Maker's breath, how did he not notice that as a child?_

Lanny yanked her shift over her head leaving her standing in only that thin strip of fabric along her hips that passed for her smallclothes. "I'd think it's rather evident what I'm doing." Her voice pulled him right back into her seductive trap and all sense of self vanished from Alistair's brain as she leaned over to slip off the last bit of her clothing. Breasts were something the templar initiates had very specific ideas upon -- insisting what was the proper size, proper perkiness, proper nipple shade and placement. This, of course, was laid out in certainty years before they'd ever seen a real pair beyond a few terrible drawings scratched into the back of hymnals. As far as Alistair was concerned, if he was allowed to see them they were perfect. If he got to touch them, he'd probably already died and was on the pyre.

Before he had time to process his thoughts beyond naked woman, beautiful naked woman, Lanny already slipped into the opposite side of the tub. Her addition displaced more water out of the tub, thoroughly soaking her robes beyond measure. Those bountiful bosoms drifted just below the surface of the water. As Lanny waved her hands back and forth over the surface of the water, she pressed her cleavage tighter together drawing him like a moth to a flame.

"This thing is huge," she remarked in surprise.

"Why thank you," Alistair grinned. "Oh wait, you meant the tub." Chuckling from his joke, Lanny swatted at the water splashing him in the face. "So that's how you wish to play it," Alistair brought both of his hands together and whipped them towards the surface, drenching Lanny's hair. "Have at ye!"

"You're dead," Lanny swore and the battle ensued. It would never be spoken of in mead halls or by poets who unfortunately owned lutes, but it cost the unfortunate lives of all aboard the ship the Bubblecake as well as soaking the entire floor in water. It was when Lanny rushed forward and pinned his biceps back to the tub wall with her hands that Alistair called uncle. Not because he couldn't break away, but his brain shut down at the view. Her nose butted up against his as she held him tight. With flushed cheeks, her eyes sparkling in mischief, and water glistening off that toned and smooth skin it took every ounce of control inside of him to not leap upon her. To hold down her wrists as she writhed in pleasure while he...that was not helping. Eamon's estate, he repeated a few times. It'd be like doing that in his parents, well not his parents. He didn't have any. Her parents? Except she's a mage, so...

While Alistair's brain tripped around to figure out why he couldn't stop panicking at the idea of a naked woman sharing his bath, Lanny leaned down. Pressing that perfect pair of naked breasts against his chest, she caught his lips in a kiss. Every single excuse he thought of obliterated from her machinations. As her hands slid up from his biceps to his shoulders, Lanny adjusted her stance. Her knees pressed into his thighs so she could straddle him as far as the tub would allow. It should hurt, bone digging into flesh and all, but he was far too love addled to feel the pain. There was an unclothed, naked, gorgeous, funny, and did he mention naked? woman pressing into him. Pain was worth it for that.

One finger curled around his jaw, pausing at the edge of his scruff that was maybe a beard if you were forgiving. She broke from the kiss and twisted her head to the side. Maker, he could wake every day to those comforting eyes - brown and warm like a beef broth. Which would be the absolute worst way to describe it to her, but it was how he thought of them. Lanny was comfort to him, balm for his soul the way a meaty broth cured any ailment. Which again, was not going to hit the top of any poet lists when describing a woman's eyes.

That contagious smile broke from her lips to his and she sighed, "You know you can play with them. You don't always have to ask."

"I like to give them a chance to say hello, maybe get them a drink before..." Alistair stumbled, still thrown off by her. By the very fact she was willing to be near him, to talk to him, much less to strip naked and climb into the bathtub with him. He had to mentally pinch himself whenever Lanny touched him to remember that she actually cared for him. Loved him. Secure in her permission, his palms rose from the briny depths to cup both of her breasts. While he died right on the spot, Lanny's forehead mashed into his and her eyes slipped closed. A soft moan brimmed through the back of her throat as his fingers brushed up against those taunting nipples. Sometimes he wasn't certain who liked it more. No, it was him. By a hair.

How the Maker saw fit to create something so soft but firm, comforting while also terrifying, perfect and, yeah perfect, was beyond him. Probably beyond any chantry clerics he'd ask the question of - when they were finished praying for his soul for wondering. His body was fine for what it needed to do, generally. It tended to not fall down stairs, or smash into walls. The feet remained upon the ground in a proper stance and he'd gotten all the other bodily functions down pat. But Lanny's was like holding onto pure power, a dragon's roar in woman form, and also the softest, cuddliest stuffed animal at the same time. He couldn't explain it, certainly not in anything approaching words or it'd be the broth thing all over again, but he thanked the Maker every moment he could enjoy it.

"I seem to remember the last time we tried this in water there was a lot of screaming, crying, and a wet elf," Alistair said, unable to stop caressing her breasts, probably until he died.

"Zevran's not here," Lanny whispered in his ear. Hunger coated every syllable, somehow stirring him even more erect.

"Oh, you say that now," he joked even while sliding his hands around her waist to palm her hips. She moaned harder as he massaged his fingers against the cushioned skin, gently knocking into those curved bones that could drive him to distraction.

"Maker," Lanny stuttered. Her eyes opened and she pushed more of her weight upon his thighs. This was almost enough to catch Alistair in pain, but as her freed hand drifted down his stomach until the fingers rolled around his cock every bit of his brain shredded apart in pleasure.

A knock broke against the door and the absolute last person he ever wanted to think about or hear from at that moment spoke up in her prissy voice. "Alistair, I think we should speak about current matters facing the contested crown," Anora called crisply from the door.

His fingers froze against Lanny's backside, but he didn't push her away, nor did she begin to rise. In fact, sensing a golden opportunity to get him back for the apple incident, she continued to coax her fingers up and down his shaft. "This isn't helping," he groaned in her ear.

"Feels as if it is," Lanny shot back, her traitorous palm gliding across the head, her thumb knocking against the edge that pushed him near it.

"Alistair. I assume you are inside seeing as the door is locked," Anora continued, her highness not used to being forced to wait.

He curled his toes tight and bit down on his tongue to drag his voice out of an unmanly squeak. "It's not a good time!" Then he tacked on a "Your Majesty" in the hopes it'd be enough.

But Anora was not easily dismissed. "You are aware that all of Ferelden hangs in the balance, yes? That we need to solve this conundrum before more blood is spilled. Or would you prefer to pass every ounce of requirement to your betters? If so, then Eamon's plans are even more ludicrous than I'd previously surmised."

"Andraste's ass," Alistair moaned in Lanny's ear. "She doesn't give up."

"Actually, that's my ass you're holding," Lanny answered back, but her fingers stopped their torturous dance. She seemed as aware as him of the queen's iron will now.

"You're not helping," he mouthed back. "Give me something, anything to get rid of her."

"I don't know, tell her the truth."

"That I'm naked in the bathtub with my fellow grey warden because we were about to mimic whatever's carved on the ceiling above us?" Alistair hissed, his voice growing more erratic as he spoke the truth of it. _How had his life ever come to this?_

Lanny twisted her head around to see the relief. Her finger traced through the air, trying to figure out where leg met leg and which was the arm. As realization dawned upon her, she smiled, "That works fine, but snip out the fellow warden part."

"Right," he nodded, then lifted his voice to a shout, "It's not a good time because I'm currently as naked as the day my bastard ass was born in the bathtub, so unless you feel the need to compare the Therin crown jewels, I think I'd prefer to pass." Lanny choked on a laugh and a growl from his crown jewels joke, but he only shrugged. He'd been working on it for awhile.

"You are an infuriating and idiotic man. Barely a man," Anora fumed from outside his door. "The sight of you naked...if dressing yourself is beyond you then I can send for a handmaid to solve it for you. Perhaps one of them could also teach you how to tie your laces and comb your hair while at it."

Alistair touched his hair and grimaced from her barb, but Lanny fluffed it back up from her splash attack earlier. At least she seemed to like it, and that was all that mattered. "Would it truly kill her highness to wait an hour or so until I've properly bathed and dressed, or will all of Ferelden crack in half from your father in that time?"

"By all the...yes, yes it will kill me. So, fish your wrinkled skin out of the water and open the door. Now!" Anora shrieked, her fist rattling the lock as if she could open it by pure rage.

"If she was a mage, I'd be afraid of her burning the door down," Lanny sighed.

"I'm expecting her to stomp off to a locksmith, or worse, tell Eamon," Alistair sighed. And then Eamon would ask why he didn't just let her in, which would lead to the full of Alistair's extra curricular activities with Lanny, and then it's all hair shirts and whipping himself while walking the streets of Denerim. No longer playing, Alistair pushed Lanny up off him.

"What are you doing?" she shook her head.

"Like the crowned pain in the ass said, answering the door naked and forcing her to talk to me. Which will be even more fun with...oh Maker," he banged the back of his head against the tub and did his best to think of the old prune-skinned brothers in the chantry sucking on candies with their toothless mouths. That usually worked, but having Lanny in the same room tended to wake him up. Her naked, inches away from him, and heaving in a suppressed rage had him more erect than Fort Drakon. Mercifully, she let him unearth himself from the tub, even more water splashing onto the floor as Alistair grabbed a towel off the pile and wrapped it around his waist. It helped but didn't fully hide his throbbing shame, so he tried a couple more.

"What am I supposed to do?" Lanny asked. For the first time her eyes drifted across her soaking wet robes. "If I slip out the window in those I'll freeze to death, or slide off the roof and break something."

Alistair shrugged, "Enjoy the tub, give yourself a good splashy clean." Lanny's eye narrowed further from his nonchalant response. "Maybe even giggle a few times from all the fun you're having."

Now she grinned at what he wanted, "You are good. You're very good."

If Anora wanted to make his life hell, he didn't see any reason to not give it back. Lanny twisted around and settled back into the tub, her head resting upon the rim. Alistair enjoyed one more kiss with her, his eyes sliding down her body, while he assured himself they'd all come together again later. Gently slipping the side room's door closed but not shut, he crossed through the main room leaving wet footprints in his wake. Unlocking the door, he faced down the Queen's wrath when Lanny began to sing.

## Chapter Seventeen

**Lyrium**

_9:30 The Bannorn_

Dangling just beyond her fingertips nestled a bundle of apples greener than the leaves of the tree. Lanny stretched further, lifting one leg up from her boost to reach. She just grazed the smooth skin, knocking against the trio but not sending any cascading to the ground.

"Careful there," her stepping stool said. Alistair's hands curled around her knees keeping her upright inside the branched of the tree. She stood upon those broad shoulders, normally in armor, but for the warm day he'd thrown it all aside. Curling her bare toes into his naked skin, she struggled to keep her balance.

"I can get them," Lanny said. She didn't look down at his warm eyes, afraid she'd forget what she was doing if she caught a glimpse of him half naked and straining from holding her.

"Are you sure, Lanny?" he asked. "You're starting to wobble." The manly ground below her trembled to back up his statement.

"Damn it, Ali," she shouted, but a giggle broke her stern facade. "I am going to get these apples." Grabbing onto a branch for leverage, she reached higher trying to lengthen her spine and will her arms longer. Too bad there wasn't a spell for that.

"I dunno, it could fall apart at any minute. I'm worried you'll lose your balance," he called. Even as he bobbed and weaved below trying to throw her off, his hands adjusted around her legs to keep her steady. One of them rose up to grab onto her lower thigh.

Her fingers brushed under the apple, jiggling it again, when Lanny leaned too much of her body forward. _Uh-oh!_ She tried to grab onto the branches and twigs she'd burst through to reach the fruit, but there was nothing to stop her on the way down. Nothing but the warden who opened up his arms and caught her against his naked chest. His one hand wrapped under her butt, while the other dug tight into her spine. When the shock of the fall wore off she turned in those straining arms to look into his face. Exertion wore it red, but the man had a smile stretching his cheeks wider than seemed possible.

"You," Lanny tried to rise up, but she couldn't get a grip against him, "did that on purpose."

"Me? Let you drop just so I could have a gorgeous woman in my arms? No, I would never ever do anything of the sort to..."

She jammed an apple into his mouth to stop his jabbering. With both hands full of her, his only option was to bite down. Alistair's entire face puckered and he shuddered, the bitten apple scattering to the ground.

"Maker's breath, that's tart," he gasped, lapping his tongue against the air to try and wash it away.

"That's what you get for dropping me," she sulked.

"Where'd that apple even come from?"

Lanny shrugged, her shoulder digging into his pec, then she reached into the top of her bodice and unearthed another small apple snagged on her way up into the tree. Watching him with a raised eyebrow, she took a tender bite of the tart thing and smiled. Alistair laughed at the ingenuity, his mirth overpowering him so, he had to reposition his arms rocking her as if she was on a ship.

"Andraste's tears," he tried to reach the hand around her back forward to grab at her bodice. "What else do you have in there?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Lanny shot back crossing her arms across her chest and glaring at him.

"More than you can possibly imagine." He smiled such an intoxicating grin his sabotaging her fruit harvest was completely forgotten. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Lanny rose up to kiss him, tasting the same apple's tartness upon his lips. "I spent most of my younger years, and not such younger years wondering just what existed within the depths of a woman's, uh, you know."

"Satchel?" Lanny asked, an impish grin belying her serious tone.

"Ah, um, that, uh, that part too," Alistair blushed a brighter red, the crimson embarrassment crawling up his cheeks.

"Do you regularly comb through other women's satchels?"

"Oh Maker," he groaned, her innocent gaze and fluttering eyelashes striking deep into his heart. Maybe she hadn't fully forgiven him after all. "No? Because it'd be impolite to look without asking first? Then it'd end in whacks to the head and a broken nose."

"Even asking might get you hit," she said gently kicking her feet in the air as if she was swimming through it. Alistair held her as if she weighed nothing, his body barely straining from her playing around against him.

"Well," he coughed a few times and tried to drag his voice lower. Pressing his lips to her ear, he asked, "would you hit me if I asked to inspect yours?"

"Hm..." she scratched her chin in exaggerated thought, then lightly tossed her bitten apple up in the air before taking another bite. "No, I don't believe I would."

"Ah, that's uh," he gulped for air, struggling to find anything to look at while his hands slicked up with sweat, "it's good to know that in case of any satchel related emergencies. You know if we required some, uh, extra elfroot, or deep mushrooms."

"Maker's breath, I hope there aren't any mushrooms growing up there," Lanny gasped, feigning shock as she fanned herself with her apple.

"You, I..." he raised her even higher in his arms so he could bury his burning face in her neck. "I love you, even if you've pushed me to the point of thinking terrible thoughts about apples now. I will always love you."

She tossed her own apple to the side and threaded her arms around his neck. Straightening her back, she stared into his eyes. Normally bobbing in his sea of impertinence, now they zeroed in with a focus that made her tremble. "Is that so? What if I were to give all your smallclothes to the dog?"

Alistair laughed, "I think he's way ahead of you already. What's he doing with them?"

Shrugging, Lanny chuckled, "Void if I know. I'm slightly terrified when I find the answer. What if I made you walk back to camp naked?" Her eyes sparkled at that thought and she squirmed from the vision of him, her warden, traipsing into the campfire without a stitch of clothing on. Maker, that idea would have been her undoing only a month ago.

His lips caught hers, all the tartness drained to Alistair's normal sweetness in the kiss. He tasted like clover leaves mashed into honey, all light and airy to match his disposition, and it made her heart sing. "Lanny Amell, there isn't a thing in all of thedas you can do that would make me stop loving you."

_?:?? ?_

"Stop!" Lana pinched her hands deep into her forehead, trying to clog up her memories in the vice grip. The pain abated the visions fitting through her brain, dragging her back into the fade.

"What was the matter? You look peaked, dear. Have you been eating properly?"

Ten sleeps they'd been at this, with Lana barely getting any rest in the interim. It felt as if she'd be freed from a memory only to slip off into a blissful blankness that bore nothing in common with sleep, to then awaken to the spirit hovering over her, waiting to begin again. She dug her palms into her eyes, willing away the burn in her soul. The spirit, whatever it was, seemed to favor two particular subjects. On occasion she'd see her family, looming figures seen through the simple gaze of a child switched over the years to aloof strangers struggling to figure out if she was worthy of a place in their home. Leliana flitted in and out of the visions, as did some of her friends in the tower, the wardens, so many dead because she wasn't there to save them. But that wasn't what fascinated the spirit so, what kept driving it deeper into her mind.

"Why that one?" Lana struggled to push out the words, her tongue knotted as if she'd been stammering through the first kiss so many years ago. "What possible purpose could that memory serve in opening the veil?"

The spirit hovered beyond the crystal pond, its face merging with a pair of peach trees. "Look at how much you've changed," it said extending a tendril hand out around the fade. The pond was the first thing to materialize, except Lana hadn't imagined it, hadn't tried to bring it back. It only appeared when she woke from a stupor, her legs submerged in the water. Without the landmarks of Redcliffe to ground her she didn't notice what it was until she spotted Alistair's tree. There was no reason for her to want that. And the peach trees, they were the same ones Anders scurried up one to try and rescue Ser Pounce-A-Lot, only to realize the cat was hiding in the grass at the base of the trunk. Why would she imagine them? Give them form out of the fade?

"I am uncertain if this is accomplishing anything," Lana gestured between the two of them.

"Little one, you must trust in me. It will take time, of course, all things worth doing do."

Lana snorted at that claptrap. She'd done plenty of things worth doing quickly. Uldred went down in under ten minutes, that sure as shit counted as worthy. Shaking her head, Lana waved at the spirit. "Give me time to rest, recuperate, eat." Her eyes traveled over the peach tree, but something in her soul warned her it wasn't wise. At least there was dried spider meat left.

"And then we will resume..." the spirit hungered for her in a way that made Lana's skin crawl. She knew about the templars who'd prey on mages favoring the quiet ones, the weird ones no one would believe, or the ones without a support group. Most left her be either because she was forgettable or because she was lucky. Only on occasion would she feel that wolf stare glaring below their helmets, following her changing body as she ran after her friends. No mage traveled the tower alone.

"In time, a day or two. This isn't easy," she spat out, hoping her anger would shake the spirit.

The almost orange light faded back to gold and it smiled with its shadows, "Of course, dear. Take whatever time you need. I will await you beyond." Without taking any proper leave, the spirit faded away through the air. They all did that when they'd abandon her, not traveling through the three dimensions of space but almost slipping into a new one. Yet, she suspected the spirits weren't truly gone, and they could still feel her, perhaps hear and see her at all times.

Rolling her fingers through her head once more, Lana dug into her bag repaired with the back of the bottom of her robes. Dried spider meat was never going to become a delicacy, unless the orlesians learned of it, but her stomach knocked around for it, her mouth almost drooling for food off of any animal. When she brought the strip of spider jerky to her mouth, it wasn't the typical bland gamey flavor, but Alistair's lips pressed against her, his tongue prodding into her mouth that overwhelmed her.

"Damn it!" she cursed, about to throw the meat at the ground. Her hunger stopped her hand, and she bit into it, chewing as quickly as possible while trying to banish the memory. One moment it was teenage Lana blushing up a storm because she dared to stand an inch closer to Honey eyes, the next she was going down on Alistair for the first time terrified she'd bite something. Her heart suffered from tonal whiplash, dragged through every awkward and exhilarating moment of her various courtships. If it was just Alistair, they'd sting but it wouldn't bite.

It was when the spirit dug up memories of Cullen that Lana almost broke down. Survival, that was what she needed, what she focused on. If she paused for even a moment, stopped to think about everything waiting for her beyond the veil and what she gave up, she'd never rise again.

Waiting. That was a nice dream in and of itself. He had to believe she was dead, it was the only logical conclusion. No one survives in the fade for this long, no one physically walks here. The chances of getting out and finding Cullen yet in love with her grew dimmer with each passing day. Maybe he lost his misplaced love once he heard her decision to remain behind. She'd barely given him anything before and he'd...he'd offered up his heart. _Maker, why couldn't she love him?_ He'd driven her to fits of stammering since she was seventeen. She couldn't hurt him, never, not even in the deeproads when he'd killed White.

Except she did, when she chose to stay here, to sacrifice her life for Hawke's. Did it matter if she hurt herself in the process? _Andraste, I'd give anything to be able to tell him it wasn't his fault. It, none of it was his. Ever. I..._

Lana started in surprise to find her hands clasped together in prayer. It'd been years since she'd tried getting the prophetess' attention. After Amaranthine burned she felt too dirty to even try. Sleep, what she needed was sleep. That would help some anyway. At least break her away from the unending nightmare of her own making.

"Is it gone?"

_Of blighted course._ Lana staggered up to her feet to find Jowan prodding into a stack of empty books beside the pond. He had to come, she'd been all but calling him there. "Yes, the spirit's fled for now."

"Good, that one's..." Jowan shuddered, his skin undulating off the muscle and bone like a sheet in the wind. Willing her modest dinner to stay down, Lana turned away from the disturbing sight. Body language was new to spirits, he understood trembling but not that it shouldn't look as if the skin was water rippling from a tossed stone. "Don't trust it," he hissed.

"You say that about every spirit I meet."

"Because it's true," Jowan stuck up for himself.

"Which means I shouldn't trust you telling me to not trust it," Lana pointed out the paradox.

"Uh," Jowan only jabbed at the air as if that would somehow solve the conundrum. "I guess that's right, or maybe not. Did you want to trade?"

"Growing hungry, spirit?" The last thing Lana wanted was another creature digging through her brain, sifting apart her thoughts like treats hidden inside flour. She'd fought plenty of blood mages, but they rarely had the chance to pry apart her brain before she literally pried apart theirs. If that was what Cullen suffered, not the controlled reach of spirits, but the clumsy clawing of humans and elves ripping into what they barely understand... She wrapped her hands around herself from the chill coasting off the lake.

"I thought you might be. Not many spiders in the area to feed upon. I can help with that."

"In exchange for what?" Lana asked, too tired to waste time arguing the situation to death. She'd rather he come out and say it.

Jowan's watery eyes drifted around her little refuge. Despite there being a lake with trees and cattails circling around it, a small room perched beside. Not hers from the Vigil, but the one in Denerim, the home away from home as he put it. It was cozier than it should be, with fragments of her life scattered around that she never placed in the palace. Blinking at the grey warden shield upon the wall, Jowan turned to her, "Grayson."

"You're asking for a lot," Lana said.

"You may not be around much longer to give it."

Her eyes narrowed at the stripped way he said that. He could be referring to her plans to escape, but something in his tone caught her. "Where is Wynne?"

"She hates it, more than she hates me, more than I hate it. Won't come near..." his eyes bounced around every corner of the sawed open room, "here. Will you give me Grayson in exchange for two weeks worth of spider meat?"

"You can get that much? How?" She'd barely seen a spider in months outside of Jowan's help.

The spirit cocked his head to the side and stared past her, past the walls she'd created, beyond the rocks. "There are an innumerable amount crawling just beyond."

Lana whipped her head around, trying to spot this but all she saw was what was always there. A warning crawled up the back of her neck. There was more at play here then she'd realized before. "All right, Jowan. You can have it. You can have the last of Grayson."

She didn't have time to sit down before the spirit's fingers dipped into her brain hungering for a pain she never fully understood.

_9:25 Kinloch Hold_

Wadding up the soggy bread into a ball, Lana rolled it through the pudding while Jowan watched her. "What are you doing?"

"This," she smiled and turned every ounce of her mana upon the unwanted dinner. It didn't catch on fire or freeze, that was easy. Instead, a black mold erupted where her fingers touched the crust, coating the bread in its putrid wake.

"Maker's breath. That's disgusting," Jowan stuck his tongue out.

"Wait," Lana giggled as the spell morphed, draining moisture out of the bread and desiccating the ball smaller and smaller in her fist until it exploded into a poof of ash on the wind. "Isn't that fascinating? I can death hex bread."

"Great, you can kill food and my appetite. Congratulations," Jowan whined shoving his own plate around. No one wanted to eat the pudding.

A flurry of robes flailed past the open door, paused, then Marguerite jammed her head in. "Lanny, they're back!"

She leapt up out of her chair, then paused, grabbed her dishes and dumped them into the washing bucket. Jowan grumbled beside her, scraping his own food into the compost heap and moving slower to show his displeasure, but Lana didn't care. Grabbing onto Marguerite's arm, Lana leaned into her to whisper. "Are you certain?"

"There's a whole mess of templars sitting in the atrium, so yeah. Probably back."

"Are there..." Jowan huffed trying to catch up to the girls zipping through the halls. "Any new mages with them?"

"Of course there are," Marguerite rolled her eyes. "That's why they leave and come back, after all."

"Any, uh, cute ones?" Jowan continued. He licked his palm and tried to arrange his hair which only got him a side stare.

"Adorable beyond measure," Marguerite said to Jowan's increasing grin, then she giggled, "and all under the age of ten."

"By the void, then why are we running? Who cares if some snot-nosed kids are being inducted today?"

"It's for..." Marguerite jerked her head at Lana and then giggled into her hands. "Grayson."

Jowan threw his arms up, twisting around in a circle for dramatic effect as begets any sixteen year old, "You have to be kidding me. That's disgusting."

"What? What is?" Lana whipped her head between her two friends.

"You and Grayson," Marguerite grinned. "You want to make-" she smacked her lips against her closed hand to approximate kissing, as if either of them had any idea what it was really like. "-with him," she finished, beaming her bright, ornery eyes.

"No I don't! Maker, don't be stupid. He's old, really old. Like grey hair and stuff old. It's not like that at all, Margie!"

"Sure it isn't, Lanny," she laughed again in that bubbling orlesian accent. The three rambunctious teenagers stepped through the final door onto a level overlooking the atrium. Templars, all wearing the uniform armor and skirt rested upon the scattered benches normally used for First Enchanter meetings. They'd all tossed aside their imposing helmets while chewing through the same maker-awful dinner the apprentices had but with a greater appreciation for warm food under a warmer roof.

"You wouldn't understand," Lana whispered to Marguerite. "He's been a friend of mine ever since I came here."

"A templar?" Jowan cut back. "You can't befriend a templar. Everyone knows that."

"That's just because they don't like you after you flooded the Knight-Commander's water closet," Marguerite rose up, less to Lana's aid and more because Jowan had it coming.

"They never proved it was me," Jowan whined.

"Right, because you standing there with mana still pouring through the veil and water up to your ankles means...the butler did it?"

Lana ignored their never-ending argument as Jowan tried to prove it somehow wasn't his fault. Nothing was ever his fault. They weren't supposed to know the templars in the tower, but of course mages would on occasion talk or even joke with their guards. But these templars were different. They were the hunters who traveled across thedas searching for mages -- either fresh into their power, or hidden apostates -- and brought them back to the tower. Supposedly, they were stationed all over Ferelden in tiny towns or farming villages as much as Denerim and the other big cities. It was rare for them to visit the tower save for drop off days or if it was a big holiday. She never saw Grayson for more than a few days each year, but he always had a big smile for her, tales of his adventures, and a wink that they'd meet again. No one thought anything of the seven or eight year old girl rushing out to hug the grown man around his leg, but as the years passed Lana felt the curious and judgmental stares of both mage and templar wondering what she was doing. At fourteen she knew better than to risk hugging him, but there was nothing wrong with saying hello and talking to him.

"Wait," Lana waved her hand to stop Margie and Jowan arguing, who were now onto his lack of bathing, "I don't see Grayson." Before either could respond, Lana wadded her too long robes in her hands and flitted down the back staircase.

Marguerite nipped at her heels, "Lanny, what are you doing? You know we're not supposed to go down there when--" Her words died away as the two girls stepped onto the ground floor and a dozen templars turned to them. Slowly, the masticating jaws ground down while the steel eyes measured the apprentices up for size. "This was a bad idea," Margie whispered.

"Excuse me, what are you doing here?" a templar walked over to them, his face young and ambitious, but with a gentleness that kept him from waving his sword to chase them off.

"We were leaving," Marguerite said, tugging on Lana's sleeves. "Right?"

_No, she had to know._ Yanking her arm free, Lana approached the templar. She kept her hands clasped together in front to try and show she was no danger. "May I ask you, um, where's Ser Grayson?"

"Ser Grayson? You, you want to know about him?" the man whipped his head around at the others who suddenly grew far more interested in their supper than before. "I, um, I'm uncertain if I can..."

"It's all right, Caroll," an older woman slipped out of the group and almost dropped to a knee to reach Lana's small stature. "Young lady, Grayson has been retired to Denerim."

"Will he come back here?" Lana asked, her eyes darting from the woman to the shrinking man.

"I..." the woman rose up from her lean, her full height looming over the tiny mage, "No. He will remain in Denerim, permanently."

"That can't be right," Lana shook her head. "He promised he'd come back. He always does."

"Ah, perhaps you should discuss this with your, oh, blighted what do they call them?" the woman turned to the man named Caroll.

"Teachers?" he threw out, earning him a scowl.

"Enchanters that advise you in such matters," the woman smiled but there was a strain under it, her eyes darting to the edges as if she was obscuring something. Lana wasn't about to give up so easily with a few platitudes and a pat on the head.

"You're hiding..." she reached out when Jowan grabbed onto her arm, pulling her back towards the stairs.

"What are you doing?" he hissed in her ear. Then apologized to the templars, "So sorry, Ser, and Ma'am, and others. We'll just be going now."

"Of course, apprentice," the woman nodded. Every templar chewed their cud with a somber tone; something dark washed over the proceedings blanketing down every happy tongue.

Jowan locked both hands around Lana and yanked her up into the air. Using his greater height and weight, he shoved her up the stairs, plopping her unresponsive body onto the stair above him and continuing to jab her upward until they were halfway up. She shook both of his hands off her and glared at him while Margie hung back in the distance.

"Knock it off, Jowan! They're hiding something. Grayson wouldn't slip off like that to retirement, he'd have told me. He wasn't like the other templars. Oh Maker, what if he died?!" She'd thought about it sometimes when she'd grown old enough to learn about the wicked blood mages in the world. A lump grew in her throat every time she'd rush to the atrium in fear to find not the aging man greying to match his name, but instead his corpse prepared for the pyre.

"I don't think that's what they mean by retirement," Jowan said. "Look, okay, I overhead some senior enchanters talking."

"You mean you were spying on them," Margie threw in, but she leaned just as close to listen in.

"Whatever, they were talking about templars and the lyrium they take. Seemed one of 'em went odd and almost jumped out a window."

"You mean a mage?" Lana asked, struggling to keep up. They all knew the rules about the barred windows.

"No, a templar. I thought it weird too. What do they have to worry about? Anyway, I guess drinking all that lyrium isn't good for them, so they go funny in the head, real funny in the head. When they get older they're carted off to a sanitarium in Denerim. That's templar retirement."

Lana shook her head madly, "No, that's...I don't believe you. I don't believe you at all. Why would they do that? They take it, they make them take it, or something like that."

"By Andraste's holy knickers, how would I know? Templars are all mad as wet hens."

She threw off Jowan's arms and ran up the stairs two at a time, her legs straining. Her friends could have easily overtaken her but they hung back, uncertain what to do. It didn't make any sense. The templars were the ones in charge, everyone knew that. They told you where to go, when to eat, when to sleep - actually, they told the enchanters who then told the apprentices. But it was templars at the top. Even the First Enchanter answered to Gregoir, sometimes their arguments filtering down to the lower level where apprentices whispered about what changes it meant for them.

Why would they intentionally poison themselves? Lyrium was deadly to a mage if touched, a fact drilled so deep into their heads, Lana cried the first time she saw a philter of it for class. She'd assumed it was different for non-magical people, that they were safe to go near it and that was how templars fought mages. _Oh Maker, Lana. What, did you think they spat it at blood mages?_ It seemed as logical an explanation as any for her. Why drink it?

She'd run up another two staircases, reaching the third level of the tower where she was not supposed to be. Apprentices never left the first without accompaniment and permission. Despite having neither, Lana jumped off the stairs - her slippers catching upon the freshly polished floor. The tranquil washing it looked up for a moment but said nothing as she scrambled to right herself and kept running towards the only answer she could find.

Thanks to Jowan, Lana knew exactly where the First Enchanter's office was. She reached her fist up, about to knock, when the pain wedged on her chest cracked enough for common sense to break through. _What are you doing? What are the chances anyone in there will tell you what you want to hear? It's more likely you'll be punished for wasting their time. Go back downstairs._

Her fist hung in the air as defeat washed over her. It was right. All she'd get here was more obfuscating and being sent on her way. She blinked rapidly, surprised to find her eyes stinging, when the First Enchanter's door swung open and her limp fist collided with the sword of mercy carved into every templar's breastplate.

"Maker, I..." she scampered back from it, knotting her offending hand behind her back, then she glanced up and all blood drained from her face. It wasn't just any templar, it was the Knight-Commander. _Forget ever seeing the sun again, Lana._

His grey eyes gazed down at her, then he turned back to the study, "Irving, looks like you have company."

"Do I?" the First Enchanter's raspy voice chuckled from the depths of his office. "Child?" he rose off his chair and inched closer to her, but Lana was frozen, her head hanging down as she stared at the Knight-Commander's shoes. Her own blotched eyes gazed up at her in the polished reflection. "What brings you to me?"

"I..." Lana rolled her lips up and pinched into her hands behind her back. The Knight-Commander stepped back himself, letting the First Enchanter get a proper look at her. How could she ask Irving about things she wasn't meant to know when Ser Gregoir stood only a breath away?

"Is something wrong? Something I should be informed about?" Irving asked. "Whatever's the matter, we can't fix it unless you tell me."

Chattering her teeth, Lana never felt more foolish than she did at that moment having the two most powerful men in the tower staring down at her like she'd lost her mind. _What could she say? How could she possibly...?_

"Whatever it is Irving, I assume you can handle it." Gregoir said. He reached his hand out to try and push Lana away, a gentle move so he could slip past but something inside of her snapped.

"I wanted to know what happened to Ser Grayson, First Enchanter!" she barked as if commanding Irving in the sparring yard. "And Knight-Commander." Lana's eyes glanced quickly over the man, then back down as she included his name. It seemed rude not to.

"This is a templar, I assume..." Irving turned to Gregoir who stared deep into Lana's skull. Whether he was trying to figure her out or wishing he had the authority to bash it open, she couldn't tell.

Rising higher away from the girl, Gregoir sighed, "He...is. He was retired to the refuge in Denerim four months ago."

"Why?" It couldn't be true, Grayson was her friend. He'd have said goodbye. She knew that in her heart, but there was no reason for the Knight-Commander to lie to her, to the First Enchanter. Lana tipped her head back to stare at Irving and she felt the first tear tumble down her cheek.

Irving turned to Gregoir, an almost cross look in his eye. The two shared a message through body language Lana couldn't follow, but neither seemed happy. When the First Enchanter returned to her, he let his easy smile slide on, shifting to the grandfatherly patron of the tower. "Child, perhaps you are unaware that templars take lyrium and that the lyrium can have deleterious effects upon their bodies and their minds."

"I don't understand," Lana smooshed her arm across her nose, catching most of the snot on her sleeve. The tears were unstoppable now.

"We need it to be able to fight mages," Gregoir spoke up, his words curt. A sneer ended it, not aimed at her but the world in general, as if he almost didn't believe the fact himself.

"But...Grayson he'd, he'd never not say goodbye. We were friends."

She'd watched the Knight-Commander in the years since he'd taken the role from the back with all the other apprentices. While the First Enchanter bore a bonhomie elegance to him, the Knight-Commander was a breathing stand of armor who only brought out his rage when an impenetrable line had been crossed. Keeping herself out of trouble as much as she could, Lana only experienced it second or third hand. Even then, she had trouble seeing the man as a person under his armor with or without the helm.

Now, that uncrossable brow bent, and an almost tremble tripped up his lip. "I am sorry to inform you of this, but the lyrium will often take memories as well. More than likely, due to his...affliction, Ser Grayson didn't remember his promise, or you."

_He's lying!_ She felt the words stirring in her mouth begging to be spat at him, but why would the Knight-Commander say such a thing? _Maker..._ Lana stumbled back, her hand pressed to her mouth as she tried to face, to understand this shift in her life. There'd always been mages and templars in her world, she could remember nothing else from before beyond a few snippets of memory before the magic took her. Mages were her people, the ones who could bend the fade to their will, create amazing tricks and spells to help and heal. They were also the people cursed by the Maker, if not watched closely they would fall into wickedness given the slightest provocation. But templars weren't the opposite. Some were bad and best to keep away from, yet there were others like Grayson who held her hand when she first saw the demon in the fade and snuck in a small bottle of Free Marcher apricot jam just for her. Were they all doomed to spending their last years memoryless, maybe even brainless puttering around in some chantry run sanitarium with no friends? How was any of this right?

Above her, Irving hissed at Gregoir, "Am I to believe this was only a matter of friendship?"

"She's a child, they're prone to fits of overreacting," Gregoir shrugged.

"Despite being short, she is old enough for it to be an issue. You should guard your templars with a better eye."

"I knew Ser Grayson. He was a well liked man with a wife and his own children. He would never jeopardize that for..."

"Which sounds much the same as Ser Templeton," a burning rage spat out of the First Enchanter as he drew up that name.

Lana screwed her eyes up. She knew that man, they all knew that man after...they knew of him even before his arrest, they just didn't talk about it in public. "Grayson didn't touch me, not ever, not like that." Maker, bile climbed up the back of her throat from even having to speak the words. Having to think it. She wanted to know the truth and instead she pointed an accusing finger at him. _Damn it! Why did she keep getting it wrong?_ "He was my friend, I swear," she gasped. Her eyes burned, the tears run dry.

Backing down, Irving nodded his head, "I believe you. I forgot how disturbing news of the lyrium can be for some. Come, girl. You should return to your dormitory and take time to process it. And we will discuss fraternization between templars and their charges again at a later day," Irving shot at Gregoir. The Knight-Commander sighed, but accepted it.

Lana had no idea what to say. Her body felt as if someone slit open her veins and drained every drop onto the floor. The muscles along her shoulders and up her legs screamed in agony as she tried to shuffle away. While stepping gingerly towards the staircase, she reached out to steady herself when a hand grabbed onto hers.

"Careful, Miss. You almost missed," a muffled voice called out of the tin. She started in terror, having completely failed to spot the templar standing right next to the frame. Nodding without answering, Lana stepped downwards leaving some of her naïveté behind.

When she woke she felt the same crushing loss upon her chest. It took her months to get over it, almost as if she'd lost a member of her family to disease or worse. The fact he took the lyrium even knowing the end it would bring chewed her apart. It wasn't until she was older she realized the addictive qualities, how impossible it was for templars to free themselves, that it was the chantry's mission to keep them leashed. _Maker, please let Cullen have been strong enough._ He had to be, she'd never met a will stronger. When he set out to do something he accomplished it.

Lana folded up her hands and prayed. Not from the canticles or any of the later prayers adopted into chantry canon. She begged whoever might be listening that it wasn't her death that broke him.

## Chapter Eighteen

**Rain**

_?:?? ?_

Lana knew the spirit couldn't keep away long. She'd been granted only a day and a half reprieve which was spent either eating what spider meat and questionable but edible squash she found, and sleeping. The green mists haunted her dreams, and an unnatural chill froze her fingers and toes when she awoke. In the distance, beyond whatever barrier her dreams had her trapped inside was a statue. Grey stone, taller than a person, with something like a hand stretched out towards her. She tried to sketch the silhouette of it before the dream faded but all Lana could see in her doodling was a misshapen blob. Wynne was the one she needed to speak with, but that wasn't who warped reality to pop into place.

A miniaturized fountain burbled beside Lana's desk - the exact desk she abandoned in the Vigil. She found some of her old letters crammed in the back of the drawer including one from Alistair and another she never got around to sending. Rather than reminisce about what could have been, Lana flipped both pages over and took to sketching out her wild theories. Exhaustion dogged her every quill scratch, the ink made from boiled spider innards -- runny but useable. Despite the obstacles, she wasn't going to turn tail and roll over now. Fighting was all she had left.

"Good morning, dear," the spirit spoke in its androgynous voice. Genderless but far sweeter than Shale's, the spirit spoke with a creamy voice as light and airy as strawberries on a summer afternoon. "I see you're keeping busy attending to something. Did you locate anything of interest in the interim?"

"No," Lana huffed, putting down the last few words she'd spoken to Wynne. The curiosity spirit spoke in roundabout riddles, but there had to be an answer. For now, Lana needed to find the question. "Why? Was there something for me to find?"

"Of course not, I only thought to inquire about your day. Shall we begin again?"

Waving her hand over the paper to try and dry the spider ink quicker, Lana squared her shoulders. Her chair leaned to the side, the back leg shorter than the others. It was the same one she used for ten years in her classes in the tower. "First, I think it's time you answer a few questions for me."

The spirit's ethereal presence pulsed as a white light in the center strobed for a moment. Then its not mouth smiled slyly, "I'd never keep anything from you, dearest."

"Right. You said that in exchange for my memories you could help me create a way out of here."

"I am helping you," it interrupted, hovering closer towards her. "The best way I know how. You are safe with me."

That didn't answer her question. Without watching, Lana made a notch against the old letter - the one where he first asked her to move to Denerim and become an arcane adviser. "The only changes I've seen so far have been cosmetic, the fade itself is becoming familiar to me, taking pieces of my past to dangle in front, but there is nothing to help me escape."

"Do you not enjoy returning to what you once loved, here around you?" The spirit hovered past the tiny fountain towards a bookshelf crammed not with books but small tokens, old weapons, trinkets excavated from her adventuring life and put on display without any care for their meaning or history.

"What I'd love is a way out of the Fade," Lana cut back with as she made another mark.

"And you shall have it, of course, sweetheart. But in order to accomplish it, we need to work together. I need your help before I can, in turn, help you."

Its fingers of light inched towards her, already pawing through her guarded memories, but Lana snapped the gate closed. Even exhausted, irritated, and suffering from intestines exhausted of processing spider legs she knew how to hold back her mind. Alistair was terrible at leading, but he'd proved an agile teacher when it came to the tricks templars used against blood mages. She didn't have access to them all, but shoring up her mind from any spirit influence came almost like breathing now.

"Before you dive right back in for what you want," Lana said, "I have one more question for you."

The spirit didn't sneer, but its white hot light faded to a dusky orange. "What is it? Dearest," was then tacked on.

Yanking back her chair, Lana rose. Her legs trembled as if the muscles were terrified to exert any exercise, but she ignored it and began to pace back and forth from the half of a bed jammed inside a wall, to the bookshelf. Folding her arms up, Lana leaned against the shelf for support and asked, "Why are the other spirits scared of you?"

Its lights flared for a moment before sliding back into the super sweet voice, "They are afraid of what they do not understand."

Lana snorted at the paltry answer, little more than a dust mote on the wind. People said that when they didn't want to give an answer, didn't want to try and come to any compromise, didn't want to place any blame upon themselves. Plenty of people were afraid of mages because they didn't understand them, but just as many lived in fear of mages because they knew all too well what they were capable of. For every ten Fereldens who'd clap her on the back and thank her for rescuing them all from blight, there was one who eyed her up in terror. She couldn't shake those eyes glittering in the crowd, watching her hands for fear that they'd turn on them, or her wrists to make certain blood didn't pour free. They knew what she was, saw what she and others like her were capable of, and they feared her. It was a rare person to climb back from that instinctual terror and embrace the idea that mages were more than...

She pinched the bridge of her nose, swallowing back the face that rose in her brain. It wasn't the time to be thinking of him, to be wallowing in pity, self or otherwise. "Are you keeping the other spirits away? Wynne in particular?"

It floated close to her desk, but the orange burned away to reveal an almost crisp rose pink rising along its edges. Something changed, something Lana missed. "I have no part in their comings and goings anymore than you do, my dear. If you wish to partake of them again, you will have to find them yourself."

"I will," Lana said, watching the spirit closely. It didn't shift form, or lash out, but the pink rippled for a moment revealing a red hot knot burning in its middle.

Washing it away, the spirit reached another tendril, and then two more into her brain. "For now, do you not think we should continue? We're making such wonderful progress."

Lana gripped tighter to her shelf, she had more questions, ideas to try and drag this spirit out and discern its purpose but her failsafes weren't working. The spirit wrapped deeper into her mind and twanged upon a piece of heart instead. Willing it away with all the force in her mind, Lana sank to a knee, but she was helpless as her mind floated back to Skyhold.

_9:40 Skyhold_

Lana stuffed her mutinous hair back under the cloak's hood, but strands curled beyond recognition twisted out. On the plus side, at least she'd be cushioned by her helm of hair should anyone try to attack her head from the periphery. Rain drizzled across Skyhold for the past two days, rendering nearly every job moot as people scattered for the warmth and dryness of the fireplaces. She could have stayed in her room with Hawke, and been driven up the wall in the process, but she had something better to do. Clinging tight to the parchment pressed to her chest under the wool cloak, she walked along the dripping battlements. Clouds bulging with water drifted over the grey skies, threatening to drop even more upon the soaked world.

While it'd been at barely a drip when she entered the great hall to speak with Josephine, as she walked towards her destination, the rain increased. Drops splattered onto her hood and down her cheeks, the clean water dripping into her mouth. So many people hated the rain, but Lana extended her hand out watching the fall of water splash in her palm. With the world dampened down, she smelled the clover sweet scent of hay drifting far from the stables.

Tugging the hood down further in the hopes to salvage something of her hair, she pulled on the door to her destination. Cullen stood behind his desk, both arms straddling something important as he glared down upon in it with such concentration it looked as if he intended to head butt the document into submission. Careful to not disturb him, Lana softly shut the door, her fingers catching upon the lock. But of course, in this high of humidity, the hinges whined. Yet, the commander didn't look up at the sound; he seemed unaware of anything outside of his body beyond whatever he was looking upon.

Hers wasn't the only hair to abandon hope in the damp. Despite his best efforts, Cullen bore those familiar curls knotting along the front and sides of his head like waves rolling against the shore. She smiled, surprised to find how nostalgic she felt to see them again. His eyes hunted through the parchment, but he didn't move his face, his lips taut in deep concentration. That was when she noticed the red burn along the side of his jawline, as if he was straining to keep his teeth snapped tight.

"Cullen?" she all but whispered, not wanting to interrupt something important.

His body shuddered and it wasn't surprised or even annoyed eyes that snapped up to her. A terror haunted through them that caused Lana to whip her head back to the closed door. She half expected to find an army trying to break it down behind her. He twisted his head madly and lifted off from his desk. Cullen tried to cross his hands but she noticed they were shaking.

"What are you...? I didn't expect anyone to come out here," he said stamping his feet to get warm. It came as little surprise how drafty his tower could be given the decision to never repair the roof. With the rain, the chill seemed almost insurmountable, and Lana was grateful for her cloak.

She undid the first button upon her cloak and removed the protected missives, "Josephine asked me to deliver these to you." Lana extended them out to him. He took a moment as if he needed to pinch himself, then reached over to scoop them away quickly.

"Of course, right, the..." Cullen dropped the vellum to his desk on top of the others, his fingers swirling each piece around. "She mentioned sending these for reasons. No, I was to pick them up after, it doesn't matter."

"Are you...?" Lana stepped towards him. Those bags under his eyes hung distended upon flattened cheeks, the frown lines furrowed deep across his forehead. Something was clearly wrong. Another drop of rain slithered through the gaps in the roof and plopped on the floorboards above. Cullen's matte eyes screwed up tight and he sneered, shaking his head as if he bit into something bitter. _How could she forget?_

Sliding her fingers over top of his, Lana gripped onto his hand. "Is it the rain?"

He leaned back, as if about to remove his hand and deny it, but his lips fell slack and he nodded. "I try to ignore it as best I can, with work and..." Cullen's chin fell down to his chest as if he was confessing a sin to her. "The lyrium helped, before, to block the...um, sound, memories, all of it. But now."

Lana turned his fingers in hers and gripped tighter. Cold seeped off of his clammy hand. How long had he been squirreled away alone in here struggling against it? "I, I understand."

It took a moment before his fractured eyes lifted to hers, "I suppose you do. I don't want anyone else to know, to..."

"To use it against you," she smiled, then frowned from the pain picking behind her own eyes.

"To think lesser of me for it," he confessed, his head hanging low. He was a broken puppet, clinging by a lone string. His only connection to remain upright was through his hand clasping tight to hers.

"I would never..." Lana said, but she wasn't who he meant. He felt he needed to prove himself to the Inquisitor, to the entire Inquisition that he could be strong enough, sturdy enough to survive anything. Cullen bore that burden from every moment he woke until he slipped into a broken sleep whether it was asked of him or not. She ached to give him just a small taste of relief. "Here, I could dampen the sound with a spell-" Lana moved to yank her hand out of his grasp to cast it, but Cullen pinned it in place.

"No, no, it...it's not worth the trouble of you bothering. And I need to learn how to, to move past it."

"Cullen, it'd give you a few minutes of peace," she fought back, uncertain if he hated the idea of needing magic or her help.

"It's doubtful I'm worthy of that," he sighed, that last string cut. Lana caught his drooping chin in her fingers and she lifted him up. It felt as if she held his entire body in the palm of her hand.

"Sitting in here alone isn't going to help. What you need is...I have an idea. Will you come with me?"

His eyes hunted across her face, either trying to find a trick or an excuse to get him out of it. "I, you don't need to do this."

"Yes I do. It will help, I hope. Please. Do you trust me?"

A tender smile crossed his dour cheeks, "Always."

Without responding, Lana tugged him away from his desk. She didn't know Skyhold well and risked finding herself lost in the barracks or the library if not careful, but thanks to Hawke's extracurricular activities she knew how to find her destination easily. Cullen trailed behind her as they both stepped into the rain, his hand still clasped in hers. On occasion, he'd stare up at the wet sky and shake his hair growing curlier with every drop. It wasn't the first door, but the second they passed through when she turned to open the door upon the empty loft above Skyhold's only tavern.

"Why are we here?" Cullen asked. His eyes darted over to the far corner as if he spotted something unwanted there, but Lana guided him down the stairs. A raucous chorus drifted up the entire three levels. Without much to do in the rains, some of Skyhold's livelier characters took up residence in the bar - a few literally on the bar as sitting space was limited.

Heads swiveling in animated conversation were all she could see at first as the pair of them stepped down to the second landing. Below, the resident bard strung her lute absently, either waiting for inspiration to strike or for the Tevinter mage to stop encouraging everyone in a rousing song from his homeland. The fact no one else knew it did little to curb his enthusiasm. For some reason a chicken sat perched upon his head, but no one rushed to remove it.

When Lana reached the second level landing, she felt a few curious eyes wander past her to the discontent commander. A small embarrassment from the attention rolled up her cheeks and she released her grip on his hand. It was standing room only throughout the inn, but she didn't mind. Together they slid further back along the wall, the pair of them leaning against it beside a window. "This is by far the loudest place in Skyhold," Lana explained.

"I was already aware of that fact," Cullen grumbled, folding his arms against his chest.

"It can drown out the sound of the rain," she parted her empty hands.

Cullen smiled at the obvious answer he'd kept ignoring, "So it does. I... it seems as if everyone here had the same thought."

"To get completely drunk, forget the cold, then run around naked in the rain?" Lana said.

"You speak as if from a platform of experience."

"Traveled with Hawke for six months," she said, causing him to break into a sigh and laugh. Maker, it warmed her heart to hear that.

"How can I keep forgetting? Hawke's exploits were legendary even before she became the Champion in Kirkwall."

"Really? She never goes much into it, not much into anything in her past. I prefer to not pry," Lana shuffled her feet as she positioned herself flatter against the wall.

Cullen stood near enough to be with her, but far enough away to leave the reasons vague to anyone looking in. She understood why, but she regretted letting his strong hand slip away. "There were a few tales of giant spiders, dragons, taking down entire gangs of..."

"Oh that," Lana waved her hand, unimpressed at the list, "that's a tuesday for me."

"Waking naked on the chantry altar with a cassocked halla?" Cullen arched an eyebrow, his secret smile splitting across his cheeks.

"Okay, that one is beyond me. Point to my cousin. Was the halla an official chantry clergy member or just in the neighborhood at the time?"

Now Cullen laughed, his hard snort shooting out of his nose as he bent over. "I'm afraid I never heard the full of it, but the rumor kept the templars entertained for weeks."

"Commander!" a voice called through the sea of noise. They both turned to see a young man, barely at the shaving stage, pumping his hand in the air. He sat at one of the coveted tables surrounded by a sea of empty mugs and a pile of caprice coins.

Breaking from the wall, Cullen stepped towards him. "What is it?" the commander asked, all jocularity from before vanishing in the face of duty.

But the young man had no orders or problems the fearsome commander needed to address, "I wondered if you wanted to sit with us. Frank here's leaving."

Probably Frank grunted and half saluted as he swung out of the chair. He paused to steady his wobbly legs, then toddled on towards the stairs, his knuckles skimming near the floor as it was too much strain to stand up higher. "Oh," Cullen's gaze turned back to Lana, "that is kind of you, but I am with someone." She couldn't stop the blush from the implications. They weren't really with-with, right?

"That's no problem," the young man said. "Devney here can sit in my lap." He patted his thigh and a blonde dwarf giggled as she scampered out of her chair to crash upon his legs. "There ya go, two free chairs. Ser!"

Cullen turned back to her, but she could think of no easy excuse beyond setting the tavern on fire. Seeing as that would most likely endanger everyone inside and annoy the Inquisitor, Lana slipped past him and sat on the recently cleared chair. Without any escape, Cullen sighed and plopped into the other free one right beside her. While the polite man, his dwarven friend, and another member of their posse -- who seemed glued to the table -- had a picturesque view of the wall and a sliver of window, Lana could see down at Maryden finally shooing the tevinter mage away. _Maker, what was his name?_ She wanted to say Gray for some reason.

With a rigid back, the commander's eyes darted around at the people of all walks of life curled together in the warm tavern to hide from the rain -- his people. Unfortunately, that made him not one of them, a fact growing more and more evident as no one at the table was certain what to talk about, the awkward silence deafening.

"Ah, forgive me, but I didn't catch your name," Lana said turning towards the young man.

"Sutherland, ma'am," he bobbed his head and smiled with a puppy dog expression. Lana felt an old ache for her mabari long since past the veil for this young man's exuberance. "And this here's Priggy," he jabbed a finger at the inebriated and/or asleep form.

"Priggy?" Cullen scoffed. "That cannot be his real name."

"Don't know, Ser. That's what he told us, and it's written across his smallclothes," Sutherland moved as if about to unearth the band to prove it.

"That's quite all right, I believe you," Cullen threw up both hands to try and quell what was coming.

"So," Deveny stopped her continuous giggle from her perch and pointed a finger from Cullen to the mysterious woman with her hood still drawn up, "how do you two know each other?"

Panic struck Cullen's face and he tried to cover it over with his hand. Smiling politely, Lana tossed back her soaked hood and said, "We're siblings."

"Ah..." both Deveny and Sutherland glanced from the dark haired, dark skinned tiny woman to the pale and blonde strapping man. "Didn't know you have family in the area," Sutherland responded with.

"Neither did I," Cullen said, the edge of his eyes drifting over to Lana. She only shrugged and ran her finger against the grain of the table. There was an odd knot almost in the shape of a snail drawing her attention.

"Well, lady, uh, commander's sister?" Sutherland stuttered to try and find a way to address her, "You're just in time."

"In time for what?" Cullen perked up, almost rising off the chair as if he needed to take down an army single handedly.

Below, Maryden bowed, the final strings of her lute solo fading away and taking with it all the conversations. Every eye in the tavern swiveled towards the hearth where the bard quickly vacated. In her place stepped that qunari, the one Hawke had a strange obsession with. He held his own lute with twice the strings as normal. It was dwarfed by his massive hands, as if the instrument was designed for a child.

"Oh Maker," Cullen groaned.

Coughing and then softly tuning his lute, the qunari twanged his strings, then paused. Bowing his head once to all four corners of the tavern, he raised his hand high and jammed down across every string. If one dumped a gallon of water onto a basket of cats it would approximate the noise screaming out of the lute. Lana turned to Cullen, the pair of them sharing an 'I have no idea what's happening' look. Well, it should provide an excellent distraction from the rain.

"Wait, wait," Sutherland bounced up, tossing around poor Deveny in his lap, "here comes the best part."

The qunari struck another oh, let's call it a chord, and a blonde woman leapt off the second story railing. She landed flat on both her feet and swung a metal drum around off her back. Someone in the audience tossed a bottle at her, and she caught it, lifting it up to match the qunari's strumming. With the bottle, she began to beat a surprisingly even tempo against the drum.

"Maker's breath, not Sera as well," Cullen moaned, his head knocking into the wall.

"Perhaps you could use this noise as some sort of counter measure in a battle," Lana threw out. He snorted at that, then turned to her with a calculating look twisting up his lips. "I was being facetious. That would be a war crime."

Then the unexpected happened. Either by a miracle of Andraste showing pity upon them, or because it'd all been an act, the qunari and elf suddenly got good. Well, good was a reach, they became passable. The beat was solid, the cat scream went from thirty in heat down to a few annoyed you stepped on their tail. Sutherland, along with Deveny, turned fully around in his chair to watch as the elf began to march back and forth with her drum, her legs kicking high in the air.

"This doesn't seem to surprise you," Cullen leaned over towards her to whisper, his voice barely beating above the noise of a song.

"Nor you," Lana volleyed back. She glanced over at the young man and his friends but they were too enraptured in the goings on. Slyly, she dropped her hand down under the table and reached over to pick up Cullen's. For a moment it rested limply in hers, then he gripped back, sealing them together.

"I, uh," Cullen shook his head, trying to will away a creeping blush, "I know them. There is little Sera does that surprises me anymore."

"Stuff like this happened all the time during the blight," Lana said. She rose up in her chair to get a good look as a few of the people around the tavern rose up to dance to the thumping beat.

"Really?"

"When you have a swamp witch, an assassin, a golem, a qunari, a drunken dwarf, and a bard, it'd be more surprising if it didn't. We once got a crocodile stuck up a tree."

"By the Maker, where did you find a crocodile? How did you get it up a tree?"

"The tree part was easy, Zevran tried to scare Oghren with it by hiding it in his bedroll. It sort of worked and the dwarf reacted not by screaming but smashing the crocodile tail with a hammer. Unfortunately, it was off balance and the force threw the entire thing way up into a tree. I think we got it from some wizarding shop. They always have stuffed crocodiles. Though I'm having trouble remembering why."

Cullen's shoulder bounced against hers as he whisper-yelled, "I'm never certain if you're lying for dramatic effect or your life is that bizarre."

Her eyes broke away from the proceedings and she turned fully into his honey gaze. Perhaps it was the theatrics occurring down below, or being somewhere warm, but color returned to his cheeks, the frown lines smoothed down. "You've traveled with me, I lie to tone down most of my tales."

"That," Cullen smiled, his head tipped as he stared at the table, "I would believe that." A thread of silence drifted over them as they both sat enjoying the song bouncing through the rafters. Whenever Lana thought it would be reaching the end the elven woman would pick up a new beat and the qunari would match it. She wondered if this single song would last for the rest of the night, the beat continuing until neither player could stand.

"You cannot get me to dance," Cullen suddenly spoke up.

"All right?" Lana shook her head, struggling to trace where this came from, "I had no inclination to try."

"Oh?" he asked, then gestured to her toes. With her legs crossed, she kept tapping her foot to the beat, almost knocking into him on accident.

"That, uh, that's just getting swept up in the moment. Can happen to anyone," she smiled and squeezed his hand. It was silly, but she felt herself blushing from the innocent hand holding, as if they were two people as young as Sutherland there dipping into courting. Lana laughed at the idea, and Cullen turned to her.

"Yes?"

"Ah, no, it's not anything, that...um, well," she squirmed, her face growing flush at the idea of revealing to him her inner thoughts. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, "I feel a bit like an apprentice that's snuck off to the stacks with the cutest templar." After finishing her confession, she glanced up to watch Cullen blink in surprise, then smile wide.

"Oh, I," he paused to smile again, "I can understand that feeling and might share it." Those smoldering eyes drifted closer to hers, his lips slightly parting as if he intended to kiss her right in the middle of the tavern where every strain of Skyhold could see.

"Which templar would you sneak off with?" she asked quickly, throwing him off.

Cullen paused and he leaned back from her in thought, "I would need some time to think of an answer, I'm afraid."

"You'd make a terrible apprentice," she smiled.

"I fear what you could do as a templar," he answered truthfully. Taking a deep breath, Cullen turned out of their cozy corner to gaze around the tavern now into full on rapture, bodies undulating to the beat in something approximating dance. "Thank you, for bringing me here. It's...I feel better."

"Cullen," now she ached to kiss him, to run her fingers over that stubble and rough up her palm upon it. "Anytime."

He turned towards her, his gaze falling upon her hair expanded beyond capacity. Gently, he trailed his fingers against it, then down her collar. "Why is this wet? I thought you had your hood up."

"I did when I went from the great hall to your office, room... What do you call it?"

"When you..." he tapped his finger against her wet hair then pulled it down to rest upon the table. Sure, she used the hood to protect the parchment from leaking, but before that she trekked all over Skyhold sometimes splashing in a puddle or two. After a life in the tower, dancing in the rain was a small joy for her.

A doleful smile knotted up Cullen's face, "You like the rain."

Lana leaned into him, her wet hair overflowing off his cheek and down to his chest. "Yes, but...I like you more."

As Lana woke up, she breathed in dirt, her cheek pressed against the final flagstone before the grass moved in. The spirit's tendrils lagged away from her brain now burning from its machinations, while a dead pit sank in her stomach. She knew she should rise, look around at what changes the spirit caused in the fade, jot them down and any other observations, but that seemed impossible. Her hand wobbled on the flagstone, a finger tracing the griffin imprint because it was all she could do.

Despair, depression, the darkness. She never talked about it to anyone. The enchanters, they'd speak of the despair demons - twisted creatures with withered faces that blanketed their victims in ice. It was hard for a twelve year old to not look at her own hand that fired icicles and wonder if that wasn't her future, her curse. The bad turns were...ignored: by her teachers, by the templars, by the wardens, by Lana herself. To wallow in her own misery wouldn't help anyone - who could she save if she couldn't save herself? And yet...

"Something is amiss," the spirit spoke, its form zipping in and out above her head.

She got through this exile in the fade, as horrible as it sounded, by not thinking about him. By convincing herself that Cullen was a distraction, a fun one, a sweet one, but nothing more. She never wanted to hurt him, to hurt anyone -- _yet you kept at it, Lana_. Kept prodding into his affairs, found reasons to visit him, to talk to him, help him, kiss him, love him.

_Maker..._ The throbbing in her chest ached and a slither of tears dripped onto the flagstone, washing away the dirt. She'd wanted to die before, before Alistair and Seheron, before Amaranthine, before she ever left the tower - the darkness overwhelming from the depths of her soul. That shame, that despair would forever taint her, mark her as unworthy, a danger to anyone who dared to draw close, and yet...

"I'm so sorry," Lana whispered, her lips fogging up the freezing cold stone. Her words barely slipped past her mouth.

"What was that, dear?"

She dug deeper into the stone, her fingernails scratching against the griffin relief. Why didn't she realize it before? She went to her death leaving him with only a promise that one day she might care for him. Might love him. _Andraste's tears, how could she be so cruel?_ It was right there, plain as day. If he'd have asked her to give up the wardens she would have. If he'd begged for her to hide away with him away from the politics, from the world powers jockeying for position, every creature and murderer in thedas trying to kill them both, she would have.

Ice rolled off her palm, coating first the flagstone then reaching like spilled water across the ground. The grass itself cracked in half, caught in surprise from the frost. Lana could pretend to be normal, forget she was ever a warden, a hero, an Arlessa, but she'd always be a mage, always be corrupted with magic. _How could he love that? How could anyone?_

"My dear," the spirit whined above her, "what are you doing?"

Lana curled up tight pressing her knees to her chest and gripping hard to try and will away the regret stinging her every thought. What if she hadn't been born a mage? Then could he trust her? Could she trust him?

_Oh, Maker..._ She sat upright as the truth landed square upon her head. Wiping the muddy tears from her cheeks, Lana blinked and stared out at the horizon. Something was wrong. The once calm tan-green skies wobbled, ripples echoing across the horizon like a breaking down barrier. "What is...?" she began, turning to the spirit. Only a whisper of its form remained hovering in the air before the rest of it zipped away leaving her alone.

Parting the air itself, a multitude of spiders marched towards her - an army beyond counting all aiming to kill the lone mortal in the fade. Lana wiped her hands down her robes, snatched up her staff, and prepared to fight.

## Chapter Ninteeen

**Belief**

_9:44 Tevinter-Anderfells_

Cullen watched as Fenris tried to dodge away from the king's royal hand extended either in friendship or because Alistair was trying to wipe off something on his palm. Eventually, the elf gave in, a bronto like snort huffing out of his nose as Alistair pumped their joined hands up and down like a waterspout.

"This has been an excellent partnership. We are on the way to the Anderfells, right? It's past that bridge you pointed at?"

"Yes," Fenris yanked his hand back and glowered at it. On the plus side, his tattoos didn't light up so maybe even he was growing accustomed to the king's exuberant nature. "Thank you, for your help."

"What's a few dead slavers between friends?" Alistair shrugged. "We ready to head onward?" He turned to Cullen who nodded in return. It'd been a trying march west, but oddly satisfying as well. Even if...their mission did not end well, at least some good came from his visiting Tevinter.

The elf nodded tersely at his remaining crew and as one they circled back into the Imperium leaving king, templar, and mabari alone at the creaking bridge. Spanning across a vast canyon between countries, the bridge was painted in reds and golds with a griffin statue looming over the top crossbeam in the middle of the divide. Beyond wafted grassland that looked much the same to what was behind them, but the landscape itself loomed ever upward, the distant mountains jagged and imposing for anyone without wings.

"Should we draw lots to see who goes first or run it really fast together?" Alistair asked. He'd stripped off most of his armor again, but a well crafted wool cloak hung about his shoulders. The trim was done in gold thread and a mabari emblem graced the back, all but giving away the owner. It was the first sign of royalty the man had shown their entire trip.

"I will take the lead," Cullen said. Rolling his pack and shield to the other side of his shoulder he patted his leg for Honor to follow.

"Ah, I was hoping it'd come down to a game of crosses and naughts. I'm great at it, held almost all my challengers to a standstill."

Cullen snorted at the idea and eased onto the first board. Nothing crashed down around him, no planks scattered to the winding dry creek below, and the bridge itself barely even shifted. It seemed as steady as a rock to cross. He turned around to inform the king, but the man was already behind him smiling wide as he stared down at the drop below. "How far do you think that is?"

"Deep enough you'd have to take a breath in the middle of screaming," Cullen said as he began crossing to the other side.

The king hung off the bridge's guide ropes a moment longer, staring down as if he could judge the distance himself. "What do you think would hurt more, falling from a great height or being crushed by a rock?"

"I..." Cullen paused as he looked up at the griffin guarding the entrance or informing people of who ruled the Anderfells, "depends. How large is the rock?"

"Hm, big enough to crush someone."

"If death is the end point, would pain matter either way?" Beyond the bridge he spotted the beginnings of the Anderfells. It wasn't the fabled steppes that looked like the bones of the earth stripped to their flesh and exposed to the desiccating air of the west - grey and churning, each shoulder of the mountain visible with barely any foliage clinging to life. Here, yellow grass danced in the distance on ground flat as a pancake while a mountainous hill claimed the horizon beyond.

"What about being eaten by a dragon? That one's got to hurt. Or worse. What if she swallows you whole?!" Alistair's chatter continued from behind, his fingers skimming along the rope as he tried to sway the bridge.

"I doubt there are any dragons that could slurp down a grown man without taking a bite."

"You've never met Morrigan's mother," he said, a shudder in his voice.

That caught Cullen's attention and he turned around to find the man with both hands upon the guide ropes, his knees bent deep to walk as if afraid he'd smack his head on the griffin statue above. "I have, well, the Inquisitor did, but Morrigan herself served with us for a few months."

"Ouch, my condolences there, truly," Alistair grabbed at his chest. "Let me guess, she called you a sloven, crass, simpleton, then snapped her head back with a flurry of her serrated hair before trouncing out like she owned the place."

"That, uh..." was disturbingly accurate.

"I had to put up with her for a year. An entire year of that cold hearted, sneering dragon-scum witch...who, for reasons I never understood, Lanny was friends with."

"Lana and Morrigan?"

"Oh yeah, it was weird. Really weird. Like spoons on the ceiling weird," Alistair waved his hands in the air as if his simile made any sense. "I never got it, and the way Morrigan turned her bratty nose up at anything to do with the Circle you'd think they'd have hated each other."

"It's hard for me to picture anyone hating Lana," Cullen answered.

Alistair maintained his crossing the bridge towards him during their conversation, but now he paused and blinked a few times. "You do have it bad. Lanny made plenty of enemies along the way, after the way, kind of around the way too. She ever tell you about the dragon cult we stumbled across in Haven?"

Turning around, Cullen resumed his walk towards the edge, "I heard some tales of its existence before the ashes were found."

The king didn't seem to notice the pause in his voice, "Their leader, what was his name? Started with a K. Kilger? Kreager? Kittens? He was one mustache twirl away from dropping virgins in volcanoes. Drink enough dragon blood and you go a bit funny in the head, says the grey warden who drank darkspawn blood," Alistair was quick to burn himself before anyone else had the chance.

"That must have been difficult," Cullen said, his boot stepping off the bridge and into the grass. Honor barreled past him, the dog needing to stretch her legs in a run or because she saw a rabbit to chase.

"Eh," Alistair waved his hand back and forth, "as long as we were really, really mouse-like quiet, we didn't wake up the high dragon. That came later."

"When Lana broke her arm," Cullen said. He remembered her telling him, the way she ran her finger across the scar on her shoulder and shrugged it away. Then she kissed him, her lithe body tugging him into her bed because she wanted him. That felt far too long ago.

"Yeah, it was a lucky thing Wynne was with us. Turns out mages have trouble healing their own broken arms." A darkness clouded over the jolly king's face and he stood transfixed upon the precipice of bridge meeting land. "She whimpered when it happened. Not a scream, not a cry in rage or pain, just a sickening crunch and then a whimper. That whimper was..." he rubbed his hands over his face vigorously as if trying to scrub the blood off. "In the past. All of it was in the past, and we have a whole lot of grassland to cross."

"According to Fenris we need to head due east to make the first town. After that, it's...." Cullen gestured to the king's satchel dangling off his hip. While the man could leave his socks, shoes, sword, and even pants scattered across any part of their camps throughout Tevinter he always kept the satchel tight to the side. It never left his sight.

"Phylactery time, yeah. Got it," Alistair waved him off. "How are we going to figure out due east?" He pointed forward at the sun. "That's easty eastish, but this far north it's not the most trustworthy of directions."

Cullen tugged at his shoulders and glanced upward. A purple haze drifted around the upper echelons of the sky, waiting for the sun to finish setting so the stars could return. "We find the right claw of Draconis, that points north."

Tipping his own head back as if the stars became visible if he looked really hard, Alistair scoffed, "How do you know that?"

"Templar training," Cullen sputtered out.

"Seriously? Templar training is your answer to the man who was not only raised in the templars but at the same damn abbey as you," Alistair folded up his arms looking as if he was about to scold Cullen. "It was Lanny, right? She was always on about the stars."

Cullen dropped his head, a burn inching up the back of his neck. He tried to wipe it away while he twisted his feet around in the grass to gaze across the miles left on their journey. Sometimes he could almost hear her voice on the wind, her laugh, or when she'd sigh in consternation - which happened often when she was dealing with underlings, rarely him. For two years he woke with his head ringing of memories of Lana. He begged the Maker to lessen them, to free him from the ceaseless pain of her loss. One day, he was reading her journal and he couldn't remember the way she'd roll her r's in her almost vanished Marcher accent. Anger at his mind forgetting and fear that it'd never return pummeled Cullen's heart until a few hours later it slipped back in - her golden voice threading though his brain. He didn't know if it was the lyrium finally catching up to him, or the natural progression of memory decay, but he grew to dread the day he'd wake and not remember Lana at all.

Maybe it wouldn't matter. There was a chance, a probable one, that they'd find her, save her, bring her back into this world. And then what? With each step Cullen found himself wondering what came next. Lana left the word when it was in shambles, both factions of her people scraping by. In the time of her loss, the wardens picked themselves back up in the south while the mages started their own college. Would either of those sound more enticing than the nothing Cullen had to offer? _Or..._ Cullen turned around to stare at the king still trying to track the invisible stars in the daylight sky. Would she find a comfort in the old and familiar to try and overcome two years in the fade?

Sensing eyes upon him, Alistair broke away from his useless vigil and shrugged. "I feel like we should set up camp before all the creepy crawlies come after us."

"What do we have to face here?" Cullen asked, wishing he'd taken the time to study the area before setting out.

Of course, the king shrugged again. "Don't know, it's my first time."

"If I may ask, we are in the Anderfells. Why have you not solicited the grey wardens for assistance?"

Alistair rubbed his shoulder, realized it was covered in the shield, then switched to the other. "I don't know how helpful they'd be with this matter. Or any matter if the wild rumors I'm hearing are true. Regardless, Lanny's not someone they're a big fan of, for reasons that are complicated and super duper warden secrety."

That caused Cullen to pucker his lips together. She'd told him much, about the Calling, about what happened at the Vigil, but Lana never went into what drove a wedge between her and the wardens. He'd assumed it was Clarel's doing with her blood magic, but the way Alistair spoke it seemed deeper and more universal.

Watching the anger play across Cullen's face, Alistair spoke up, "It's one of those secrets that could hurt someone innocent, so Lanny keeps it because she doesn't think it's hers worth telling and I keep it because I'd rather forget it."

"Will it bring about the end of thedas?" Cullen asked meaning it as a joke.

But the king shuddered and he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, "Maker's breath, I hope not. Anyway, camping. Campsites need fiery places which means wood. Mind if I borrow your dog? She's great at carrying sticks."

"She carries one and it's covered in slobber upon your return," Cullen began, but the man only shrugged. "Very well."

"Come on, pretty puppy," Alistair cooed to the dog and they set off together towards a stand of brittle trees leering across the chasm, their roots popping out of the rock like wooden worms. It seemed unlikely they'd find much of anything to get a proper fire going in this barren land. Aside from the grass, little stretched across the horizon -- only the rise and fall of the mountainous cliffs embraced them. To think, once long ago griffins flew in and out of the crevices cracked into the steppe sides with wardens flush upon their backs.

Lana would have...Lana could still love seeing it. She could dig into the old nests scattered around, see if there were any preserved griffin feathers forgotten inside the mountain's cavities. All children loved to hear the tales of the mighty grey wardens swooping through the sky and saving the world from blight while nestled in the feathers of their mounts. It seemed impossible to imagine such a thing ever existing, but in his life he'd watched a knight-commander turn into stone, one of the ancient tevinter magisters who walked in the black city open the fade, and... Cullen shook his head. The Inquisitor believed with a shocking fervor that Solas was this Fen'Harel, the elven god of tricks and mischief. Cullen didn't argue with the man, but he had his doubts. More than doubts -- to even conceive of the idea that Solas lived not just before the ancient Imperium but during the elven times of the world as well? There was something off about Solas -- anyone who talked to him for more than a moment knew that -- but a god, and yet not a god?

They spoke rarely, Solas inquiring on occasion about templars but always keeping civil in his perfunctory way. He seemed less curious about the answer and more wanting to shore up his already laid assumptions. Once, he stumbled across Cullen in prayer at the small chantry in the gardens. Cullen felt that shined bald head twisting in interest while watching him speak through the canticles, but Solas waited patiently until he finished and rose. He had no belief in faith, none in his own people's creators certainly, and scoffed at the idea of Andraste or the Maker existing - and yet...

It was the longest discussion Cullen had with him debating not the existence of faith, but the usefulness of it. Solas propped up his theory that belief or faith were intangible, their very existence relied upon a fervent hope - any concrete proof ran counter to their very existence. But so often simple hope wasn't enough. People felt inadequate when their belief in the unknowable wasn't strong enough, or wavered, and they struggled through the darkness not inside themselves but outside for definitive proof. That search in and of itself could cause damage inflicted by a person on themselves or those deemed unworthy, not to mention what the chantry does to those not fitting within its ideals. But strangest of all, it was Solas who arrived upon the idea that hope was necessary, and with it belief -- perhaps not in some distant gods, but an unknowable force all the same to strike back against the chaos. Whether it was in the form of a Maker, faith, spirits, or justice itself depended upon the mind.

Cullen's own faith waxed and waned. He thought he'd truly believed with all his heart when he was in the abbey, giving as much of himself as he could to the order. Believing he at thirteen had all the answers to the questions of life. After the blood mages in the tower, he found himself bereft, the oarless boat bobbing on a foggy sea. Sinful and far from the Maker for his thoughts of Lana - he felt he had no right to Andraste's forgiveness. He believed in Andraste and the Maker, but he didn't feel worth of them. It was years into Kirkwall, when he'd grown exhausted from the never ending trial of blood mages on one side and Meredith on the other that he found himself not in the smaller chantry in the Gallows but walking through the great one in Hightown.

No... He remembered now, it was after Lana left. Almost two weeks after. He'd tried to cleanse himself as best he could, wipe away the memories, the yearning in his blood for her, for a mage, but she kept rising back to him like a fever that wouldn't break. Trying to sneak in quietly only for a moment, he never meant to draw the Grand Cleric's attention. She smiled at the templar in her midst and slid into the back pew to sit beside him. People passed in and out of the chantry, mothers performed the rites at the altars, even the chanters themselves switched places. The entire time the Grand Cleric sat beside him, not saying a word, her paper thin hands clasped together. When he realized he was due for his duty, the Grand Cleric stood with him. Still, she didn't speak, her lips smiling. Cullen was about to leave when curiosity won over and he had to know why she spent the whole day sitting in the pew beside him when there were a hundred other things more pressing for her attention. Smiling beatifically, the Grand Cleric said the words he'd always remember, "No one deserves to be alone."

A wad of twigs dropped in the middle of the grass, shocking Cullen out of his memory. Alistair danced back and forth on his feet, and apologized, "This was the best I could find."

"Looks as if we're going to be eating a cold dinner tonight," Cullen sighed. Short of a miracle, there was no way to get a fire off the still green brambles the king stripped from the trees. Beside him, Honor gnawed upon her own find, the shards of wood slobbering down her chin.

"Is all of the damn Anderfells like this?" Alistair jerked his head around as if noticing their surroundings for the first time. "Why does anyone live here? I bet it's got something to do with the pie. People always go on about the pie from the west."

Knocking the twigs apart with his foot to see if anything was workable, Cullen sighed, "I hope resupplying in towns was involved in the itinerary, or it will be a lot of undercooked food here on out."

Alistair nodded his head, then shrugged, "Probably, wherever they are. Countries got to have towns otherwise it's not really a country, more like a wild grass plain covered in animals and people who never got around to building cities. More like farm central -- oh I wonder if they have a pig for a mayor in one of 'em? There's a town in Ferelden that elected a donkey after, it's not important. Here, let me check the map."

Yanking his satchel forward, the king dug through a pair of socks, another pair of socks with his name stitched along them. "Damn, I swear it's in here." The socks scattered onto the twig pile, as did a tunic. When he yanked out a pair of smallclothes, a dark rage kicked into Cullen's gut. He whipped his head back and forth. No, it was his imagination. It couldn't be right.

"Hold a moment," Cullen commanded. The king froze, his underwear wadded up in his hand, but that wasn't what Cullen cared about.

"What am I holding for?" Alistair asked when Cullen yanked on the edge of his satchel and peered inside. His heart sank into his knees as Lana's phylactery rolled into sight - the pulsing red replaced with a black as dark as death. _No! No, it wasn't possible! Not again!_ With a faster grasp than he thought possible, Cullen snatched up the dead phylactery and waved it in Alistair's face.

"What is the meaning of this?!" he shouted because he couldn't hear anything over the blood rushing through his ears, the anger drumming tighter in his chest. His lungs inflated against the vice constricting around his heart, pulverizing the useless organ to dust.

The king's guilty eyes danced from the black phylactery back to him, "I-I can explain."

"Explain what?! That she's dead? She's been dead this whole time and you-you, what? Why would you do this? You kept on dragging me across thedas for your own power play?" Cullen's throat tightened, red spots bursting on the sides of his vision. He feared he'd either slip into a fugue state in the burning rage or fully pass out.

"It's not like that, not always black. Look..." Alistair swung the satchel back and reached for the phylactery, but Cullen held it away from him.

"How did you accomplish this? For the Maker's sake, why would you do it?!" No, not after all this, it couldn't be true. But he felt it. There was life in a phylactery, each one hummed in a shared heartbeat with the owner. Holding a dead one was like carrying a corpse, soulless and cold. Cullen blinked furiously, burying his tears of both rage and grief in equal measure.

"It switches sometimes!" Alistair panicked, his eyes darting from his hand to the phylactery, "I don't know why. For hours it'll be her, okay, alive, pulsing. And then, bam, it fades away and goes black..." the king's voice dropped down, grief climbing up his cheeks.

Lies. In all his time as a templar, Cullen never heard of any phylactery doing that. It was that bastard's doing, his demented need to...to fix what he destroyed. Of course, he blamed himself for Lana's death, for pushing her into the Calling, into the fade. The truth crushed Cullen more than any giant rock ever could. His hand fell and the king quickly snatched her dead phylactery away, but it didn't matter. None of it did because she was dead, gone, had been for years.

_Andraste's sake..._ Cullen rubbed his hand vigorously against his eyes, the finality silencing what he had left in his heart. Lana was dead. _Damn it! Damn the king of Ferelden for this charade! Damn the fade for taking her!_ Cullen turned away from the king staring limply at the dead phylactery in his hands. He reached down to gather up his own meager satchel and took a step back towards the bridge. _Damn himself for ever believing in this. People don't come back from the dead._

"What are you doing?" the king shouted as if he had any standing left.

Cullen limply patted his leg to call Honor to his side and walked towards Tevinter, "Leaving. There is nothing for me here."

"That's it?! You'd give up now? You're giving up on her?" the king shouted.

It was fruitless. Cullen began with so little hope this would succeed even with a working phylactery... With the tiny spark snuffed, berating him now would do nothing. He let the man's bitter words wash across his back as he shuffled slowly towards the bridge. A deadly exhaustion climbed up his legs at the despair nesting in his heart, but he knew he couldn't stop - he had to get away before he did something foolhardy or crumbled into misery.

"I thought she meant something to you, the way you'd carry on at any mention of her name, but I see I was mistaken. She gave her everything for your damned Inquisition, turned her back on the people who cared about her, and for what?!" Alistair shook his head like a mad bull, the man pacing back in forth. "You let her die!"

Cullen paused, his back tightening.

"Ten years Lanny was safe in Ferelden, safe where I could protect her, but she spends one month in your watch...and she's gone. Do you even care what you took from her? Did you care then?! And you talk as if you loved her. I doubt you're even capable."

His fist smashed against Alistair's jaw, Cullen's knuckles knocking one by one up the bone, the force enough to split open his dry skin from the brash and poorly planned punch. Reeling back by instinct, Alistair threw an arm across his face shielding it from another blow. But none was coming as Cullen's knees locked, haggard breath snorting from his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with each one. His fist remained hanging where it struck while his brain shut down. _Maker, he punched a king. He punched the king of Ferelden._ The king tenderly grazed the back of his hand across the rising bruise, his eyes flaring as he stared over at the man who hit him. With careful movements, he placed the phylactery into his satchel and pulled the bag off his shoulder, dropping both to the ground.

Cullen steadied himself knowing what was coming and preferring it to a beheading or banishment, but this king punched with the force of a battering ram. Light burst in the back of Cullen's brain as his head snapped back, sound draining from the world while pain bloomed across his cheek as the king yanked back his own bleeding knuckles. At least he didn't break his nose.

They could leave it at that, Cullen returning back to Skyhold empty handed and empty hearted, the king more than likely drafting some declaration of war against the Inquisition if they didn't hand over their commander. A punch for a punch. Cullen's fist knotted up, the fingernails digging deep into the calluses along his palm. "You don't know what I feel," he growled. Leaping forward, Cullen drove one first for Alistair's head, but the man raised his own arm up blocking it. Too bad Cullen expected that, his left fist smashing into the man's exposed stomach. _Maker, it was like punching a wall._

Cullen danced away as the king gasped, almost dropping to a knee as he struggled to catch back the air knocked from him. "I..." Alistair choked again, then rolled his tongue around before spitting blood into the dirt, "I know exactly how you feel." He came after Cullen, fists pounding rapidly one after the other, the distance short but the rising multitude hammering against his protective arms. Unable to withstand the assault, Alistair landed a striking blow upon Cullen's cheek and under his jaw.

"You could have saved her!" Alistair shouted through his punches, madness taking him beyond reasonableness. Unable to withstand more of the whirlwind attack, Cullen threw both his arms up to block, grabbed onto the king's head and moved to knee him in the stomach. But Alistair was wilier than expected, and he drove a fist into Cullen's knee. Agony shredded up Cullen's thigh and down his calf as he staggered back. Releasing the king, he hopped back, struggling to stay standing.

"Damn it. Damn you!" Alistair shouted, his finger jabbed in Cullen's face. It was turning blue, most likely dislocated but the man didn't notice the pain, he was running on anger and nothing more - for once they were in perfect agreement. "You had the one person in all of thedas that could rip open the veil and pull her out, but you never even asked!"

Chewing through his tongue to fight off the pain, Cullen placed his foot onto the grass and tried to anchor it. "I wasn't the one who drove her to try and kill herself. I didn't break her heart, break her, until she didn't think she could come back! She gave up because of you!"

Like a cat without depth perception, Alistair leapt at Cullen, his royal head battering into the man's stomach. Together they smashed into the grass, the rocky terrain pulverizing into Cullen's kidneys and spine. He didn't bother to struggle for breath, only grabbed onto Alistair's shirt and tried to hurl him off. It was no longer a fight, just two men throwing punches wildly at the other while screaming into the void. Cullen saw flashes of the man rolling in the ground with him, his vision punctuated with a blinding blackness ringed in red. Every demon that scarred his body, every blood mage that scarred his mind raced to fill the emptiness, mocking him for his failure, for never being good enough for the woman he loved.

Deep inside his heart he felt a snap reverberating up his coiled muscles and into his mind -- the band keeping his sanity held in check obliterated. Shouldering into the king, he drove his knee, elbow, every joint available to him into every surface. Some hit leaving Alistair sputtering for the little air left in either of their lungs. His prey inched along the ground, vulnerable. Cullen knotted up his fists together and raised them above the man's head, prepared to bring them down and end this once and for all. Whipping onto his back, Alistair drew a dagger off his hip and held it pointed up at Cullen's exposed chest. Stalemate.

Watching the oranges of the sunset glitter across the blade, Cullen's chest rose and fell with each labored breath. Something wet dribbled off his cheek and down his jaw. He should wipe it off, but his hands hung suspended above the king's head to strike the killing blow. They didn't fall or end this - unable to risk his life to finish it or break them apart. Blood puddled around Alistair's nose, percolating in airy bubbles with every snort as he struggled to breathe through it. Black swelling stampeded across his cheek from the first blow, the tissue blanketing his left eye. Even through that, he held the dagger steady, a deadly glint in his right eye -- the man was prepared to do whatever was necessary to stay alive. He was a warrior king.

Then his tenacious eyes slipped over to something behind Cullen. "Ah shit, she's got the phylactery!" he sputtered through the blood, snorting it out across his mouth and sandy beard. It could be a trap, Cullen knew, but he turned quickly and spotted Honor with the black bottle in her teeth.

Rolling off the man, Cullen staggered to his feet and shouted for Honor, "No! Give it here! Now!" For a moment his dog's tail wagged as she thought this was a new game, but Cullen growled, his voice sneering through a panic as he crossed the distance to her to hold his hand out. "Drop it!" Her black eyes rolled up and gingerly Honor released the phylactery into his hand. _Maker, that was close. If she'd broken it, they'd have had no way to find..._

The sun's last rays reflected against the black liquid giving it a hopeful orange sheen, but he knew it wasn't real. He couldn't feel the presence calling to him, guiding him further west. He never would again because it was dead, she was dead. Cullen's fingers skimmed along the top of Honor's head as he limped towards the setting sun. The king shouted something, but he couldn't hear it, didn't want to hear it. Two years, he'd grieved for two years, and yet...

By the light of Andraste, he'd held on to some foolish hope that she'd survive. Out of all the people in all of thedas, who else but Lana Amell could travel through the fade for six months, then a year, then two, and come out of it alive, whole? With his knee unable to withstand anymore, Cullen collapsed to the ground. A gentle slope to the bottom the hill waited below, the grasses waving goodnight to the sun. Before him wafted the pinks and oranges of the beginnings of dusk, but he didn't care - his eyes were only upon the phylactery squeezed between both of his palms.

_Lana, please...I can't go it alone anymore. I need-- Maker and his bride Andraste, why? Why did you take her? She was, she could have been... The world needs her, has always needed her._

_Please, give her back. Please._

_I need her._

_I love her._

Cullen repeated that in his head, her dead phylactery pressed against his lips as he prayed for it to give him hope, to spring back to life, to shine its ruby light across the darkening hills. To prove that damned bastard right. How could he go back? What life remained without her?

An old memory stirred in the back of his mind as he pressed the phylactery against his trembling lips. In the depths of the deep roads, he asked her something completely out of a place because he feared he'd never have the chance again. "What was it like finding Andraste's ashes?"

She paused in scraping deepstalker off her staff blade and looked over at him. "It's not an easy thing to answer."

"Oh," Cullen backed down, trying to hide the hurt.

As if sensing the pain, she ran her fingers up his forearm, her touch barely reaching him through the grey warden padding. "People want to hear that it was glorious, soul affirming, a truly holy experience."

"And it wasn't?"

Lana tipped her head back and forth, "It depends. There were tests, challenges to see if I was worthy, as if faith can be proven by answering a trivia challenge and fighting your shadow self. But..." Her chin dipped down and Lana pulled away from him. Staring deeper down the abandoned deeproads, she rubbed her hands up her arms as if she was freezing. "My parents were as devout Andrastians as one can get in the countryside. When I first entered the tower I had no idea why I was there. I didn't understand." Lana snorted and shook her head, "I thought I was being punished for doing something bad. I suppose in a way I was. Mages were bad, I knew that, but I didn't understand it. Those evil tevinter magisters who killed our beloved Andraste revolved in the same realm as bogeymen for me. Then suddenly I'm pulled away from my family, my home, my own country and I...I learn I'm one of those bogeymen."

Rolling her fingers, a ball of ice coalesced in the palm of her hand the water so pure it glittered like crystal. "That self hatred, it doesn't go away overnight. I don't know if it ever really does," Lana sighed, dropping her crystal ball against the ground. It shattered into pieces, the shards blanketing her shoe. "Andraste's the reason I was in the tower, or those who'd invoke her name and speak for her, at least. I should hate her, find her temple to be little more than a farce cooked up by a mad cult with more time than brains on their hands."

Cullen nodded. He heard the same from so many other mages forced to attend chantry services and all but revolting to get out of it. Over time, the enchanters were given leeway to skip services and most preferred avoiding them. The pews filled with templars fulfilling their vows, the initiates, the apprentices forced to be there, and -- strangely enough -- senior enchanters nearing their end of days who'd step back into the lady's light.

But Lana wasn't finished. She nudged her shoe across the broken ice and watched as she tried to piece it together. "And yet, I braved all those trials, the dragon cult, the riddles, spoke to a false Jowan because I believed the ashes would save Arl Eamon. Whether they were hers or not, whether Andraste was real or not, I had to have faith that it would work to even try." Her beguiling brown eyes turned up to his and she spoke, "Is that not what true faith is, belief without proof? Trusting that in your heart there is hope? That's what I got from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but it's not what people ever want to hear."

_Belief without proof._ He'd thought upon it from time to time, when his own faith wavered like a banner in the wind, when he clung by his fingernails to the hope that there was good in the world, there was righteousness, there was justice. Cullen needed all of those to be as real as Andraste, perhaps even more real.

Tears dribbled down his cheek, washing clean the blood left from the skin split apart in the fight. A single drop, tainted crimson from his own blood, splattered against the black phylactery. He watched the bloody tear wobble against the glass while his hands tried to hold the bottle still. A pinprick of light glinted off the blood drop and Cullen craned his head up to see that the sun finally gave up the sky to let night and a blanket of stars fill the air above him.

"In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know Your Light remains," Cullen repeated the prayer while wiping his blood off Lana's phylactery. A red stain remained behind along with a promise.

He found Alistair where he left him, a water skin pressed to his swollen jaw as he stared dejected across the landscape. Cullen approached with as much noise as he could make, but the king didn't look up. Pausing beyond the man's personal space, Cullen coughed, "I'm sorry I struck you."

"I know I had it coming. Had it coming for years," the king's voice was stripped, as blank as fresh vellum. Cullen had no idea if he meant it or felt he needed to say it to keep him from... _Maker, did he really threaten the life of a king? What would happen to him now?_

"So..." Alistair didn't turn to face him, his eyes gazing out upon the Imperium they left behind. "What now?"

"You lied about this," Cullen stepped around him to thrust the phylactery into his eyes, his fingers gripping tight to the glass.

"Technically you never asked," he shrugged, the sleazy grin of a child trying to escape punishment flashing across his battered face. Screwing his eyes up tight, Alistair pulled the water skin away revealing a cheek swollen to almost pitch black. "I don't know why it does that, but... Andraste's big toe, the first time I found her phylactery glowing I thought it had to be a trick. Someone replaced hers as a joke or, I don't know... I didn't believe it and was too scared to touch it. But it's her, that's all Lanny, nothing else. I felt her, you can't tell me you didn't as well."

Cullen gulped, his vision drawn to the glug of black liquid inside the phylactery. It was true.

"For the first time in two years I thought, I can fix this. I'll find Lanny, wherever she's gone, I'll bring her back. Then, it did that. Faded away in my hands, as if...as if she died in my arms," the king jammed the water skin tight to his left eye hoping that could mask the falling tears, forgetting the same fell from his right. "I get it, with the punching and anger and all, it killed me inside too. Holy Maker, He gave me this once chance and I wasn't fast enough. I couldn't move any mountains or divert the right river to save her. Failed before I even tried. I'd intended to give it all up, and then, clear as day, it burst back into life - ruby red and all, the light begging for someone to save her, to find her."

"Phylacteries do not behave in this manner," Cullen said. His throat constricted from the raw words rising up it, the logic like steel wool scratching its way to his mouth.

"Lanny's not just a mage. Maybe the, I don't know, the taint is messing with it. Or it's breaking down because it wasn't kept in a fancy templar storage crypt for years. Or..." Alistair dug his fingers into the grass, yanking it up in clumps.

Or something was holding Lana in a terrifying limbo - not alive, but not dead either. Cullen met the king's eyes haunted by a memory he couldn't understand, a shudder climbing across the king's broken shoulders. They had to find her. If that was the case, they had to free her.

Fingers pausing in mutilating the grassland, Alistair turned up to face him, his right eye narrowing, the left blocked by the water skin. "What do you intend to do, templar?"

"I..." _What was he going to do? He come to make amends to try and preserve something of the Inquisition's reputation, but-but what now?_ Squaring his shoulders, his chin lifting, Cullen dipped into nearly three years of command at the Inquisition's sword arm. "I will reach the end of this. If Lana is in any sort of danger or..." He gulped as the image of her body, emaciated and broken from two years chained in a lightless dungeon, flashed before him. "I will do everything in my power to save her, if it is possible. But there are conditions. First," Cullen tipped the phylactery side to side, "this will remain upon my person at all times."

He expected the king to argue, but instead the man snickered, "Go ahead. You can feel her die, come back to life, then die again every ten or twelve hours."

"Second, there are no more secrets."

"In general or about the phylactery? Because you know all I do about that and...if you want to know everything about me it's going to take some time. Let's see, I was born on a rainy Tuesday to a scullery maid in--"

Cullen threw a hand up, hoping it would silence the man. "I do not care where you came from, nor if you will return. We are not friends of any shade."

"Yeah, kinda figured that out when you were about to crack my skull open with your fist."

The color drained from Cullen's cheeks, his brain screaming at him that this man was his king. Even with the protection of the Inquisition, Alistair could enact his wrath upon Cullen's family in Honnleath if he wished. "You were quick to brandish your dagger," his tongue rolled out, unable to find any proper excuse for his actions.

Then, the strangest thing happened. With lips split open, his cheek so swollen it knotted up his eye, still wheezing from the pummeling against his ribs, the king of Ferelden broke out into a laugh. A chortle at first, it gained momentum with each gasp for air until he was wiping different tears out of his eyes. "Maker, I bet I look like warmed over cat barf. And you, you're like hitting a brick wall. Do you wear armor under your clothes?"

Throbbing rose up through his knee, the one the king smashed in without a second thought. Shrugging at the inanity of it all, Cullen sat in the grass beside Alistair but not near him. "I never expected royalty to punch with the force of a dragon."

"Ha! You've never pissed off Celene then. Or that king in Antiva. She's a real scrapper. I'd ask why a woman's a king there, but they have too many assassins and I prefer my liver not kebobed for my entertainment."

No one said the word truce, Cullen doubted he'd believe it from the man's lips anyway, but the tension wafted towards the stars as both men fell into silence. Honor flopped down beside him, grateful her two favorite people were no longer at war with each other. Her tongue lapped at the grass stains against Cullen's arms, a clump of mud falling into her gaping maw. It vanished before he had a chance to tell her not to eat it.

Without saying a word, Alistair passed Cullen his water skin. He held it for a moment, not feeling particularly thirsty, when the king jabbed a finger to indicate Cullen's jaw. Tracing his palm along the new beard, pain shattered into his teeth and inside his ear. Cullen held the skin against what was probably already a black and blue bruise, the cooler water oozing some of the sting away.

"We're quite a pair right now," Alistair joked and Cullen found himself agreeing. "What we need is a healer mage." He laughed at the idea and then a terrified look crossed his eyes, "We can never tell Lanny about this."

"Agreed," Cullen said tipping his head. Then he smiled and shifted the water skin to his swollen knee, "She'd be angry at missing it."

"Maker's breath, you are not kidding there. For being a mage, that woman has a real fondness for bloodsport. During the blight we fought in the dwarven, I don't know what they call it, death ring. Why? Was it for gold? Nope. To help get some bearded ass on their throne for our army? No. She just really wanted to fight. That woman scares me sometimes. Most times."

That he knew to be true. While she could easily have spent her days hidden in the library of Skyhold, Lana was often found lingering near the sparring yards. She rarely stayed long, as if she knew she shouldn't be there, yet she kept finding an excuse to drop by as the Inquisition's passable squared off. Cullen thought after Adamant he'd offer to teach her a few sword tricks. His heart constricted at that thought - to watch her eyes light up in joy from learning something new, to kiss her while her lips rose in a smile infecting his own, to hold her close -- her back pinned against him while he guided her hand.

"You said has instead of had," Cullen whispered.

"What was that?"

"When mentioning Lana, you used has and scares - present tense instead of..."

Alistair brushed back his hair, dusting it with the plucked grass, "I guess I did. I need it to be true, the world it's... It's not the same without her, it's not right. It's empty."

The pain in Cullen's knee and face was nothing compared to the shattered glass in his soul -- its tatters he feared could only be cured with Lana's touch. Dropping his head to his chest, he whispered, "I did ask."

"Hm? What's that?"

"After Corypheus was finished, I approached the Inquisitor and asked if he'd be willing to open the fade so we could search for Lana," Cullen screwed his eyes up. It took him days to work up the courage, even knowing the dangers it could inflict upon the world and his own training screaming against such dark magic, he had to try. "He refused after they received a letter from you about Lana's phylactery being black."

The king blinked his un-swollen eye rapidly and touched his forehead, "I never sent any letter about her phylactery, or even... Ah, damn Leliana, and her damn network of spies. She must have had some of them take a peek in and report back without bothering to ask me. They're freaking everywhere too, probably baked into pies and scurrying in mouse holes all over thedas."

After the Inquisitor less than gently refused, Cullen convinced himself that even if they'd sent a contingency of their best into the fade, the chances of finding Lana would have been impossible. The fade was endless and they had no hope to stumble upon a solitary mage among the thousands of demons. "I should have pushed harder," Cullen grumbled, pressing the water skin tightly to his knee. Lifting his head, Cullen spotted the wolf constellation Fenrir, its three stars pointing in the direction of what had to be Draconis' left toenail. All of that meant east, towards whoever or whatever held Lana.

"I should have too," Alistair sighed back. "Thrown that kingly weight around to do something good for once. What are a few demons to save the Hero of Ferelden?"

Pressing his fingers against the glass that gave no sign of life, no hint of hope, Cullen swallowed deep and dropped his head, "She wouldn't have wanted us to risk it. She wouldn't have wanted us to risk even this."

"That's what she gets for not being here."

_Andraste_ , Cullen prayed against the glass of the phylactery, he'd give anything for her to be here now. Above them the light of the Maker glittered, the stars waiting patiently to lead them on to ruin or, perhaps, the salvation he begged for.

## Chapter Twenty

**Memory - Stars**

_9:30 Kinloch Hold_

He was supposed to be patrolling along the roof following a set pattern worn into the soles of every templar. Their assignments rarely deviated beyond the occasional mage spell gone awry or the even rarer runner. By this time of night, Cullen should have circled past the slanted roof section that bore a resemblance to a nose and slipped down to the lower eaves off the northern edge. Instead, he stood just out of the circle of lantern light while a pair of mages sat upon the frozen roof's tiles. One stared up at the night sky, while the man beside her kept unearthing small bits of gravel to toss off the roof.

"It's freezing out here," he complained. Jowan. Normally, Cullen wouldn't much care about him as he blended into the average rank of troublemakers, but he was always in the range of...

"Then warm yourself. It's an easy enough spell," she flitted her hand towards him but didn't look over. All her attention was upon the stars enveloped in a smattering of clouds. Various books piled across her lap each begging for attention. At such a tiny size, only two could really rest upon her thighs, but she tried to keep a third one balanced anyway. It wasn't going well.

Jowan grumbled from her answer. He didn't want suggestions, he wanted to leave. Ever since they first popped out of the hatch on the roof, he'd been complaining loudly about the cold, the wind, and anything else to get them inside. She waved each grievance away as inconsequential. "I don't know why I came. It's not as if you need me."

"Because you owed me, and you know why you have to be here."

"Yes, yes. _Rules_ ," he slapped his hands against his thighs, watching his stretched out feet knock together. Cullen couldn't see her beyond that halo of curly ebony hair bent downwards, then up, as she kept a tally in her book.

"What's even the point?" Jowan began again, getting a sigh of impertinence in response. "You can't see the thing you're looking for with all these clouds."

"I can make due," she answered, back to scribbling in her notebook. The quill was one of those oversized white feathers yanked off a the tail of a bird from Seheron. A novelty joke, he rarely saw anyone use it in good standing, but she seemed to enjoy it, the cottony ends of the feather wiping over her face.

"This is stupid," Jowan whined. "I could be doing a dozen other things that would be a hundred times more useful than staring up at clouds hoping to find a star."

"Since when?" she volleyed. "Do you have some great meeting to attend to in Denerim I'm unaware of? Going to finally offer your arcane services to king Cailan?"

"Ho ho, aren't we hilarious. It just so happens I do have a meeting, of sorts." He puffed out his sunken chest to match a sudden jut to the weak chin, "Lily's waiting for me and I told her this would only take a minute."

Her quill paused and she turned towards the man acting more like a child with each passing moment. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Of course I am," he flapped his arms like a vengeful chicken. "Don't start that 'she doesn't really exist' thing, again. She's as real as the bitter cold up here."

"I'm fairly certain it was Margie you couldn't convince..."

Jabbing a finger towards her, Jowan scoffed at the mention of the third member of their trio, "I'm perfectly capable of wooing someone, regardless of what Marguerite insinuates and you encourage. Just because you can't bother to find anyone doesn't mean the rest of us have decided to go celibate."

"Well, you agreed to help me first, so... And this research is important. It'll help with navigation for--"

Jowan leapt up to his feet, hands landing upon his hips as if he intended to scold her to death, "Help how? So all of us in the tower can be even better at figuring out which way is north? Oh look, I bet it's along that north wall with the bookcases. Hurray, Lana Amell saved us all from the heartache of getting lost on the way from the privy."

She watched his rant, only her finger bouncing the end of that white feather as it wafted in the breeze. "And yet you were the one who made the promise."

"Then I'm unmaking it, okay. There's more to life than the spells, and books, and showing everyone up when you can."

"I never..." Lana whispered, what looked like an old argument flaring between them.

"Maybe if you yanked your face out of the library every once in awhile you'd have someone waiting in the warmth for you too," Jowan stomped around her pile of research, nearly knocking into the dampened lantern. "I'm heading in. It's not like you're going to jump off the tower, and there's a templar over there anyway to watch you." He pointed his accusing finger into the shadows exposing Cullen's hiding spot. Lana twisted from her place to find him attempting to blend back into the night, but it was a hopeless cause now.

Without bothering to say a goodbye, Jowan yanked open the hatch and slid two rungs at a time down the ladder to his freedom. Lana glared at the slammed door for a minute before speaking up. "Do I have to re-enter as well?"

Cullen had to shake himself to realize she was asking him. "Ah, no, it...you're fine here. I-I can keep watch in case of, um, you know."

"I have no intentions of killing myself. Jowan on the other hand..." she parted her fingers over her books, her threat hollow. The palpable excitement from when she first rose onto the roof evaporated into the night air. Colder than the previous week's watch, Cullen could see winter sliding ever closer to them as her snorting breath ringed around her head. Lana prodded at whatever she'd been writing on but didn't add another notch to it. Now that his cover was blown, Cullen slid closer into the aura of the lantern. At barely a blue flicker, the light only graced across the top of her cheeks sunken in regret. He was able to make out that it wasn't a journal or even scroll she was writing on but what looked like a series of great circles with dots and lines contained within.

"If you do not mind my asking, what are you working on?"

"Hm..." she shook her head as if to banish away the dour mood and turned to face him.

Once when he spotted her running through the halls in pursuit of some late class or possibly the mage that just abandoned her, the templar he was patrolling with nudged him in the side and said, "That one's gonna be a heartbreaker." They weren't supposed to think of their charges in such terms -- to envision them as anything other than a sexless mage. Not that that rule would stop a dormitory full of young men and women from propagating opinions about who was the most beautiful and/or handsome among the mages. Cullen never understood what it was about Lana that rendered her the 'heartbreaker' as opposed to the 'cheering squad,' 'temptation,' or 'strange one' labels the other mages received. She was breathtaking to be certain, the Maker granting her an easy smile which widened until her luscious lips seemed to strain in joy, and a short frame that made up for her lacking stature with generous curves. While her friends were few, they seemed steadfast, the kind only a childhood bond creates. He on occasion caught her casting spells during classes or practice, and the ease with which she created something out of nothing -- her fine fingers warping reality -- was enchanting. She rarely challenged the other apprentices in skill, and seemed to keep herself aloof from the rising romantic tension between the other young mages. Whatever made her a heartbreaker, he'd never see it. If he had to put a solitary word to her temperament he'd probably call her perfect, which was why Cullen was grateful no one ever asked his opinion. The rumors trailing him were damning enough already.

Those graceful fingers drifted across each of her drawn circles and she traced the lines, "I'm trying to recreate the Star Charts of the Imperium, but for southern thedas."

"Don't we already have one?" Cullen asked, remembering the few he'd seen drawn in blue ink and papered across walls at the training grounds. Then he kicked himself for crushing her spirit again, but Lana didn't retreat into darkness. Instead, she lit up brighter and pointed through her books.

"Yes, but there's this old theory hidden inside of here. So, you know how in the Imperium because it's so much farther north, further north? Eh, anyway, they guide themselves by the right claw of Draconis. Their beacon star, as it were."

He had no idea that was what they did, but Cullen nodded along swept up in her enthusiasm. She all but glowed as she flipped through her books and held up passages for him to read. Bending down closer so he could see the cramped print, for a brief second his fingers danced against hers as he picked up her book. Maker's breath, she was warm -- her skin vibrant in spite of the chill. "Here we use the heart of Satinalis," Cullen said the only thing he knew about the night's sky.

"Right, except, what do you do when Satinalis is covered in clouds?" she extended her hands over the whole sky which looked more like a lumpy grey-blue pudding instead of the stars in her books.

"You wait until morning and track the sun," Cullen said, then grimaced. But Lana smiled and a giggle rumbled through her chest. _By the void_ , Cullen had to stare daggers into the book to keep from leering at a canyon of cleavage jiggling below him. She was so short, it was easy for him to maintain a vigil above her head, but this close and with her sitting below him it was proving nigh on impossible to not leer at that perky form. Peeking out of the gap between skin and robe, he spotted a few more inches of that enticing birthmark across her neck. _How deep did it go down?_

"Assuming you're being chased by hungry wolves who have a hideout in the east," Lana invented her own wild tale, "and you need to head west to avoid them, what else do you do?"

"I admit, I have never had that exact happenstance arise, but my life's been rather sheltered."

That got him even more giggles. Despite glaring at the same sentence with all his focus, from the periphery he could still catch the occasional bounce of her ample assets. A burn more reminiscent of fire than a blush rose up the back of his neck. _What did he get himself into?_

"There's an old theory from before, long before. After the Imperium figured out that their beacon doesn't work here and before they discovered our heart, they used Fenrir. Here, like this," she twisted around her book and her star charts, aligning both up as her finger trailed first one then the other. "See how it lines up with the heart. Now, look at it a month later. The line is different, but it still points towards the heart."

Cullen dipped down to a knee to lean closer to the stars in her lap. "It changes based upon the time of year," he said.

"Exactly!" Lana shouted. Her exuberance took him by surprise and he turned to find her grinning face so close her breath warmed his lips. She didn't catch on, her find far more interesting than the man struggling to not fall off the roof in embarrassment. "So, I've been trying to track it. Of course the Imperium kept their own Fenrir paw prints from ages back, which I've used as a starting point and for when I can't get out of the tower each month to check the alignment. They used to have a wheel to guide them to..." Fingers fluffed up the book's pages and she closed her eyes. Her lips parted in an admonishing sigh as her sentence faded away into the night. "This does seem rather pointless. It is not as if I would have any need to navigate by stars, and the Satinalis heart does a fine enough job. Perhaps Jowan is right."

"I, uh..." Cullen had no idea how to respond. He wanted to tell her that the mage was only trying to wound her for his personal reasons. She was working on something that could have uses for people beyond the tower. But his tongue knotted itself up like twine in the pocket and he stumbled away.

"Finding someone, all the courtship and romance stuff," Lana snorted, speaking to herself despite a templar hovering near, "I've never been adept at that."

"I'd thought, heard that-that you and Jowan were..."

That snapped her out of her quiet funk and an eyebrow shot up her forehead, "Jowan? Maker's breath, I've known him since I was seven. It'd be...ugh!" Lana shivered at the thought and Cullen chided himself for ever entertaining the idea. They did spend an awful lot of time together, the man toddling in her wake, but they also argued often -- though that could be a supposed sign of infatuation, or so people insisted. He was terrible at spotting interest in anyone, that much he was certain of. "He's a brother and anything more is horrifying to think upon. That's it, the crux of the problem. It's too strange to cultivate interest in the tower with all these people I've grown up with. They're family, so... I don't know how one 'finds someone' without looking beyond that. And, Andraste's tears, I'm sorry for bringing this up with you. That, uh, rather. I should stop talking."

"It's all right. I, that is, I-I can, um." Understand. He completely understood. Cullen didn't know when he hit that age where a person was meant to stumble across his great love, woo her, marry her, and begin a family. Instead of waking one day and discovering he finally clinched adulthood, achieving that stage seemed to keep slipping him by. Even after receiving news that his eldest sister married in the spring, he still thought many more years remained before he'd need to figure out how to navigate these treacherous waters.

Lana gathered up her books, tucking her star charts safely away between the covers. She rose to her feet and plucked them into her arms. While struggling to collect them and the lantern, Cullen picked up the third. It felt warm in his hands from the time it rested in her lap. "I've done all I could with the clouds, and-and I'm certain you're tired of talking to me," she laughed while waving at the now starless sky.

"I could talk to you all day," slipped out of his mouth before his brain could reel it back in. Cullen almost smacked himself in the forehead, but that would have made it worse.

She didn't stammer in disgust, or slip away. Didn't scoff and flounce off as if he wounded her. Lana smiled, displaying a pair of deep set dimples marked next to her lips. _How had he never noticed them before?_ Bobbing her head while wearing a goofy grin, she reached for the hatch handle and yanked it up. Lana made it a few rungs into the tower when her head popped up. In a quick gasp, she said, "You're nice to talk to as well...Cullen." Before he responded, she slipped into the tower -- not that he could have responded in his gobsmacked state.

His name. She knew his name. Didn't just know, cared enough to learn it, to say it and... With the sound of her sweet Free Marcher accent speaking his name, he realized why she was called a heartbreaker. He was in love with her without her having to do a damn thing but be herself.

## Chapter Twenty One

**Scars Beyond Counting**

_9:44 Anderfells_

Littered across every backroad, forgotten thicket, and dried up riverbed on thedas rested towns of such little note no one bothered to jot them on a map or sometimes even name them. The three of them wandered into such a one hoping to find anywhere to pull back a chair and rest for the night. It proved more difficult than expected, as not only was the barely-a-village home to only a chantry and half tavern - the other half being the chantry itself - but the pair of them did not project the most welcoming of visage. Alistair's cheek swelled until he couldn't see out of his left eye; red dots broke out over the surface of the black bruise giving him the look of a plague carrier. Cullen wasn't in a much better state with his own bruises and constant scowl lengthening his hunched brow. He couldn't sleep after their fight, though the king went down almost instantly - his snoring jagged enough to keep any wild animals far from their uncovered camp.

With Lana's phylactery pressed in his hands, Cullen watched the stars slide through their nightly dance while he tried to recite all of the Chant of Light. He was no chanter himself and had to mumble through a few forgotten passages. By the time the sun rose, he startled from the king's hand on his shoulder, not out of sleep but from an almost hallucinatory state. His frozen fingers ached from how tightly he clung to her bottle willing it to do what the king promised it would, but no red light poured forth, no life returned.

It was Honor, out of all of them, who managed to secure lodging in the home of the Mayor/Guard Captain/Bartender. Diversifying was the only hope most small villages had of surviving. She had every intention to kick the dangerous ingrates out of her little town until she caught sight of the mabari gnawing upon a back leg and the woman melted. While the humans were left at a tight corner table, doing their best to not look at each other, the Mayor dangled all manner of succulent treats in front of Honor's nose. She'd preface each course with "I'm not sure if you'll like this" as if his dog wasn't prone to eating anything put in front of her, including but not limited to rocks, mud, sea urchins, and one pirate's eye patch.

Rolling the full mug around in his hands, the king kept glancing over at Honor lolling about in the floor in pure joy, then returning to his alcohol of some variety that had never before been categorized. He'd been quiet for their entire day's march towards the west, the silence digging a knife into Cullen's gut. Either it was guilt or a fear the king was waiting to retaliate; he couldn't be certain.

"Has it," Alistair began, then dropped his voice down as if the Mayor wasn't distracted singing a song with the mabari, "has it returned?"

Cullen's hand ran down the side of his leg, glancing upon the bulge from the phylactery in his pocket, "No."

The king frowned deeper. He dabbed his sleeve against his watering left eye and risked a full glug of the drink. "It's never taken this long before."

"So you say," Cullen countered with, but there was no victory there. He didn't want to be proven right.

"Maker," the king slopped his head forward on the table, "the suspense is killing me. Lanny better have a...a good reason to be playing around like this." He tried to laugh but it folded into a croak, the man rolling his forehead back and forth across the tabletop while he recited something unintelligible under his breath.

After a night and a day of this, Cullen couldn't stand anymore. Struggling to his feet, he smiled at the Mayor and asked, "Madam, may I head to my room? I could use sleep."

"Uh," she broke from a game of tug with Honor and a dishtowel. "Of course. There's only the one room and..."

"It will be fine," Cullen sighed. After the day, sharing a room with the man seemed the least worst news he could receive.

"Second door on the left, up the stairs," she said pointing in the direction behind her. Honor released her hold on the towel and took point as her master shuffled past.

Cullen waved a hand at her, "No, you can stay and play." Woofing once, Honor's entire backside wagged and she scooped up the towel to shove in the Mayor's hands. Trudging up the stairs one at a time, Cullen clutched his head tight, the pounding increasing through his veins.

Behind him, he heard the Mayor ask the only other person in the room, "Are you and he, um...close?"

Almost sad to have missed the king's stutter or more likely vapid response, Cullen stumbled into the second door on the left. It was pinker than he expected. Not the soft pastel pink of a nug's skin but a blaring and nauseating hue that seemed the shade to induce a homicidal rage if anyone gazed upon it too long. It was the kind of pink you feared to find on the edge of death while staring at the back of your eyes, or fresh blood mixed into white soap. Maker, that was not a fun malifecarum to take down. Sure, he's an evil blood mage who was chopping people up, but his soap makes skin so smooth and silky. It can even wear away wrinkles. It was the first time he'd ever seen Meredith blink in the face of such public scorn.

On the plus side, there were two beds in the room. Cullen slumped onto the first, baring a pink bedspread of course, and his backend sank another foot deeper towards the ground. He could feel the floor skimming not even an inch below him. It didn't matter, it was off the ground, that was the height of luxury for him now. Digging his boots off and placing them under the bed, he twisted around to lay out and discovered he was nearly a foot too tall for it as well.

"Can today go worse? I'm asking in case you had more planned as I'd prefer to get it out of the way now."

Andraste didn't answer his plea, but the whine of the mattress from the Blessed Age did. He massaged his temples, certain there had to be another four wrinkles added to his growing mass. Maker only knew how many more grey hairs snuck in overnight. A chuckle rumbled in Cullen's throat at how he'd look to Lana now -- ragged, aging, drawn, and haggard after two years of commanding armies. She'd probably shriek and run back into the fade.

He meant for it to help, to ignite a lightness in his darkened soul, but everything crashed inside of him. Walking kept him distracted, kept him from thinking about her, about the possibilities. After she fell into the fade, he'd often take meandering constitutionals around Skyhold before bed in the hopes he'd wear himself out so sleep would be instantaneous. By day, it was easy to throw himself into work, a hundred people needing to speak to him, needing to use him for whatever purpose was required of the commander. Night was when it struck him, when he was no longer the commander and only Cullen. When the final report was sealed up to be trundled off to Josephine, Leliana, or the Inquisitor in the morning, he'd lower the lantern light and find himself alone. His room was no longer the almost homey refuge from before, but a desolate prison. Each breath rattled through the thin air, amplified by the lack of feet stomping past his desk, the lack of bodies filling up his space, the lack of anyone breaking apart the endless void. He thought he was alone in Kirkwall, that he'd kept himself beyond the other templars, certainly beyond the mages or any civilians in the city. This was a whole new type of loneliness; the cliched frozen man with his nose pressed against a window pane watching the roaring fireplace and happy family inside.

"Lana," Cullen whispered aloud. His eyes burned from exhaustion and he screwed them up tight. "I wish you were here. I wish you were always here." Digging into his pocket, Cullen's fingers ran over the phylactery but he felt no life stirring inside. That wasn't what he intended for and he kept reaching until he grabbed onto the black crystal wadded below. Laying the pendant upon his chest, Cullen cupped a hand over what had once contained darkspawn blood. He never meant to keep it, she was right to suggest someone look into it, use it for anything to help. Then she fell and he couldn't part with the only piece of her she ever gave him.

When he needed to hear her words, to know she felt even a fragment of what he did for her, Cullen would flip through her journal. But if he needed to connect with her, to give himself a rung of life worth clinging to, he'd wrap his calloused palm around the crystal and squeeze hard enough to leave indentations. Now he rolled it around on his sternum, struggling to find a peace of mind.

"I wish I was better at this," he whispered to the pink room. "Better at talking to you, better at explaining what I'm thinking to you. I know you were in pain, it...Maker, I felt it too. Which isn't to say it was the same, that- Am I screwing it up without you even being here? Naturally. I wonder sometimes, if you'd reached out to me from your Keep, would I have gone to you? Left the order, stood by your side and abandoned the chantry to its own devices? A part of me wishes to believe it, believe I was a better man even then. If I had, if I'd been there for you, even responded to your one letter, for the love of Andraste, told you you weren't alone, I-I..."

He had no answer. In his heart, Cullen wanted to believe that if he'd done something for her she'd never have traveled to Seheron with the king, never fallen into such despair she took the Calling, met Hawke, and lost her wardens in the process. As if he could have shielded her from machinations beyond the both of them by some imaginary power of love. It was ludicrous, but it felt like the proper punishment for him. She tried, opened herself up, risked everything for his sake and what did he give her in return? Backed her into a corner? Made her feel terrible because she couldn't love him, may never love him? Was it such a surprise she chose to stay behind? To leave him?

For the first time in months, he felt the thirst clawing up his tongue - one that couldn't be slaked by any water or mead. It came at his most vulnerable. Even after five years of being free from the chantry and three from its song, the lyrium never left his mind, not fully. One philter and he'd feel whole again, right, not stripped for parts with his veins drained. He could drift away into the certainty that came with it, to have duty drilled into his marrow the way it once did. No more questioning every choice or wondering why. Cullen gripped tight to her pendant, swallowing repeatedly to try and drown out the thirst.

"I will be strong enough, I am strong enough for this. To reach the end of this..." Cullen's mantra drifted away as he wondered what would happen to him if after all this heartache they found nothing, or worse, came too late? Would there even be a reason for him to keep fighting? "Lana, I... Why does he call you Lanny? Why do they both keep on with that one?"

"Because," the king's voice broke from the door and Cullen sat bolt upright, his hand clenching around the protect the pendant. "That's what she told us all to call her. Sorry for listening to that part," he sounded broken himself, his good eye red rimmed as if from too much drink. But the man'd only had a pint. Alistair slid into the room and crumpled onto his bed, "All of us during the blight, we called her Lanny. I asked her once why that one, and not the Lana the mages used. Apparently, someone in the tower called her Lana and she didn't want to think about him."

Cullen narrowed his eyes and laid back, "I do not know who you refer."

"Jowan, it was Jowan. The one who..." Alistair paused, a snort reverberating in his bruised but not broken nose, "broke her heart. Then I went and did the same thing, bad enough to cover over her oldest friend becoming a blood mage and all but leaving her as a sacrifice for the templars. Maker, I'm an ass." He dropped his forehead into his lap, then groaned as his cheek brushed against thigh. "Just, tell me we'll find her, that she'll be right as rain and Lanny'll come waltzing back into our lives as if she never even left. I can't, I know she..."

Even with his head muffled by his lap, Cullen could hear the tears welling up in Alistair's eyes. He screwed his own up tighter to stem any threatening to rise. Barely pausing in his anguish, the king continued, "She was in pain, because of me, because I... For the love of the Maker, I knew all about her bad turns and yet I thought she needed time to herself, to fix it alone without me. You were right, she stayed behind because of what I did."

"No," Cullen's lips moved before his brain could shout at him to stop, "it was me."

Alistair lifted his head, snot dribbling down his nose, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. He let the tears continue unabated. "You? You didn't do anything. She blighted loved you."

He hated this man, hated him beyond reason, beyond a point of no return. They'd only tried to kill each other twenty four hours prior. Alistair didn't deserve to know a single thing about him. "She didn't. I pushed it on her, placed my own feelings upon her head, and she told me she wasn't ready to return them."

"I...uh," Alistair extended a hand out as if he needed to pass Cullen a kerchief or something. "I'm sorry."

"Why? Maybe she couldn't face up to telling me the truth of it, that she'd never feel for me what I did for her, so she remained behind." He'd never said aloud what flitted through his mind at the darkest hours. Cullen needed to blame someone, and he couldn't put it upon Lana - not again- so he turned to the next likely candidate, himself.

He expected the king to shake his head, huff off to sleep, or make some snide joke. Instead, the man slapped both his hands against his thighs, startling Cullen. "That is pure bullshit if I've ever heard it, and I'm surrounded by nobility constantly. I've heard every grade of bovine feces. Lanny, Lana, whatever you call her, she'd never in an age, in two ages, three give up on someone she cares even an iota about. And if Leliana noticed, spotted it enough to try and stick it to me years later, Lana cared deeply. I don't know why she wasn't ready. I assume it was my fault, most things are, but I knew that woman for eleven years."

"I thought you were only together for the blight," Cullen spoke up.

"Exactly, one year as lov...more and ten as friends. I've watched her rain fire down on people who'd so much as look crosseyed at people she'd befriend. She took on the crows for an elf that tried to kill us. Her friends were family, end of story, and she'd fight through anything for them." In the middle of his tirade, Alistair leaned so far forward he was in danger of falling clean off his bed. Suddenly realizing it, he didn't scoot back, but reached a hand down to the floor to anchor himself. "Look, Lanny, she didn't do the romance stuff much. She tried, but things kept getting in the way."

_Things such as a nosy king of Ferelden_ , Cullen thought. Then his traitorous brain threw up a familiar refrain: duty, command, never becoming attached for fear of suffering loss, thinking he didn't deserve it.

Alistair touched his bruised cheek and hissed from the pain. "If she tried with you, even a little bit of letting herself fall, shirking her duties and stopped being aloof, then she was far more gone than you can imagine. And now I'm sick and tired of trying to give a pep talk to the man who blackened half my face. If you don't mind, sleep's all I want to hear now." Without even prying off his boots, Alistair spun around onto his bed, faced the wall, and buried his head into the pillow. His feet hung off the edge, the man not caring a whit -- he was already asleep.

Cullen licked his fingers to dampen the candle. By the light of the moon hovering in the window he watched the smoke dance off the wick. Rolling onto his back, Cullen wrapped his hands around Lana's pendant in prayer and recited the first words to rise in his troubled mind, "I have faced armies with You as my shield, and though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing can-can break me...except your absence."

## Chapter Twenty Two

**Acceptable**

_9:41 Skyhold_

"All right, try it again and maybe get it right for once," Cullen grumbled, pacing back and forth across the grounds. It felt as if half of Skyhold paused in their duties to come watch; cooks, stable hands, even the horses themselves seemed curious to see his soldiers square off against the Hero of Ferelden. It was not going well.

Lana raised her hands for a moment, prepared to begin any of a dozen magical assaults they'd discussed earlier, when she turned to the man orchestrating all of this. "A moment, please." Unknotting the belt knotted around her waist, she slithered out of her sapphire robes revealing only a white corset and shortened pair of breeches beneath. Smiling sweetly, she passed the robe to Cullen. "It's growing rather warm out here."

"Uh huh," he nodded dumbly, watching her saunter back to her position as if unaware how her exposed skin glistened in the sunlight, the swoop of her shoulders cried out for his fingers to caress across them, or the unfathomable canyon dipping below that sweetheart corset instantly captured his gaze. Snapping his head like a bee flew into his ear, Cullen willed back every dirty thought crossing his mind. A few choking noises broke through his ranks, and he turned to find blushes rising upon various green soldier's cheeks. He didn't appear to be the only one struggling. What does one do when the greatest known hero in your lifetime gave you an erection? He had no answer as he was yet coming to terms with that fact.

"Okay," Lana nodded her head and the easy smile vanished, her luscious lips puckering in concentration. Before the soldiers had a chance to recover from their flush of infatuation, a blast of ice burst across their drooping shields. Thankfully, a few bore enough sense to scurry behind their only means of defense when Lana unleashed her second spell. Cullen had no way to know what it was beyond suggesting she avoid the entropy spells until the newest recruits managed primal. If he was back in the circle, every last soldier here would have been chucked back to the chantry with a suggestion they take up the cloth instead of the shield. He was shrugging off both primal and entropic spells before he needed to shave.

Expecting another obvious attack in the form of fire or ice, the recruits huddled together forming an almost decent shield wall - with gaps that'd let a chevalier through, but at least it wasn't pointed at the ground. Mana crackled in the air with enough fade energy to light the entire barn on fire, but Lana stood perfectly still. Nothing born of nature blasted off her fingers. Her radiant eyes were lightly closed while her thick eyelashes fluttered hinting at something working beneath. As both of her hands turned upside down, her eyes snapped open and a wave of magic washed over the recruits.

One by one, their shields drooped to slip from limp fingers; metal smacking into itself echoed through the Skyhold courtyard as ten soldiers fell dead asleep on their feet. If it weren't for their tight huddle, they'd all have hit the ground themselves. Instead, heads landed upon each other's shoulders forming an upright pile of armor and people. Snoring was the only sound breaking above the sudden quiet.

"You have to be kidding me," Cullen sighed, he reached up to massage his forehead and the growing headache, which caused Lana's robe to smack him in the face. He forgot it was dangling off his arm.

The mage tilted her head watching her subjects dream when they should have been fighting, "I did not expect it to affect all of them."

"It shouldn't have worked on anyone. A sleep spell?!" Cullen paced towards her, his boots kicking apart the few clumps of sod left in the area. "Any first year templar can shrug that off, an initiate with the ability to pinch himself can shake it free. This is embarrassing!"

"They're not templars," she said, a surprising gentleness in her voice. He expected her to show the same anger, perhaps even greater. They were preparing to siege Adamant by using the downtime to train everyone who'd never faced magic before and arming them with every skill possible. But instead of shouting with her own commander voice he knew lurked deep inside, she smiled and her eyes softened, "They look so sweet sleeping, like a pile of puppies."

"Is it too late to recruit mabari pups instead?" Cullen groaned, but turning towards the barely even eighteen year olds all snuggled up on their feet. It was an almost heart warming sight. Maker, how did they look so young? "Can you wake them?" he asked.

"I have no idea. I've never tried to aside from, you know..." she mimed lifting a staff in her hands and bringing the end down into someone's skull.

Snatching up two dropped shields below their feet, Cullen banged them together - the ungodly noise breaking her spell its echoes reverberating against every stone in Skyhold. As each soldier rose from their slumber, they glanced around to find whose head shared their shoulder, then with a solitary horror realized their utter failure. Every eye swung to the commander in guilt. He should reprimand them beyond reproach, perhaps pull out the old "Do you have any idea what you could cost us if you fail?"

Instead, Cullen sighed, "You know what you did wrong?" The recruits bounced their heads like scrounging chickens. "Good. Take a break. I think we all need it." Raising up the shields turned into cymbals, Cullen spotted dents from where he smashed them together. They'd need to be repaired, and in the meantime replaced before they continued with another round. Which is what he should have put the recruits through again. There was no time out in battle, no 'go ahead and catch your breath, I'll wait for you.' Something was making him soft, and he feared it was the same thing making him hard as well.

The side armory held a number of damaged but useable shields. Nodding at the recruits tumbling to the grass, their heavy heads in hands, Cullen yanked open the door. While the true armory held the anvils and a forge, this was little more than a storage closet for excess weapons not worth using but not worth tossing either. At barely enough space for one person to slide through the piles of broken armor, ripped leather, dented shields, and shattered swords, Cullen didn't expect anyone to follow him. Tossing the shields he smashed together in anger onto the ground, he started at the sound of the door closing behind him.

Lana smiled at his questioning eyes and jerked her chin in his direction, "You have my robe."

"Oh, right." He forgot he tossed it over his shoulder, all of Cullen's wrath focused on waking up his recruits. "It, uh..." pulling it off his body, he felt a cold draft ruffle up the sweat pouring down his back, "may be a bit wet now."

Those delicate fingers picked her robe out of his hand and she leaned closer, "I hadn't planned on putting it back on." Without a care, she tossed it behind her, the sapphire wool blanketing out over a pile of empty hilts. Cullen gulped, his mouth running dry from the hunger in her smirking eyes. She slipped closer to him and her breasts skimmed across his own chest, but she didn't reach out to wrap her arms around him, only stood achingly near.

"Wh...What did you intend?" He gazed down past her grinning cheeks, her blooming birthmark, and right into that damning cleavage. Lana was blessed with her fair share which the white corset, by some miracle, added to. Cullen bit down on the wild idea to dip his hands down the front of the straining fabric and free her breasts.

"I..." Lana reached a hand out, placing her elbow upon his shoulder, "noticed you." She added the second to the other side and stretched up on her toes. A moan rattled in the back of his throat, probably in the back of his soul as well. Those enigmatic eyes bore into his, her nose glancing upon his cheek as she tipped her head to the side and brought their lips together. After a few hours drilling in the brutal sun she shouldn't taste so sweet, but Maker, Lana was perfect, the last vestiges of the fade sparking off her lips. He yearned to drink her dry, to lap up every inch of her and then hunger for more.

She slipped away from his lips and rose up to whisper in his ear, "Parading around in that thin shift of yours, it's downright scandalous." Cullen craned his head to meet her eyes and found them ogling his body. Disbelief washed over him from her blatant lust for him. That wasn't possible - there was little for anyone on him to find enticing. For years he accepted his place in the hierarchy of attractiveness, almost grateful for it in Kirkwall as he drew so little attention. Lana's interest in him was baffling, and yet, Sweet Andraste he was so grateful for it.

"I never expected anyone to care what I wore," Cullen whispered in his sonorous tone. His lips brushed against her ear and Lana sighed from the bottom of her chest.

Humming under her breath as her fingers pulsed against his back, she smiled, "Does this mean you intend to wear nothing from now on?"

"Ah..." he chuckled, "your mind is deceptively devious, Lady Amell."

She shrugged, "I only wish to give the people what they want."

"Blindness?" Cullen laughed to beat her to the self deprecation.

Gliding her head closer, Lana caught him in another kiss, her lips puckering against his lagging top lip and then sucking upon the bottom. How he wanted to do the same to hers, to lick both that outflanked his own. She broke away again before he could dare try and leaned back in his arms. _When did he wrap them around her waist?_ Cullen couldn't even remember, the movement as natural to him as sheathing his sword.

"I want you," her husky voice was unflappable, as certain as the sunrise.

"That, uh, um..." Maker, he wanted her too; woke most mornings aching for her, spent his nights wishing for her to appear. "The door doesn't lock," Cullen gestured his head behind her at the armory entrance where his soldiers waited for him to return.

He expected Lana to slide out of his grasp, pick up her robe, and leave him to try and deflate himself before they began drilling again. Instead, she turned a cursory glance over her shoulder, lifted a solitary arm off him, and waved her fingers over the door. Ice exploded off the floor, thickening by four, five, six inches until they'd need an ice pick and a few hours to get through. Smiling at it, Lana turned back to him, "It does now."

"You are..." was as far as he got before he cupped her jaw and pulled her lips to his. No longer teasing, Cullen's fingers dug into her waist, guiding her tighter to him. She had to feel his own engorging reaction pushing against her stomach, it taking all claim upon Cullen's brain. Sliding up higher on her tortured toes, Lana's body rippled against his as if she danced to her own tune. The pressure building up through his loins cried out for relief.

Cullen's fingers canvased the back of her corset, then around the front, searching for the way in. He stumbled across the first knot and moved to untie it, but Lana grabbed onto his hands. "Hm?" he broke from their kiss, confusion knocking through his lustful haze.

She didn't snarl at him, or bat his hands away, only smiled, "I don't think there's time to bother with that."

"I...uh...?" _For the love of the Maker, why are you so tongue tied around her? Why does your mouth dry out and your palms sweat when she smiles with mischief in her lips and tugs you close? It's just sex._

_Oh Maker, it's sex!_

Cullen suffered that same momentary panic every time his brain accepted what Lana intended, what he himself wanted. Sometimes he could shake it off without her aware, other times he stumbled around all the placeholder words in existence hoping his mind would wake up and form something coherent. He wished he had enough presence to whisper those fabled sweet nothings in her ear, to tell her how his whole body burned with desire when he rested his palms on her hips, how the sight of her naked back glistening with sweat fresh from him driving her to the brink soothed and excited a part of him he never thought lived. But all that came out was a pitiful squeak like a newborn kitten. _What if he never could tell her?_

Unaware of his internal struggle, Lana's fingers lifted off his frozen in place against her hips and she grabbed onto his sword belt. The woman knew far too well how to unknot it, the blade crashing to the ground with the rest of its broken brethren. When her fingers worked around to the drawstring, Cullen spoke up.

"Wh- What are you doing?"

Smirking, she cupped her fingers down his bulging shaft hidden behind the breeches. "Evening the score."

"Oh?" It took a few heartbeats before his blood-less brain understood -- her mischievous eyes smiling at him. "Oh! I, uh..."

She hopped up onto her toes, trying to catch his lips, but having to settle for kissing his chin. Lips raked across his stubble, her tongue dipping into the divot. _Maker, her tongue._ Her wet, hot, slippery tongue gliding along his jaw. The same one she intended to, to...

A moan rolled off Cullen's own tongue from her palm cupping the shaft of his cock through his pants. Carefully, with a slowness he'd never seen Lana exhibit before, she twisted her fingers around the drawstring. "Hm..."

"What?! What...I mean, what?" he un-smoothly panicked from her pausing.

"It appears to be stuck. Not a problem, I'll use my teeth." Then Lana, the Hero of Ferelden, and some other fancy titles he couldn't remember in his fogged over mind dropped to her knees in front of him. Cullen reached out to grab onto her shoulder, steadying himself for fear that he'd die on his feet in shock or joy. Perhaps both. Unaware of his internal struggle, she unearthed the drawstring and, true to her promise, put her teeth to work unknotting the rope. As it fell apart in her grip, down came his breeches.

He should feel like a fool, bare assed standing in the armory closet while Maker knew how many people waited for them outside, but Cullen was euphoric. She hadn't even done anything and he almost wanted to break out into laughter from the very idea. Things like this didn't happen to him. And yet... Maker end him if it turned out to be a dream.

Lana's nimble fingers hovered a hair's breadth away from his trembling body, as she stared face to face with his cock. Then she turned her head up, her doe eyes reaching his. "You okay?"

Terrified what would happen if he tried to speak, Cullen nodded, his head bobbing adrift. She smiled, "Good." Before he could steady himself, her lips wrapped around the head of his cock. Groaning from ten years of discipline and repression shattering in a second, both of Cullen's hands braced himself upon her shoulders as her mouth slightly opened and her tongue rolled around it.

Not about to be left out of the fun, Lana's fingers gripped at the bottom of his shaft and she rolled them upwards, counter to her tongue's circles. Cullen gasped, dragging breath into his mouth as he feared he might pass out on top of her. His toes dug in deep inside his boots, anchoring him as a white hot pleasure seared through his skin. A flush crawled up his stomach, red and jagged like the silhouette of mountains from his body slipping deeper into the abyss.

Upon pressing her fingers tight to her mouth, Lana's hand broke away along with her mouth but she didn't leave him waiting for long. Starting at the bottom, she licked up his cock like it was a piece of stretched taffy. Whenever she reached the head, she smiled and kissed it tenderly. It was so silly, Cullen nearly giggled, the pressure abating even as she tended to him. She didn't want it over and done with quickly, she was enjoying it - an exquisite torture.

Maker, watching her suck upon him, he wanted to kiss her, to put his lips against all of her. The thought of it pushed through her light hearted strokes and Cullen groaned. Sensing he couldn't take more, Lana's lips opened over his head and she swirled lower and lower with her tongue while her fingers, slick in her saliva, jerked upward to him. Pounding against every rib, Cullen's heart raced while she glided him deeper then shallower down her throat, Lana handling all the thrusting. He bit into his cheek, his head thrown back, as he felt the rising tide swelling up through him about to burst.

Cullen pinched onto her shoulders, trying to warn her what was coming, but Lana didn't slow. She kept the same rhythmic rise and fall, pulling him inside of her until he lost his battle. Lights sparked across the back of his shut eyelids, every ounce of him firing deep into Lana's mouth. Instead of yanking her head away, she remained, taking it all and gently swallowing it, her tongue rolling across his still sputtering cock.

When the final vestiges fell to a drip, she slipped away, wiping off her mouth with her wrist. Cullen bent down to guide a hand under her elbow to help her to her feet. "I...that, I... Lana, you're, I..."

"Yes," she smiled, "You're I and I'm Lana." Leaning forward, she kissed him on the mouth, at first a peck, but he hungered for her lips and pulled her tighter to him. A hint of something foreign lingered in her mouth, biting and salty.

Still pantsless, Cullen wrapped his hands around the small of her back and pulled her tighter to him. "You didn't have to do that."

"I very much wanted to, if you couldn't tell," her warm body folded inside of his. In his euphoric state, he wanted to fully envelop her forever and never let this woman leave his sight for even a moment.

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he sighed, "That I can, well, I can pretend to understand. But I meant the, um..."

"Swallowing?" she smiled. "The warning was sweet, by the way."

He had no idea if he should but it seemed prudent either way. A few final drops of his sputtered out. He tried to wipe them onto his hand, but Lana slid it out the way as she hugged deeper into him. "What, uh, if you don't mind my asking, what does it taste like?"

Even with her cheek snuggled against his chest, he felt her eyebrows rise in surprise, "You've never tried your own before?"

"It seemed, I didn't think to, uh," Cullen stammered around, knowing the flush of desire ramped back to his usual blush of embarrassment. "No, I never have. Have you tasted yourself?"

"Of course," she shrugged, "how else would I know?" That thought ticked deep into the lustful part of his brain, and for a moment, he felt his cock stir as if it could go for seconds. "To answer your question, semen's a bit like a salty stew that's been overloaded in cooked bitters. Not the most interesting, kind of thick the way a chowder is, until this bite after. Can get a bit numbing too. And I have effectively destroyed the mood." Her voice fell as if he hadn't been the one to ask.

Cullen's fingers skirted along her cheek, brushing the one not pressed against his chest. "You've done nothing of the sort. I am in a state of disbelief which will carry for the rest of the day, two days, perhaps a week, but...you are- I can scarcely believe you find me acceptable."

Her lashes fluttered against his thin shirt as she blinked her eyes rapidly, then Lana pulled her head away to look up at him. "Acceptable? There are women fainting in the street when you approach. Declarations of duels happen on the hour for your hand. I heard talk of a very devoted fan club operating in Skyhold."

"No, that's, you're being facetious," Cullen blushed.

"I believe they called themselves Cullen's Cuties, no Cullenites? Something of that nature. And they meet every Thursday at the tavern," Lana mused to herself. At his scoff she tapped her palm against his chest, "What about the ball? You had dozens of women almost literally hanging off you for the entire dance. That doesn't happen to men that are only deemed acceptable."

"It's not, that was," foolishness enveloped up his legs. How could he explain it to her? From the first moment he saw her, when she was only seventeen, Lana was achingly gorgeous. If she suffered an awkward stage, either it occurred long before, or most likely, she pirouetted through it with grace. "I know intellectually what I appear as now, but there are days when I'm that young man with hair like steel wool and a spotty complexion."

"Cullen," her fingers, one by one, drew across his cheek, down his nose, and along his jaw. "I was smitten with that young man, adored your curls, and cared not a whit for the spots of youth. You were..." Lana swallowed, her pupils wide in the dim light giving her eyes an enigmatic depth. "You've always been adorable. Anyone who says otherwise can soak their head in the lake."

He scooped her up for a kiss, lifting her as high as he could manage until the tips of her toes drifted past the floor. Lana's arms knotted around his neck so she could match his fervor with her lips. Maker, by all that was holy, he didn't deserve her. Knowing what he did, who he was for so many years -- what kind of creator would see fit to give him even a moment of Lana's attention? He wished he didn't have to let her go, but there was a party of recruits hoping to prove themselves outside. Cullen released her back to the floor and bent down to lift up his trousers. After tucking himself back safely, he knotted on the belt and nodded his head.

"We should return to our work."

"Of course," Lana smiled. She turned back to her ice wall that'd barely dripped throughout their moment. Before her hands lifted up, she spun back, pecked him on the lips, then yanked the entire structure apart. It wasn't ice chunks that shattered to the wood floor, but a gallon or two of water splashing across the floor towards their shoes.

"Cullen," she knotted her fingers through his, gripping tight, "you're a good man. I've always had faith in that."

He started from her frank words, but before he could respond, the door cracked open. Lana slipped her hand away and stepped further from him as one of the recruits poked his head inside.

"Commander, and your Hero-ness. We're prepared to try again and fend off the sleep attack."

"That's good, because you won't be fighting a sleep spell," Cullen said. "Lady Amell will be whipping up something new. You have to learn how to think on your feet when fighting a mage. You all do," he lifted his voice so the others huddled around the door would hear.

"Right, right, uh," the soldier bobbed his head trying to not look terrified. Then a queer look twisted up his face and he peered downward, "Why is the floor covered in water?"

"You should be getting in line," Lana interrupted, covering for Cullen's stammering blush. She yanked up her robe and slipped it on quickly while walking back into the yard. After knotting her belt, she turned to him and asked, "Commander, after we are finished for the day, do you think you would have free time later in the evening?"

His eyes lingered over the eager recruits all waving their swords and shields in anticipation. "For, uh, what purpose...Lady Amell?"

Lana turned to face him with a delectable smirk, "To uneven the score."

Cullen awoke with a start, veins throbbing across his entire body as the dream clung tight and refused to let go. He reached over to grip his forehead and steady himself back to the present, when he felt it. Every hair on his body yearned for him to be further west. Digging madly into his pocket, he unearthed the pulsing red phylactery. Touching bare skin to it, visions of green floated through the back of his mind - and a coldness that dug into his core, but none of whatever that was mattered. It was Lana; felt of her, her sight, her mind, everything that was her. Forgetting where he was, Cullen let out a generous whoop! The other man sharing the room rolled over, smacking his lips like a roused dog, then the crimson light of the phylactery struck him. Alistair tried to leap off the bed, but overnight his dangling feet lost all feeling and he misjudged his attempt, smacking chin first to the floor.

Even with his mouth pressing into the wood and dangerously close to Honor's back half, he smiled, "Told you so."

"I...all right, you may have that one." Cullen was happy to give it to him, happy to have even an inch of hope gifted back from the void.

The king pushed up on his hands, turned his face towards Cullen, then whipped it back at the wall, "Guessing you were asleep when it lit back up."

"Yes...?"

"There can be certain, um, a lot of times I'd have memories flood back, you know. Certain kinds of memories that..." He waved his hand vaguely in Cullen's direction without moving his head to look.

"What are...?" Cullen glanced down and the blush stampeded across his cheeks. He raced to throw a blanket over his lap. "I uh, it was--"

"Don't want to know!" Alistair interrupted. "Never ever want to know in any way. I think I'll go see if our friendly Mayor has any breakfast," he said, crabwalking out of the room with his head still craned away from Cullen. "Meet you later to head out. Probably much later."

## Chapter Twenty Three

**Griffins**

_?:?? ?_

She shouldn't be alive - that fact resonated through her veins, across her aching fingertips, and over every inch of skin coated in spider ichor. The spiders -- or demons pretending to be spiders -- were endless, a bottomless cavalcade marching to destroy the only mortal in their vicinity. Lana refused to go down without a fight, her wards flaring almost the moment they activated, her fire hot enough to scorch back against her mutilated hair. And still, it was a drop in the bucket against the armies forming against her.

_Why was she yet drawing breath?_

Rather than face death by venomous pincher, she dipped beyond her mana ration - a dangerous tactic that on occasion paid off. In this case it didn't, the blood in her ears pooling as her head thundered and oblivion enveloped her. She should have died there, passed out while a continual march of spiders  chewed her apart. When she woke, the spiders were gone, only the corpses of the one's she'd obliterated remained - their legs twitching from the crackling fires fueled by hair across their blistered bodies. Staggering to her hands, Lana stared out at the horizon but it no longer wobbled, as if something or someone patched up the gap that allowed the multitude to attack. This was wrong. She was missing a slot in the puzzle, guessed the riddle wrong, or barely spotted the hidden rune.

While Lana chewed on that thought, she scissored her obsidian blade back and forth across her hair, chopping it back to clear out a knot wound around a spider's ripped off leg. There was no chance she'd get it free without help, as with most of the snarled knots she'd gained over the years she took to chopping them off. Her hair was the least of her problems. What she needed was...

"You have been rather busy," Wynne's voice echoed through the fetid battleground.

Lana finished off sawing through the ends and sat up off the rock she pressed her cheek to. "I need to talk to you. Actually, I thought you'd be the other one."

"Yes, _that_ one. Interesting that it has taken no form. A curious question." Wynne wasn't dressed in her usual robes of the circle, clean and pressed in fabrics that'd tear in the wild. She wore armor crafted for the battlemages of old, metal gleamed off her shoulders, elbows, knees, across her thighs, and down her arms. A sheet of chainmail glinted below the fade touched wool enchanted to shake off a blade better than any leather could. She came dressed for war, the question was against who.

"Where is it?" Lana struggled to her feet. She'd anticipated being exhausted having drained every inch of her magic to slay the spiders, but she'd slept while in her faint. Unable to keep out of the faint, her body chose death in sleep. It should have revived her, even momentarily, but her thoughts drew sluggish across her brain, her limbs aching to drag her back down to the ground. Sleep no longer seemed to work upon her.

"Off somewhere doing whatever it does," Wynne gestured with her sword, the blade sizzling in blue energy. "But that isn't why you called me to you. You have a question."

_Called? Was that what Lana did?_ She knew the spirits popped up at the more inopportune times, but... Jowan was there whenever her heart dug through her past faults, Nathaniel when she roused herself to keep going because it was expected of her, and Wynne when she found a question that needed an answer. Then what inside of her called the other one, the dangerously powerful spirit?

Squaring her shoulders, Lana looked over at Wynne, "Why did I survive?"

"I believe it has to do with the balance of your humors," Wynne answered without answering.

"You know that is not what I... What took down the rest of the spiders? What killed them when I became incapacitated?"

The spirit's shrewd eyes glanced over at the woman nearing the end. She felt it dangling in her heart, something beyond her ken pressed harder and harder against her body, wringing it out until nothing remained. Lana couldn't explain it, but she knew she had little time left.

Wynne smiled, "Is that really the question you are most curious about?"

"Yes, damn it! It's the reason, the answer to...to what? What is going on?"

Without a care for her armor's backside, Wynne plopped down onto the spider. It should have cracked in half, the guts spewing down the crack from her weight, but the spirit hung in the air. "Did you by any chance dream?"

"Not this again!" Lana threw her arms up, rage fueling her body with energy as she paced back and forth. "Yes, the green barrier was there, the cold - bitter as frost in a crypt - and...the hand, that grey hand reaching for me." Her legs paused and she screwed her eyes up, struggling to bring back the dream.

It was almost impossible to make out through the wobble of the air around it. The hand curled, but not towards her, the fingers elongated strangely and pressed together as if stretching towards the sky...

"Oh Maker," Lana's stricken face glanced up to Wynne, "It's not a hand. That's a wing, a wing on the statue of a griffin. I'm dreaming about a Warden fortress."

* * *

_9:44 Anderfels_

"And you're certain this is it?" Alistair asked, rolling up and down on his heels.

The templar dug out the phylactery that never left his pocket and pressed his palm against it. "Dead certain. If Lana's alive, she's located inside of that..."

Leering, honest to the Maker leering, off a the bitter edge of a cliff to a stained death below rested a fortress. Not the worst thing they could find, and honestly, he almost suspected to come across something like it. Alistair came prepared to make any and all offers of gold, fancy silks, an adorable mabari pup, or all the turnips they could have in exchange for Lanny. Let the crazed Duke, or Bann, or whatever of the fortress come to make demands. If the owner wasn't in a bargaining mood there was always deal by sword. Except, there was one teeny tiny problem -- there was no door. Someone built the fortress' front walls around themselves completely forgetting to add a door and sealing whoever lived there inside it. Now, there was paranoia and preferring solitude, then there was taking the time to build solid walls around yourself with no escape should the stables catch on fire, or you starve from a dwindling food supply inside. Even the nearest water source was a good half a day hike down the twisting paths of the steppes.

A lone vulture circled above the pointed towers, its death caw rumbling a naked flag pole. The roofs themselves bore spikes, as if the inhabitants feared invaders would swoop in out of the sky to try and sneak in. No windows broke through the wall circumscribing a smaller hold buried deeper inside, no banners dangled off the stones to declare who owned it. Dead vines, the color of a bleached skeleton, climbed up the walls. No flowers or leaves graced any of the foliage, only thorns bothered to grow. If stone could reek of death, this would turn a Mortalitasi's stomach.

"What do we do now?" Alistair sighed, digging the heels of his hand into his eyes.

"Do you know what this place is known as?"

"Of course," Alistair bit back, "it's called 'You're Screwed' Castle; part of the 'Fuck Off' estates. Very exclusive." The templar let him chatter his head off; he needed it, needed to think - to try and conjure up an idea while glaring at the vulture. Swooping through the clouds without a care in the world, the vulture landed upon a statue. Able to only see the top crest, Alistair rose up on his toes and danced towards the side until it came into view.

"At least we know one thing about it," Alistair laughed, his finger pointing at the tell tale griffin statue. After recognizing it, he spotted the same reliefs scattered around the area, worn by time and weather, but legible when one knew what to look for, "This used to belong to the grey wardens."

"What?" Cullen placed her phylactery back in his pocket and moved to unsheathe his sword.

"Whoa, easy there. Just you, me, a vulture, and miles of dead plants."

"Corypheus was discovered in a warden prison much like this," Cullen continued, a burn lighting up his taciturn face.

Shutting up his eyes, Alistair listened for the familiar drumbeat of the voices of darkspawn calling in the back of his head, but nothing echoed out. Except...something, a faint whisper that strung against him. He could barely make it out, but he knew it better than he knew himself. "No darkspawn, no voices in my head."

"That's debatable," Cullen sulked, but he removed his hand off his sword.

"But..." Lanny? It could be other wardens, or maybe some darkspawn deep underground he was picking up on. So close now, Alistair's heart pinged in a painful hope.

"But what?" Cullen picked up on his lost thread. The man bore his own black eye with a scowl that made it appear ten times worse. It was no wonder most caravans chased them away when they saw that face coming at them. For being the decorated commander of the Inquisition, he screamed 'terrifying bandit likely to pluck out your kidneys' when angry.

Rubbing his face, Alistair weighed whether it was worth telling him about his darkspawn sense. It'd probably lead to another argument about how he was only imagining what he wanted to, he could be lying, and anyway who says he could feel Lanny anyway? Rather than face that headache, Alistair yanked out their crude map and drew a finger across the nearest town. "But I bet you anything, someone near here knows how to get inside this fortress. People don't grow up near this thing without bored kids daring each other to break in. Nowhere's impenetrable."

The commander nodded his head, "That is...makes some amount of sense. We should head there immediately, the phylactery is fading again." He didn't grimace, his face already pinned into an eternal frown, but Alistair knew he had to feel it. When the phylactery rose back to life it was like a burst of euphoria, hope, whatever you wanted to call it. But when it faded away, every despairing thought washed over him. The templar bore it all without a complaint, which drilled into Alistair's back teeth. He whistled for his dog to put down her latest stick and began the march towards the only living blip on the map.

Drawing nearer to the town, Alistair gestured towards what looked like an inn. He couldn't read the sign, but whenever anyone makes a straw dummy and slaps it over a door it's either an inn, tavern, or the local executioner's house. They'd either find lodging, a drink, or their own pick of head pikes in the morning. Cracking open said door, the braying of drunken laughter and smells of alcoholic urine slapped both in the face. "I think I guessed right," Alistair quipped to himself, getting a sigh from the sullen templar.

Taverns were taverns, you needed only three things to make one work: tables made out of founded wood probably crafted from some hanged men's half used pyre, a bar for the crusty old tender to sop behind, and at least three villainous scums to fill up the back. Extra points if one of them wore an eyepatch. This one bore the tables rotten enough for one to risk a splinter the breadth of a dagger, the bartender - a dwarven woman who cracked a glass on the bar rather than clean it - and eyes glittering in the shadows trying to size up the newest men. It was like finding home on the other side of the world.

"Ten sovereigns says someone's gonna walk through that door and invite everyone on an adventure," Alistair whispered to Cullen.

"Is that not why we are here?" he said, causing Alistair to pale. _Maker, he was right. Well, may as well play the part._

While Cullen kept Honor tight to his side, Alistair moseyed up to the bar and placed his hands upon it. He dare not risk sitting on the stool for fear of suffering hook worm in tender areas. "What's on tap, my dear woman?" he asked in his jolly tone.

"Whatever comes out of the big bucket," she said, throwing her hand back to smack against the giant keg. Alistair swore he heard gurgles crying out in pain from its depths.

"Ah, that's all right. I was hoping for a bit of information."

"Quests are for paying customers only," the barkeep interrupted, then she smashed her fist against a sign proclaiming the same, rattling the chains dangling it off the ceiling.

"It's not a quest, it's about that fortress to the north of here. The grey warden one." Every voice in the tavern dropped as dozens of eyes swung from their drinks to drill into the newcomers. "I was only wondering if anyone here had knowledge about it..." Alistair continued, trying to not gulp in fear. That was as good as waving his red underwear in front of a bullshark.

  The barkeep eyed him up, but a strange pity brimmed in her good eye. "A nice boy like you doesn't want to have a thing to do with Ishonmoq Hold. No one should. It's haunted."

"Haunted?" Cullen leapt into their conversation, the templar's sneer in place. "Do you mean demons roam through it?"

Her eye traveled up to the other man, the not-so-nice-one, and she clammed up. _Great_ , Alistair rolled his eyes. He almost had her opening up, then ray of sunshine there had to rush in and break it up.

"Haunted is haunted. We don't mess in warden business around here."

"Funny you should say that," Alistair began, "because I just happen to be a..." A fist jabbed him in the side, cutting off his words and he turned to the man who'd tenderized the area before. "What are you doing?"

"It seems unwise to go announcing that fact around here," Cullen whispered. "These people don't seem grateful about the wardens." Alistair followed his head jerk to an old griffin shield nailed to the wall, red stains splattered across it and the wall where some of the well inebriated missed with their rotten tomatoes.

"What am I supposed to say then? Tell me how to get into the fortress because I'm a king and this is the commander of the Inquisition?"

"How should I know? It was your plan," Cullen sighed, wanting to maintain his anonymity as much as Alistair.

The barkeep interrupted their whispering session, "I don't know what little lover's quarrel you two are having but unless you're buying, we ain't got room for you."

Swallowing down the assumption that Alistair would ever lower himself to someone of the templar's standards, he smiled at the woman and held up his fingers. "Two of the best in stock."

"That'd be the tap," she said, jerking her head towards it again, then she began to draw from it.

With their shared samples, king and templar flounced off to a table along the wall and glared into their mugs. An oily slick floated along the top of Alistair's beer. He'd had no intentions of drinking it before, but now he was curious. Did they drop lard into their alcohol in the Anderfells? Butter, perhaps?

Unimpressed, Cullen shoved his offering away and smashed his face down onto the table. "I am at a loss," he moaned. "If we had the Inquisition's connections I could tear down that wall in a day."

"That's assuming they even have any trebuchets left." Alistair dipped a finger into his mug. His nail didn't sizzle and fall off, promising.

The commander's head snapped up and he glowered, his eyes all but vanishing in the folds of his anger, "Which would be your doing."

"We're back to this? I liked it better when you hated me for Lanny. Look, you may not want to hear it, but your little army was scaring a lot of easily spooked people. The kind of people who glance down and start to think, oh shit, are they going to start a war? Add in the fact it had connections to Orlais, who a lot of people are not happy with, and the chantry -- ditto -- and thedas was growing a bit tetchy."

"I heard nothing of the sort. We were on good standing with many neighboring countries. Even Tevinter..."

"Smiled at you while circling around the back with a knife. Come on, you're not that stupid," Alistair said, extending his hand towards the broken man. He paused, blinking his eyes with the terrifying realization that he actually knew something about politics. _Shit, when did that happen?_ "And you did almost start a war with the Qun."

"Who never held a treaty with anyone," the templar continued to stick up for his less-heretical group.

"Yet, aside from Tevinter, they left the rest of us alone. Oh, and Kirkwall." Alistair paused in his thoughts, then placed his mug back down before taking a sip. "Andraste's knickers, maybe it's you."

"What?"

"You were in Kirkwall, boom Qunari attack, and then the Inquisition. Maybe their Arishock hates you. Like really, really hates you. Shit, maybe he's trying to protect Lanny. That'd be hilarious."

Cullen smashed his head back against the table, groans erupting from below, "I despise conversing with you."

"An entire invasion because her big, hornless qunari friend doesn't think you're good enough for her," Alistair mused to himself, tickled at the idea. He knew it wasn't possible, Sten wasn't that kind of a softie, though they did hit it off again in Seheron. If it weren't for Lanny's smooth diplomatic skills, the qunari might have finished them all off as something to do between meals.

While Alistair steeled himself to risk a sip of his drink, Cullen complained, "Your blathering gets us no closer to a way into the fortress."

"Begging your pardon, but did I hear you say you're trying to breach Ishonmoq Hold?"

Alistair choked on his beer before any got into his mouth at the hulking qunari standing politely beside their table. She, and it was obviously a she with her extensive lady parts barely covered in strips of fabric crisscrossing her chest, tapped a claw against the wood. Her white hair was buzzed back save a strip knotted around her horns and extending deep down her back. He'd guess she was older, perhaps in her forties, but it was hard to tell with qunari. They didn't seem to get wrinkles, just scars in the place of wrinkles, and she had them by the boat load.

Rising his head off the table, Cullen groaned, "Oh, wonderful. Just what we need, a qunari."

The woman smiled, displaying the sharp teeth of her people. "I'm not qunari. I'm tal-vashoth, a..."

"Mercenary," Alistair interrupted.

"A freed mind," she finished with instead. "My name is Aqun and if you intend to break into Ishonmoq without employing siege weapons you will require my help."

"Why would you know anything about the fortress?"

She smiled again, her grey cheeks rising in a flush, "It has not been opened since the second age. I intend to be the one to crack into it."

"You intend to pillage it for your own gain," the templar harrumphed as if he intended to sabotage their only lead.

"No, I do not care about any valuables. My interests lie in the history, the knowledge that transpired inside the hold. Thousands of years undisturbed, it is remarkable to think upon what past rests within," an electric sheen rolled across her eyes as she spoke those words, which caused a tremble up Alistair's spine. Lanny got that way sometimes, when she was leaping around in excitement over something or another that always led to lots of spiders.

"Are you saying you're a qunari scholar," Alistair sputtered, trying to stifle back a giggle.

"Tal-vashoth," she groaned at him, "and yes. I have studied Ishonmoq for years, probed it for a weakness through the multiple defenses, and I believe I have finally discovered one."

Alistair's curiosity rose, but Cullen leapt in to dampen it, "Then why do you need us? Why have you not taken this yourself?"

"Because," her head drifted between the two men now sitting on the edge of their seats, "it requires a templar to break in."

"How do you...?" Alistair began, but Aqun spoke over him.

"I will give you time to think it over, but there is no other option. Either follow me and together we open Ishonmoq, or remain here for years struggling to find a way in." Having given her ultimatum, Aqun snatched up Alistair's mug, downed it in one go, and slipped out of the door.

"There goes trouble with a capital Q," he mused to himself while watching her also barely covered backside. That had to be a distraction during battle, or maybe they thought the bad guys would only shoot at the barely armored bits. "Well, I'm guessing we take her offer."

Cullen whipped his head, then gestured to the door, "We do not know this woman. A qunari?"

"Tal-vashoth. Maker, I thought you'd know the difference."

"Who could in actuality be a qunari spy," Cullen argued back.

"I thought all their spies were elves and humans to throw people off the scent. The horns are a bit of a dead giveaway," Alistair rubbed his head as if he sported his own set.

The templar growled, "Which seems more likely, a tal-vashoth scholar reclining in a backwater tavern happens to have the only way into the fortress we need to breach, who also seems to be aware one or both of us were templars, or she's a qunari spy being fed all that information from the ben-hassrath?"

Alistair banged his fist on the table, needing to feel something, "It doesn't matter. Evil qunari spy, funny tal-vashoth scholar, either way that's it. That's our way in. Unless you want to wait a couple months out here sending letters you hope people answer, then more months for their sappers to arrive, we have no other option."

Folding his arms across his chest, Cullen sat back in the chair. He tipped his chin down deep as he digested through Alistair's thoughts. Didn't matter how he added the maths, there was one answer and one answer only. "Very well, but know that I do not like this."

Swiping the templar's drink, Alistair took a deep swig. It was butter after all. Wiping off his mouth, he sighed, "For the little it's worth, I don't like it either. Now, let's go find our qunari spy and get this over with."

## Chapter Twenty Four

**Memory - Gold Ring**

_9:43 Skyhold_

A solitary gold band rotated around Cullen's finger, plucked from the middle of his cherry custard before he bit into it. His eyes narrowed, curious which cook was missing a wedding ring, when a memory snapped back at him. He moved to wrap his fist around the incriminating jewelry, but it was too late, he'd been spotted.

"The commander found it," Josephine cried out, clapping her hands. A few half hearted groans echoed around the great hall and almost everyone turned to the man trying to turtle inside his coat. He didn't need this, not now. Preferably, not ever. "Congratulations," she continued clapping, loving this holiday tradition with each debilitating moment, her joy drilling into his teeth.

Somehow, Cullen staggered to his feet, the hilt of his sword smacking under the table in the endeavor, and he walked stiff legged towards the ambassador. She beamed at him with enough enthusiasm to set curtains on fire. "Madam Ambassador," he struggled to not groan out her name as he extended the palmed ring and tried to quietly hand it to her, "I don't think it's appropriate for one of us to...take away from the festivities. You should pass it on to another. Hide it in their, I don't know, drink or something."

"Nonsense, commander. You are as eligible as any other unmarried man or woman." Her eyes softened as she gazed skyward at the flowers twisted into love knots and dangled off the tapestries to honor the day, "It's all rather romantic to think upon, don't you agree?"

"No," he struggled to swallow, a buzzing rising in the back of his head. Glowering at the ground, he placed the ring in Josephine's hand and stomped out of the great hall. He felt the curious stares, the barely guarded whispers following him, but he was in no mood to answer to any of it - rather doubted he could form a response either beyond a growl.

His head didn't rise from glaring at his feet until he was safe in his office, alone. Cullen followed the same rote moves he made whenever returning from a meal - he checked his in-pile to see if anything new had arrived, scoured over the rosters with a double check for any injured, and... _Why did it have to be him? Out of the hundreds of people serving in Skyhold he had to be the one to find it? What sort of joke of the Maker's was this?_ Or worse. He mentally sneered at the pranksters moving through the ranks of the Inquisition, Sera in particular. _Could one of them have planned it all to get under his skin?_

The day's work fluttered out of his hands and he gripped onto the desk. A dark urge to either rip the top off or smash his forehead into it percolated in his mind, but Cullen planned to do neither. It was tradition -- traditions were meant to be fun, playful. A lark to honor some old chantry holiday on the calendar. Why did so cursed many of them have to involve marriage? Harvest festivals, winter watches, summer days, even some of the feasts devoted to Andraste managed to work romantic love into the celebrations. As if a person who wasn't involved with another surely wanted everyone to devote the holiday browbeating them into a relationship. He wished he could purge the heart from his chest and preserve the beating organ under glass upon his desk. _There, if that is what you are so interested in, have a gander. I am through._

Cullen pulled back the bottom drawer and picked up the blue glass bottle. He frowned at a dab of wax lifting free of its hold on the glass and tried to rub it back down with his finger. At least none of the ashes had shifted out yet. Perhaps it needed to be kept in a more secure place, or he needed to stop manhandling the thing.

A year. Thirteen months since Lana...since she walked into the fade and didn't return. Few knew about them, about their dalliances, and he was happy to maintain the secret. It meant few tried to comfort him, offer a shoulder, a pitying glance, or feel the need to mention how sorry they were in his presence. Only Leliana would stop by on occasion. They wouldn't cry together or anything soppy as such, just sit and be alone together with their thoughts. He found himself missing even that.

Rubbing his finger over the glass, he watched his prints smudge the trail with oil and sweat. Cullen spoke aloud, "You won't believe it, Lana. I found the damn ring again. Twice in my life, no less. It feels as if I'm being punished for something, something I cannot understand. Why do people put such faith in superstitious claptrap anyway? The discovery of jewelry hidden in your food gives no credence to a person finding their one true love in a year than, than running headlong into a wall predicts a short winter. At best it forecasts a certain need for dental work in your future, or that your chef might be a secret jewel thief."

He slumped down in his chair, grief chewing through his sarcasm and leaving exhaustion in the wake. After the war ended, he finally put away the last of his books and relied upon sitting to get through the doldrum days. "I wish you were here. You'd laugh at this small gold band haunting me. Toss it into a well to be rid of it. Or, or..." Or he'd give it to her, as a promise, a token, a... That thought burned away to ash. No, there'd never be anything of the sort because she wasn't here, she'd never be here again.

The first ring he found wasn't in a hall surrounded by people serving under him, wasn't when he was thirty three and showing it with each passing day, wasn't with a heart that weeped alone in the dark abyss of the night. The ring wasn't even gold, but a cheap piece of tin one of the other young templars shoved into a loaf of bread carefully sliced for them all to share before patrols. When Cullen found it, he was a fresh faced eighteen and blushed so bright a healer mage paused to ask if he had a fever. Of course the others jibbed him - asked incessantly when the wedding would be and to whom. He'd passed it off as nonsense, he had his duty to the order, certainly no time for love or the stuff that came with it. Yet, he kept that piece of tin in his pocket for years, secretly hoping to be proven wrong.

Conveniently enough, the day after he found it the tower was celebrating "Nob Day," as the other templars coined it. Nob Day was when all the nobility in the area stopped by the tower to check upon the mages on their land. They thought they were owed their due and, for the sake of transparency, the chantry allowed them minimal access into the tower.

The older templars despised it, having to polish their armor to an ungodly shine and smile politely at Banns for hours instead of fulfilling their vows. The younger ones were ecstatic with the new. "I heard there were going to be two dozen this round. At least half of them have to be girls, right?"

"And not just any girls, the fancy ones with the soft skin white as dandruff from all their carriage riding and glove wearing," Caroll glowed, his eyes skipping around the room never able to land on anything for long.

"Maybe Cullen will finally meet his _one_."

He paused in lacing up his tunic and tried to bury the smile rising to his cheeks, "I will not. That's...we're not supposed to talk to the gentry."

"No, the mages aren't supposed to talk to them. We can flirt all we want, provided the Knight-Captain's not looking."

"You're going to get him into trouble, Frederick."

Frederick shrugged, he was the type who courted trouble when he wasn't sniffing around almost all the female templars and - if rumors were to be believed - a few mages. The idea caused Cullen's stomach to flip. He'd had it drilled into his head since he was thirteen that mages were beyond them. To touch one would be like fondling Andraste, as one older templar liked to drone. That was enough to scare the young and pious Cullen. For three months he refused to even be in the same room as the few mages working in Denerim for fear the Maker would suspect he dared impose ill thoughts upon His bride.

"Let's get down there fast before the best ones are scooped up," Frederick called, waving his fellow Knight-Recruits after him. Cullen was about to reach for his helmet when Freddy chuckled. "Nah, leave it. You need them to see your pretty face. Though, in your case, maybe it's best to stick with the helmet."

A burn inched along his fingers, but Cullen left the helm on his bunk. Less excited than before, he trundled after the rest of the templars down towards the foyer. Overnight, the Tranquil transformed it from bland marble in need of repairs into a gilded dream. Cushioned chairs sat in threes or fours with small tables at the side should anyone need to rest their drinks. Tapestries Cullen had never seen before hung off the columns with banners tacked below those. They bore each Bann's family crest, trying to corral the nobility into easily documented clumps. He recognized the one for Honnleath further inside, but he'd never met the Bann himself. Not that the Bann would have time for some random farmboy turned templar. It was doubtful any of the nobility would look askance at him. The Tranquil, dressed in freshly pressed robes, wandered through the groups carrying mugs of their finest brew.

In all his life, Cullen had never seen such finery in one place. Pearls, sapphires, rubies, a smattering of diamonds glittered off every finger and exposed neck -- and there were plenty. Deep necklines were popular for women, nearly every lady sporting one that either skimmed straight across their bulging chest area, or some that dipped deep down like an arrow pointing to where he shouldn't look. The men wore their own ruffled version, the necklines relaxed but nowhere near as revealing.

Nudging him in the ribs, Frederick yanked Cullen further into the midst of the nobles conversing at a near deafening level. "Don't gawk on the stairs. You want to walk around. Mingle. Use your charm on them." Without a second thought, the raven haired templar spun on his heel and smiled at two women who bore the sophistication of their young twenties juxtaposed to the two gangly templars. They both extended handkerchiefs at Frederick and he in turn waved back with a wiggle of his fingers. That drew a great giggle from the pair. Pleased with his performance, Frederik turned back to his pupil, "See, that easy."

"I..." Cullen knocked his hands together, then felt foolish for drawing so much attention from his actions and dropped both at his side.

"Here, go talk to one of them. I'll take the one on the right, you go for the left," Frederick whispered, dragging him towards his doom. Sliding on a smile like buttering a piece of bread, he leaned towards the women, "Is the chantry missing a couple of beatifications because your beauty should be gilded for eternity."

His wooing attempt bore no sense, causing Cullen to crinkle his nose in confusion, but the women both cooed and waved their whites again as if trying to entice Frederik to charge them. Still smiling, he knocked Cullen in the chest and extended a hand to encourage him.

"Um, hello," Cullen began, uncertain what there was to talk about with two women he'd never met before. "It's a nice weather inside this tower to be having." Sweat dripped down his trembling palms, so Cullen gripped tighter to his greaves as if that would solve the problem.

"Oh, why... I suppose it is, at that," one of the women tried to be kind to the young man bobbing out of his depth.

"My friend here is quite the joker, just loves to tell his little, little jokes," Frederick hissed, the smile stagnating. "As I imagine you noticed, we're both templars."

"We did," the right one smiled. She did bear the blinding white skin the others went on about, but it put Cullen more in the mind of a sick nug than anything to whisper about. Her blonde hair was piled high while the other's sunset-orange shade scattered across her shoulders. That was about the only difference Cullen could spot between them. Maybe they wore different dresses, he was too terrified to glance at their bodies.

"Is it true what they say?" the left one asked. "About templars, I mean?"

"That we're all fiendishly handsome with charm to boot?" Frederick leaned into her and she giggled at his suggestive eyebrows.

"Well..." her eyes darted for a moment at Cullen who felt a thousand stings in that single syllable. _Well, not all of you, obviously. Look upon that one. His cheeks are marked as if he's splashed acid upon his face, and that hair is as matted as a sheep's wooly hide. If he could find a solitary charming word to say, it'd sputter from his lips like drool._

He found himself sliding further away as the woman leaned deeper into Frederick's enticing aura. The left one tried to whisper, "I heard that templars are renowned for their..." her eyes darted from one side to the other, before she added, "stamina."

"Why, my lady, I do believe you have sussed us all out," Frederick gleamed like the cat who got the canary. Without turning back to Cullen, the one he drug into this mess in the first place, Frederick wrapped his arms around each lady and led them towards one of the store rooms. "There is something I simply must show you this way. I think you'll find it fascinating."

Unable to watch the man sneak off to do what both terrified and fascinated Cullen, he turned away to face down the crowd. Trailing through the bubbles of nobility lost in themselves, he skirted around each group impressing upon the templars while his mind questioned everything he'd known. _How could it be that easy for Frederick? It wasn't supposed to be that easy._ There were steps, rules. One didn't fall in love on first sight, certainly not after only a few words were exchanged. There had to be more to it than whatever that was. Digging into his pocket, Cullen stumbled across the tin ring. No wonder they thought it so humorous that he was the one to find it - the Maker would never see fit to give him anyone, much less the one great love that came with this asinine promise.

When he looked up, he realized his musings took him away from the crowds into an antechamber. Normally, it was a storehouse for magical items, but the Tranquil cleared it so the nobility had a place to escape to should they need a rest or fainting area. As the visit had only begun none bothered to visit it yet. Empty seemed about what Cullen deserved in his life. Treading up the stairs slowly, he pinched tighter to the ring, a hollowness filling his heart. Did he even want any of those women the others easily scooped up? He knew the answer was no, but it stung him to accept they'd never want him either. _Was that to be his curse? Forever on the outside looking in?_ In all his life, there was only one girl to ever show him an ounce of interest and he'd had none in her. Another one of the Maker's jokes - to give Cullen a solitary chance with a girl he'd have to settle his heart for. Wonderful laugh there.

"Hey, get a move on, will you?" a male voice echoed through the stairwell, pinched high in the nose as if the owner was eternally peeved.

"For what reason, Jowan?" This new one plucked the very air it touched -- like a lute strummed through the lower register. Her voice bore a whisper of an accent, the r's rolling away from her tongue. Cullen stepped up another few stairs, his curiosity piqued.

"Because they're already here, that's why," this Jowan explained.

"Who's here?" She sounded unconcerned, and also distracted. Cullen risked rising another stair but the second floor lurked beyond him still.

"' _Who's here?'_ You ask that and...do you even live here?" he came back with.

"Sometimes I wish the answer was no," she answered sardonically, causing Cullen to snort. Curiosity winning, he risked being discovered by the two and finished the climb to the second floor. This Jowan stood almost framed by the doorway though he didn't bother to look over at the templar. Barely even a man yet, thin and sloppy hair framed his watery face. His companion was hidden behind a bookcase filling the room. Cullen wished he could hang his head out to see her, but that would only draw attention to him.

"All the nobles are down there right now, doing noble stuff. Come on!" Jowan grabbed onto her arm and tried to pull, but she was immoveable, only the edge of her sleeve visible to Cullen.

"Why do you suddenly care about noble...? Oh Maker, is this about a girl?"

"What? No. Of course not. Not everything in my life is about girls," Jowan sulked, both hands now holding onto her arm but unable to budge her.

"Since when? ' _What about this one? Is she pretty? I think she's pretty. You'll tell me she's pretty, yes?'_ I don't care. I have an entire entropic skill tree to get through today."

She was a mage. Cullen shook his head at his own idiocy. Of course she was, she had to be. He knew all the women in the templars, and they were currently engaged downstairs or off doing the same as Frederick. It shouldn't matter in the slightest that this woman he'd only overheard a few sentences from was a mage, but...he couldn't shake the disappointment.

Jowan, unaware of his audience, pleaded, "That's all you ever care about. Learning how to poof bread to death can wait another day, preferably forever. That was gross." He released his grip upon her, his arms folding across his chest. Somehow that was enough for the girl; she stepped towards her friend and right into Cullen's vision.

His breath gargled in his throat at a beauty he'd never imagined possible in all of thedas. Her sweet face was framed by curly hair as black as night. Something sparkled from within the tempting depths of hair like stars knotted inside the strands. She rolled her eyes at Jowan, brandishing the doest eyes Cullen had ever seen. He'd witnessed skin that dark shade before, but never one that glistened in such radiance as if the owner was some holy creation sent to walk amongst mortals. A great stack of books clutched in her arms obscured her body, only the curve of a hip and her, uh, ample back part visible.

Unaware of the templar asphyxiating on the staircase beyond her, she dropped the stack of books in her arms onto the ground. Annoyed but unsurprised, Jowan tapped his shoe while she reorganized her stacks, placing a blue cover where a brown one had been. Pleased with her choices, she picked the load back up and batted at her hair to stuff a quill behind her ear. "Gross but interesting. One day the mold turned pink, which seems strange. Was it because the bread was a different variety or..."

Jowan threw his hands up to his eyes and made gagging noises. "Please do not describe mold you found on bread. It's bad enough I know you have it." After having begged for mercy, he returned to begging for her attention, "Come on, we won't be breaking any rules. We're just heading up to the landing above to get a good look. Margie's already there."

"Marguerite? What in thedas for?" Her lips puckered in annoyance at him. The most luscious lips Cullen ever dared to witness. He wanted to kiss them, to pull back her hair with his hands, cup his fingers agains her jaw and press his own narrow lips against hers. It had to be like falling onto a pillow.

Sensing an opening, Jowan smiled, "Checking out the men. Plenty of those came too. She kept going on about some Bann with red hair. Name started with a T, I forget what it was. Margie seemed really excited about him. You might like him too, you know. Handsome, she said."

Jealousy reared inside Cullen's gut, the snake wanting to bite off both Jowan's head as well as this supposed Bann. Who was handsome, who could romance anyone as easily as Frederick did. That was how it worked, after all.

The girl shook her head, then glanced up at the ceiling, "I rather doubt it. I have work to do, real studying that doesn't involve...certain unnamed bits. It'll take all my concentration if I'm going to perfect that entropic curse."

"No one in our year's ever gotten it to work right," Jowan sighed.

"Well, I intend to try," she countered him with a smile. Cullen felt his heart stop, unable to keep going in the face of that perfect smile.

"You're the worst, you know that," Jowan huffed. Stomping around in a circle, he headed towards the upper staircase.

The girl shook her head again, then waved at him, "Then why do you suffer me?" In the process of waving at him, she bounced her hand against the stack of books sending a scroll rolling off the floor and bounding right towards Cullen. He dropped down to scoop it up while she chased after it, her hand extended off the massive wobbling stack in her hands. She could barely dip down to reach it before Cullen caught it himself and began to roll the errant scroll up.

"Uh, um," he jabbered around anything to say to her. The sudden activity caused a flush to rise against her cheeks and he felt an urge to place the back of his hand against them to feel the warmth, the softness of her skin, the curve of her smile. "Here," he ended with, dropping the scroll on top of her pile. Terrified his own heart might combust if he stared too long at her face, his eyes drifted down. Like most of the apprentices, she wore a high neckline on her robe, but the hint of a rosy birthmark prodded above it. Cullen's long dormant imagination reared up to try and determine how deep it ran down her silky skin.

"Oh no," she snatched up the scroll he handed her and slotted the nondescript roll of vellum below another that looked the same, "it goes here, for...um, reasons. Thank you."

"You're welcome," his brain automatically threw out, rescuing him. If he'd left his tongue in charge it'd have come out as "You're beautiful!"

She dipped her knees to glance down at the staircase where a few of the guests moved into the antechamber, their voices rising to them. "I don't blame you for avoiding the nobles," she smiled, a gentle laugh punctuating her sentence, and then she moved away from him, lost to the labyrinthian library. Cullen stood frozen in place for nearly a half hour, a dumb grin stretching his cheeks, and a tin band pressed against his palm.

In his move to Kirkwall, he managed to misplace the ring - whether a true accident or his own disjointed mind rescuing him he couldn't say. When he first found it, people chided him for a few weeks then promptly forgot as some other crisis arose in the tower. Cullen was happy to let it die, but secretly, so deep inside his heart he dare never speak it, he hoped that maybe there was something to the old superstitions after all.

Then she left, became a grey warden because of that mage, because Jowan tricked her into his own web as he always did. When news of her loss reached him Cullen tried to accept he'd never see her again, but a selfish dream percolated inside. On occasion wardens came to the tower. That older one had just been there to recruit her, perhaps she'd find a reason, or miss something in her old home. Hope knotted in his heart at the foolish thought, until Uldred. Every filthy finger prodding into him, pulling loose his deepest fears, greatest sorrows and hates, all to push him to madness. He watched helpless as his friends were carted off one by one to feed the demons or entertain them with their deaths. Frederick went quick, his still handsome face ringed in shock as they impaled it on a stake. In the midst of that chaos, Cullen accepted he wouldn't survive. Clinging desperate to any prayer he knew and trying to cleanse his soul for the Maker or Andraste, he prepared himself for the end, when she returned.

No matter how deep he buried her, the blood mages found his secret shame and dangled it in front of his face before finishing him off. He was certain of it, the truth was impossible. Lana back in his life having fought through every manner of demon up numerous levels to cleanse the tower? Even with all her skill as an apprentice it seemed beyond dreams, beyond his foolish hope. She didn't deserve what he said, the way he...made her uncomfortable. All she wished to do was help, but in his state any hand came with a dagger inside.

"I'm sorry, Lana," he whispered to her not-ashes. "I'm sorry I wasn't, couldn't be right for you. Couldn't be enough for you."

A knock broke against his door. Cullen shoved the bottle safely back in its drawer. Out of habit, he wiped the back of his hand against dry eyes. "Yes?" he shouted, his voice steady. A year of burying his grief trained him well in how to recover quickly.

He'd expected one of his aides or a soldier, but the ambassador slid through the door. The candle's flame on her board dipped dangerously close to the edge from the winds whipping around the battlements. Josephine cupped her hand around it to will the flame back in place, then smoothed down her golden attire. "Commander, I came to apologize for the ring incident."

Shaking his head, Cullen rose, "It is no mind."

"If you had not wished to be involved I could have instructed the chefs to skip your plate. I, forgive me for failing to take your guarded privacy into account."

By some quirk of the Maker, he managed to feel even worse for how he acted. It wasn't as if Josephine knew, no one did aside from Leliana -- who was off being Divine, and Hawke -- who was somewhere in the west. He suspected the Inquisitor grew wise, but other than an occasional knowing glance the man never said a word, for which Cullen was grateful. No one remaining in Skyhold had any reason to think their reclusive commander ever dared to share his heart with anyone, much less the woman who sacrificed herself to save the grey wardens. The ambassador was trying to spice up the doldrum life on the mountain, be lighthearted and fun. Whimsical. And he stomped all over it, as everyone claimed he was wont to do.

"It's not your fault, Josephine. I, I forgot the day myself and if I'd realized it I would have warned you. Or asked to be left out..." Or remained in his room alone while the rest of the happy lovers frolicked around together.

"Commander," Josephine inched closer to him with such certainty in her eyes, Cullen instinctively knotted his knees together. "If you do not mind, there have been a number of requests for your attentions."

"Ah," he threw his head back, scrubbing his cheeks with his fingers as if the answer to his problems resided inside his scruff. "When will the Orlesians find a new toy?"

"They are not all remnants from Halamshiral," she said. "I dare say you might even find a few suitable. Soldiers in their own right, some have great notoriety on the national level for their combat skills as well as leadership, loyalty, and sewing ability."

"Sewing?"

"Orlesians consider a well rounded soldier to be the peak of perfection. If that is not to your pleasing, some other women with more intellectual pursuits have also shown an interest."

Cullen dropped both of his hands and glared out through the open door, "Josephine, it's not..."

"Perhaps if I knew what you find intriguing. A man of your standing must have certain preferences in his, um, companion," she picked up her quill and waited patiently for his answer.

Beguiling, compassionate eyes that when faced with a conundrum would shroud in an impenetrable enigma. Hair wilder than his that looked at home reaching beyond her shoulders or knotted back into braids. Lips that easily slipped into a smile which could brighten the deeproads themselves. Shoulders scarred from trying to carry the weight of the world for too long. Fingers as quick to catch a falling baby bird as slice apart a murderer's throat. And a mind dripping with a thousand thoughts, so far ahead of everyone she'd have to pause to let him catch up.

He could spend all day listing every trait, quirk, and inch of Lana he yearned for: the stout turn to her short thighs, freckles darting across the sides of her breasts, and the birthmark blooming upon her enticing collar. But what he wished for, ached in his soul to have return, was to hear her voice speak to him one more time. To have her sweet alto roll her Free Marcher r's as she quickly whipped through a dozen magical theories he'd never understand.

"Commander?" Josephine spoke, startling him from his gaze into the past. Shaking his head, Cullen reached up to rub his exhausted eyes and found tears streaking across his fingertips. "Is there someone else?" she placed her quill down, her eyes hunting over him. A year he'd kept it quiet, kept anyone else from learning the truth of it for fear of how it would reflect upon him, upon Lana even more. The templar and mage - they'd never broken any rules but people would talk, assume that they'd been more when it wasn't right.

Swallowing, Cullen shut his eyes tight. "There was," he answered for Josephine.

"Was?"

"She, she is gone. I'd prefer to not go into it," he opened his eyes against the burn of a hundred tears struggling to be released.

Josephine gulped against the heartbreaking display, "Naturally, I should not have... I am sorry."

"So am I."

"Forgive me for implying with..." the ambassador scratched off whatever list she'd already begun for his perfect mate, a flush rising off her cheeks. "I am sorry," she added again as if that would somehow fix everything. Her eyes darted towards the ground in embarrassment, exactly the kind Cullen hoped to avoid, as she inched towards the door. Suddenly, she paused and extended her hand, "Here."

He cupped his hand under hers and accepted the gold ring weighing heavily in his palm.

Josephine paused in the doorway and quickly exclaimed, "You should have this, still. You did find it." She escaped away before blushing herself to death.

Glittering by the lamplight, Cullen stared at the ring - the one that mocked him again for thinking he could have happiness, have the life so many others achieved as if breathing. He could sell it, certainly it was worth a pretty sovereign, the madam ambassador would never skimp on such a feast. Put the money back into the Inquisition or perhaps towards the small templar funds springing up around thedas. Cullen folded his fingers up around the ring and, gently, he dropped it back into his pocket.

## Chapter Twenty Five

**Tunnels**

_9:44 Anderfels_

At least the qunari didn't stab them in the back right away. Cullen felt her ice blue eyes drifting over him and then back across the king while those two squabbled over the nitty gritty of their arrangement.

"So, you're not under the Qun?" Alistair jabbed at the woman towering above him, his head craned back. The man had a blush rising up the back of his neck brighter than the fading sunburn. Cullen had a good idea he knew why judging by the noticeable lack of clothing on this tal-vashoth scholar. She kept her shoulders back and her chest shoved out as if at constant attention. Good for one's posture, less so for the king's attempt at staring up into her eyes.

"I am not. I left many years ago for personal reasons," Aqun said. She bore a staff across her back, not of the mage variety. This was thinner with a spear tip on the end for reaching long distances to impale someone's chest. Cullen could already picture it embedding between one of their ribs.

"It's just, most of the not-qunari qunari I meet tend to be more..." Alistair waved his hand around.

"Mercenaries?"

"Stab people in the gut because someone told them to," he answered with and Cullen groaned. He didn't trust this Aqun but the king didn't need to wave his bare ass around and dare her to spear it. _Maker, don't give him that idea._ Cullen's hand drifted down to try and scratch Honor's head, but he felt a tuft of hair rising up. A line running her entire back rose, her ears pinned back as she didn't growl but beamed a tight focus on the qunari.

"Many who abandon the Qun never leave it," Aqun said. "I have watched my fellows fall to the vices of the south led by any and all who would guide them with a foolish hand, unable to find balance. It is sad."

"Right, very sad," Alistair continued to blather, "just one tiny question I'm wondering. If you're not under the Qun, and not here at the whim of some noble's coin to give a free knife massage to his enemies, who do you work for?"

Aqun paused for the king to catch up, and her taut lips twisted in a smile, "A perceptive question. I am in fact here on leave of the grey wardens." That caught Cullen's attention, and he whipped a question back at maybe not the only warden there - but Alistair shook his head no. Either sensing the argument between them, or anticipating it, Aqun continued, "The wardens often employ those beyond their ranks to assist in delicate matters."

"Delicate matters like letting some outsider break into their secret ancient fortress and ferret out all their secrets? Those same wardens just love sharing information with anyone who wanders by and asks. Or..." Alistair stumbled, "or so I've heard."

"Have you now?" Aqun's icy eyes lingered over him. "The wardens are not as tight eyed as you've been led to believe."

"Tight eyed?" Alistair puzzled through her mixed up idiom, then shook his head, "I suppose it is possible for the wardens to look into a merce- not-mercenary, not-qunari to finish a few tasks for them. Maybe-ish." The king turned his head fully around at Cullen and shrugged, unable to verify the woman's story. Not that it much mattered, if the ben-hassrath needed her background to check out they'd move mountains for it to happen.

"How did you know one of us is a templar?" Cullen spoke up, his voice flat from lack of use. The trip back towards the fortress felt five times as long as the one into town, his feet dragging in the grass.

Aqun turned from her pace ahead of them both and placed a hand upon her hip. "Simple, your gait."

"My gait?" Cullen asked, his feet pausing.

"Templars move with a soft shuffle upon the balls of your feet for fear that a mage could plant ice under you at any moment. It is rather easy to spot when one knows what to look for."

"I don't..." Cullen began when he glanced down at his boots, the ones where the soles always wore out first at the ball instead of the heel. "That was how you- You had not heard of us before?"

"Should I?" Aqun asked, tilting her head in surprise.

"No, nope, just two ordinary guys and a dog willing to team up with a random armed qunari woman to break into a warden fortress. Nothing strange about that at all," Alistair muttered, dragging out the awkwardness among them. Whatever she truly was she had to know something -- whether it was of their full plans or only a hazarded guess -- Cullen would bet his breeches that Aqun knew who the king of Ferelden was, perhaps recognized him as well. Which gave her leverage against them both while she was little more than a puff of smoke on the wind to them.

Cullen's gait slowed as he glowered towards the sun preparing to dip down under the horizon. Soon they'd be walking in the dark to this imaginary entrance courtesy of a potential foe while expecting a knife in the back. It was idiotic beyond measure. There had to be another way, a chance to... His fingers dipped into his pocket to brush against the phylactery. _Lana, I..._

"What is it?" Alistair whispered near him, closer than Cullen felt comfortable. He tried to rear back but the king's eyes darted to the qunari marching further towards the north. "Is it...dark again?"

"No, no, I can feel its life, except..." He gripped his fingers around the glass, thumb circling around to protect it, while Cullen tried to drain every secret and vision into him. "It's fading. I, I can't explain it, but the pull isn't as strong as it was and we're closer than ever."

A moan rattled in Alistair's throat and he rocked back and forth on his heels. Facing the north and the speck of a fortress on the horizon, he said, "Hang on, Lanny. Just a little more and we'll get there."

What if they didn't? What if she slipped through his fingers before they made it back? Before they could climb their way through this supposed secret entrance? What if the qunari turned on them both before they even found her? Cullen folded his hands together, one wrapped tight around the other as if to comfort it, and he pressed both against his forehead. _We could fail you, Lana._ So close, so damn close, and all gone in a heartbeat.

"Uh, look, I..." Alistair spoke up, his hands jangling in his own bottomless pockets, "I know carrying that thing isn't easy, at all. If it's not happy memories, it's the pit of despair when it switches from on to off. Either way, it's the opposite of fun, so..." He unearthed his hand and extended it towards Cullen.

A piece of paper sat inside of the king's palm, but it wasn't until Cullen picked it up to hold closer that realization struck him. Drawn across a tan linen in shadings of intricate ink lines was Lana. She was reclining across a divan, one hand brushing across her forehead while the other steadied her staff beside her. The sash on her robes was unknotted and even the two bottom buttons on her inside vest undone. She needed the freed space to curl her legs up under her in comfort. Beside her sat a cup of tea, filled to the brim, and he'd bet anything ice cold when the portrait was first created.

"After Denerim, they thought there should be an official portrait of the Hero to, I don't know, rub in Orlais' face or something. Everyone wanted a chance to paint her, so they brought in a dozen artists with plans to pick the best. I..." Alistair paused and smiled at a memory, "Lanny was not happy to keep standing still for hours, to put it mildly. Almost all of the final paintings were a fancied version of her stabbing a sword, a spear, or her own hand into the archdemon. They barely even looked like her, you know. They kept drawing her hair straight for some stupid reason. All were wrong except for that one. An old woman spotted Lanny when she was taking a break - her code for hiding in the library - and sat down alone beside her to draw this."

A sob rattled in Cullen's throat as he traced across her preserved face. How long it'd been since he last saw her, this her. Not the fearsome slayer of darkspawn every other painting of the Hero of Ferelden was, but the little mage lost in her enigmatic thoughts. Her lips were slightly pursed as an idea tripped across her mind, one her eyes puzzled out thousands of miles away. It was her, the woman he fell in love with, the woman who held his hand, who melted snow off his hair, who kissed him with such fervor it flipped his stomach.

Swallowing down his own emotions, the king continued to talk, "The others, those are paintings of the Hero of Ferelden, or Lady Amell, or Arlessa Amell -- either way, scary lady in tight robes looking angry. This," he pointed at the small drawing, "this was Lanny, this is what her friends know." Alistair's finger drew across her tiny hand clinging to the staff. Blinking a few times, he lifted his face and smiled, "Keep it."

"What? No, I can't. It's far too..." Precious, perfect, painful. Cullen couldn't find an answer, his eyes lost in hers.

"If all works out, we should be seeing the original soon enough."

"I..." Cullen dipped his head down so the king wouldn't see his tears of gratitude. "Thank you."

Alistair's hand gently tapped against Cullen's shoulder. The two men, whose lives weaved countercurrent to each other yet were somehow bound together by this one woman shared a strange moment of solidarity. "Besides," the king shrugged, "I have the bigger version back at home anyway."

The moment could have been shattered, but even from the king's flimsy brag, Cullen felt the rise of hope stirring in his heart. Maybe they could pull it off after all. Slipping Lana into his pocket to rest beside her phylactery, he followed after Aqun towards the warden fortress.

* * *

"Well, what's your plan?" Cullen asked the woman. He felt the phylactery slip away to its black state as they stomped up the hill, dousing the hopeful flame inside him. Now in an even more belligerent mood than before, nothing short of the qunari yanking open a secret hidden door in the wall would impress him.

"Templar, surely even you can sense it now," Aqun waved her hand not in the direction of the fortress looming a good dozen feet away but at something hidden in the ground. There was no camouflaged hatch to lift, or secret boulder to shove aside. Cullen shifted his foot over the dirt covered by errant weeds and grass, then he glared at the qunari. "For all the grains of sand, must I do everything?" She pulled her spear off her back, causing both Cullen and Alistair to rear back, but instead of plunging it into them, she dug it into the ground. The clank of metal striking metal rang through the stilling air.

"We have to dig to get at it, but I did not think it would be a problem. Perhaps I am mistaken," Aqun sighed. While the men continued to stare slack jawed, she followed the depth of her spear and dug into the dirt with her claws. Clumps of sod followed quickly, and Honor's tail began to wag at the fun new game.

Sighing, Cullen gestured towards the qunari knee deep in the mud. "Go ahead," barely left his mouth before Honor was beside her, front paws churning faster than anything the qunari or humans could manage. Still... Cullen waved his hand at the other side and said, "Shall we?"

He felt a bit of pride in the grim look on the king's face. It was one thing to plan to breach some ancient fortress' walls using gatlock or whatever he thought the qunari had in mind, but secret tunnels buried underground which required a templar for unspoken reasons, never ended well. As Alistair sunk to his knees, Cullen unearthed an old dagger and sliced deep into the ground. Sandier than he'd expected, the packed dirt scattered as he yanked up clumps of earth to throw aside.

"I'm thinking demons, probably traps, and spiders," Alistair whispered beside him.

Cullen nodded along, those seemed the most likely - particularly the spiders. "Is there anywhere in all of thedas that doesn't suffer from a giant spider problem?"

"Ah..." Alistair raised his muddied hand about to speak, then shut it and shuddered.

"What?" Cullen asked, not wanting the answer but more concerned about what his mind would conjure up.

"Just had the terrifying thought of spiders that could fly, or swim!"

"Please don't let it be a nightmare demon," Cullen begged to himself. "I fear what it would conjure from your brain."

"I'm guessing yours would be all of us arriving on test day in our smalls," Alistair answered, elbows deep into the increasing hole. While the men mostly putzed around, the two females dug a good foot down revealing the scrapings of something flat.

"Aqun?" Cullen asked to distract from how unnervingly right the king was, "How did you discover this supposed secret entrance?"

"How does anyone? Ancient literature, old runic wards carved into rocks to show the way, and listening to the crazy rumors passed down from someone's grandmother. The grandmother tales help the most."

A clang reverberated below them, followed by an "Ow." Alistair pulled up his hand and tried to inspect his dented fist. Mud was burrowed under his nails and across the pale knuckles, not that Cullen was in any better shape. He risked a look over at his dog, then sighed at the baths she would require to get even sort of clean. Even with her natural dark coating, Honor looked as if she'd run through a muddy avalanche then come out wagging her tail. Paws, muzzle, head, back - he wouldn't be surprised if she ate some of the dirt.

"I believe I can open it," Aqun said. Both men stood back, then Cullen waved for Honor to stop digging. She scampered over to his side, then dipped down to chew away at a clod of sod. Digging her spear through a thin seam, Aqun yanked downward on her weapon. The way her muscles bulged out from the effort reminded him of Hawke and the way she'd stomp around Skyhold trying to one-up the Iron Bull in every challenge the Champion thought of.

As if reading his mind, Alistair jerked his thumb over and whispered, "I am not asking her to an arm wresting contest."

Popping like an old cask, wind gushed from the opened seal - bitter and stale with the fetid stench of an infirmary. Cullen tried to waft it away, when he caught the qunari's unimpressed eye travel from him down to the barely dislodged hatch. Right. Dropping down, Cullen and then Alistair both grabbed onto the steel door and -- pulling against the tug of time, dirt, and its own weight -- they slammed it open. Darkness pervaded down the shaft, the eternal kind that could only be found in the dwarfless depths of thedas.

"I don't suppose anyone thought to bring a ladder," Alistair said.

Shaking her head, Aqun yanked out a white crystal he'd never seen before. She cracked it in half with her fingers and a bright light burst from the cleavage. Leaning over the exposed edge, the qunari tossed one end of the glowing crystal down into the depths. It skittered against the walls before splashing in inch thick water. "Not as deep as I feared," Aqun smiled. "Who shall go first?"

On top of bringing their only light source, the qunari also came prepared with ropes, and block and tackle to anchor to the ground above. The humans were able to easily rappel down, Alistair going first. When Cullen landed in the ankle deep water beside him, the king was reaching down to pick up the crystal. At first, he feared the man wanted to keep it as a souvenir, but he held it close to the walls.

"What shall we do about the dog?" Aqun called from above, interrupting Cullen's thoughts.

"Um..." He could tell her to wait. She'd probably do it willingly, her tail thumping in anticipation of his return. But... In the middle of his deciding, Honor took it upon herself to leap head first down the hole. "Oh shit!" Cullen cursed, diving forward to catch his seventy pound mabari hurtling towards him. Even the king turned from his wall inspection to reach out. Cullen took most of Honor's weight in his arms, the momentum crushing him to the ground. While water seeped across his armored back now screaming in pain, his dog lapped her tongue over his cheeks. He shoved her off and staggered to rise, Alistair offering a hand to help him.

Water poured out of the bottom of his backplate while Cullen glared down at his dog, "You were not told to do that. And licking my face will not make up for your disobedience." Honor sat ass down into the flooded cavern, her small tail bobbing below the surface like an excited fish. If she felt bad for nearly pancaking her master, she didn't seem to be capable of showing it.

While Aqun worked her way downward, the king returned to inspecting the walls, his fingers dragging across what looked like black stones. "All right, what is it?" Cullen asked.

"Hm, what? Oh, just...there's nothing here."

"It's an escape tunnel, people don't tend to pepper their underground tunnels in art."

Alistair waved the crystal a few more times, then stroked his bearded chin, "Maybe. Or, eh, it's nothing. Stupid thought. Here, you want to hold the torch?" He moved to pass the crystal to Cullen.

"Or what?" He folded his arms up when Aqun splashed down beside them, the last of their party complete.

She undid the rope around her midsection and craned up high to make certain it was still attached. "Down was easy, but up will be a challenge. Still, alive and onward." Digging out her second crystal, Aqun leaned deeper into the side tunnel that seemed to be in the direction of the fortress. At her great height, she had to stoop; even then the crests of her horns occasionally banged into the ceiling, sprinkling the fetid water with dust. Without bothering to wait for the men to catch up, she walked through the tunnel, her shadows dancing along the black walls.

Extending his own crystal for both of them to see, Alistair said, "I'll tell you later." Then he raised his voice to shout at their guide, "Hey, wait up!"

Built without comfort in mind, the tunnel's ground sagged unevenly, and hidden below dark water it was anyone's guess what would cause a stumble and what would break an ankle. They moved cautiously, their feet sliding over the surface while water crowded through boots, socks, and deep into skin. Cullen felt his toes pruning with every minute. The scenery rarely changed, even the tunnel itself didn't dip or turn to split off in numerous directions. He was thinking of sewage systems designed to connect various houses - but this was built for one purpose only. The question was what that purpose was.

"Aqun," Cullen spoke up, his soft voice echoing against the tight quarters. The qunari didn't turn around to look at him, but she paused in her lead. "Why do you need a templar?"

"Ah," she lifted her crystal higher, "I believe we have reached our first reason." Glittering along every surface of the walls were wards, the runes of magic almost the same as what Cullen knew but the edges were unreadable, the language altered over the centuries. Judging by the blue color probably ice based, but this was ancient magics; it was anyone's guess what they could do. A bone rattling power wafted off of them; these weren't some simple wards a mage placed down to protect themselves in battle. These hummed with the ability to freeze blood solid.

"Well, templar? I believe this is for you," Aqun waved her head in the direction of the wards.

Cullen told Honor to wait, then tried to slide around the qunari. It wasn't easy in the cramped tunnel, but he managed without accidentally touching her and stood before the magic. An easy matter for a young templar, especially one humming with lyrium, Cullen's eyes drifted over every etching flaring in the crystal's light. Did he have enough strength left inside of him? It'd been years since he touched any of those skills, never wanted to delve back into the life for any reason. Digging deep, Cullen closed his eyes tight and pulled on that thread of magic humming in the air. It whipped back at him, refusing to go quietly. In touching it, he tasted the centuries these wards crackled off the walls waiting for someone, anyone, to disturb them. Now, they had their opportunity and weren't about to go quietly. Sweat dripped off his brow and into his screwed up eyes, but he shook it off and kept on tugging against the ice, like undoing an entire sweater in one yank. The wards were more complex than any possible knitting pattern, chunks of magic dripping into the ground with each pull. He tried to scoop them away but he wasn't powerful enough. Ice sparked across the water, but didn't reach them. Instead, small floes bobbed along the water runoff, birthed as he gritted his teeth and by the vestiges of willpower, yanked off the last of the ward.

As his eyes popped open, he found his hands clutched together tight in prayer, the knuckles prodding through his gloves. Aqun touched his shoulder, "Not bad, took longer than expected, but we should keep moving." Without being as cautious as he'd been, she shoved him aside and continued the lead.

It was Alistair who snuck up beside him and whistled, "I can't believe you pulled that one off."

"It should not have been so difficult," Cullen blamed himself, snarling at his own incompetence. In his youth, he'd have stripped it bare in a wave of his hand.

Instead of agreeing with him, the king's eyes widened and he glanced from the empty wards back to Cullen, "That magic tasted bad, old, however you want to look at it. Scary. I'd go with scary, and..." he pursed his lips, something else on his mind.

"What? What concerns you?" Cullen tried again.

Alistair banged his hand into his sword's hilt, knocking it against the walls, "Just, the walls back there. If this was supposed to be an escape tunnel, why aren't there any indentations to lead up? Kinda hard to do any escaping without a ladder."

"That..." Cullen began to argue when Aqun whistled for them to catch up.

Past the broken runes, they found a door sealed tight - an intricate face carved into the wood. He expected to have to solve some ancient puzzle to open it, but the qunari grabbed onto the latch and popped it open without a second thought. If there was a trick to it, it bore no fruit in the face of that abject strength. "Or wrestling in general," Alistair continued, "I'm not challenging her to arm or any other variety."

Obviously overhearing him, Aqun shook her head and stepped through the doorway. Her small white light amplified back to them tenfold through the doorframe. Rendering Aqun and everything inside unseeable, the light must have reflected off the walls or something else inside polished to a blinding shine. A pinprick headache dug into Cullen's brain and he pinched the bridge of his nose to try and draw it forth. In shaking it off, he turned to spot Honor. Her entire back fur spiked high while her lips curled up, a growl trying to escape but nothing breaking free, as if someone or something silenced her.

_Maker's breath!_ He unsheathed his sword and gripped onto the shield. _What did they unleash?_

Forgetting the king, and his mabari, Cullen dashed through the open door alone. White light burned across his eyes, the assault drawing forth even more pain in his brain. The headache bludgeoned against him, thumping hard like a hammer upon the backs of his eyes until he feared his skull would crack from the pressure. Cullen's knees buckled, dragging him towards the wet ground. He tried to blink against it, to pull his vision back from wherever it was banished, when the whiteness spun around and looked upon him. Unable to grip tight to this world, consciousness slipped through his fingers, and he tumbled into the water.

## Chapter Twenty Six

**Bliss**

_9:44 Skyhold_

Mountain air brushed across his cheek and an eye rolled open. Cullen stared through a half empty bottle perched beside his sleepy face to a bookshelf bowing in the middle from a stack he kept meaning to move before it collapsed. _No. That isn't right._ He snapped up in his chair, the padding worn to fit his backside after two years of service. A line of drool coated missives laid out across his desk, all of them baring the Inquisitor's signature. Skyhold. _How was he back in Skyhold?_

Pain throbbed at the back of his skull, drumming through the vertebra and across his jaw. It felt as if he smashed the back of his head against the edge of a hewn brick. Gently, he reached back to touch it, causing even more pain to sear behind his eyes. _This was a trick, some, some illusion of..._ Papers were piled along the desk, in the same five stacks he always had. Even the damn mug was the same, with the broken handle he patched up rather than replace. _What was going on?_

The door in front of him blew open. Used to people coming and going to pass through, Cullen didn't bother to look up until a voice chilled his heart.

"Don't tell me, you fell asleep at your desk again." He whipped his head so fast to follow the voice, pain shrieked up his neck. Lana. She stood there -- in his doorway -- alive, with an admonishing sigh upon her lips. "You know you have a perfectly good bed up that ladder. And..." she pointed at his hand gripping to the back of his neck, "it won't strain your shoulders." Chuckling, she closed the door and slid over the edge of his desk. Her fingers glanced across his, and they were warm, soft, with the same calluses he remembered. Cullen's hand froze as she gently picked it away and began to massage his neck.

"How...?" Cullen gulped, fighting down an urge to scurry away from her touch. It felt so real, so familiar, but that was impossible. Wasn't it? She shouldn't be here because, because of a reason slipping away from him. "Why are you here?"

Lana paused in digging into his shoulders, her thumb bouncing against his skin as she spoke, "Where else should I be - the mage quarters? That lasted all of two weeks after I officially joined your Inquisition. As I remember, a certain commander convinced me it was best to free up the bed for someone else and that we..." she leaned closer, luscious lips pressing against his earlobe as her hot breath washed over him, "move in together."

He screwed his eyes up tight as every inch of him awoke from an unending torment he'd barely been aware of -- his heart freed from its two year coma. It wasn't until she ran her slender fingers across his skin, Cullen realized how his soul desiccated on the vine. How badly he needed to feel her touch, hear her voice, smell her scent to revive him back to life. "Lana..." he groaned her name. "That doesn't sound," thoughts danced across his brain, dark ones screaming that it wasn't right, this wasn't right. But, out of everything in his life, every dark, desolate night and rigorous, exhausting day, she was the only thing that was ever right.

"What is it?" she asked.

"You..." Words wafted through his soul, struggling to be heard. Another throb blared at the back of his head, and Cullen reared in pain. He reached up to pinch his eyes only to find them drenched in tears. "You're dead," it rushed back at him, punching through this dream fog he wished he could envelop himself in.

She reached over to grab both of his hands inside her own. They should have been cold, still as the grave, but her warmth overtook his own crying out to comfort him. "Cullen, oh, sweetheart! Here..." placing one of his hands against her cheek, she leaned into it like a pillow, "feel me. I'm here. I'm real. It was a dream, one of the bad ones."

"You died in the fade," he shook his head, clinging to the razor wire of truth running through his mind. He hated how it sliced him apart, but he knew if he let go he'd be lost forever, "stayed behind so the others could..."

"We all escaped, at Adamant, yes? You remember, tell me you remember." Tears brimmed in Lana's eyes and she cupped his cheek, pulling his forehead to hers. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there to stop them in time."

"Stop what?" he blinked, struggling to keep a hold of the conversation.

She closed her eyes tight and whispered, "The blood mages, the wardens who..." Tipping her head back, Lana tried to catch a few of the tears before they fell down her cheeks. Instinctively, Cullen ran the back of his hand against them, each drop wetting his skin the way any real tear would. "They cornered you, delved into your mind and-and convinced you I'd died. But I didn't, I'm here. You remember, right? How we stormed through the Arbor Wilds together? How we waited with bated breath to hear if the Inquisitor defeated Corypheus?"

"Yes, that-that happened," he flexed his fingers and felt his tenuous grip slipping. It was possible. What if the malifecarum had crawled inside of his mind, stripped away his one happiness to torture him? And she, she didn't stay behind, didn't sacrifice herself for Hawke or anyone else. She was here, with him, had been the entire time. It made sense.

Swallowing down two years of grief, a smile broke across his lips, lifting his heart with it. Grabbing onto her cheek, Cullen pulled the woman he loved beyond reason to his lips for the impossible kiss. She tasted exactly how he remembered, her pillowy lips brushing open as he danced his tongue with hers. It was Lana, body and soul. _How could he forget?_

She broke the kiss, but not before pecking him on the end of the nose, and smiled, "I take it you're feeling better."

"Lana, I..." a panic struck him, and Cullen sat up higher in his chair. "Where's Honor?"

"Where she always is, fast asleep at the foot of your desk," she chuckled waving towards the rug. He rose to his feet to peer over his desk to find the mabari's hind legs twitching in a dream, her tail thumping madly against the floor. Whatever dream it was, it was a good one.

Running a hand through his hair, Cullen tried to will down the erratic beat in his heart. Honor was right where she should be. He was right where he belonged, and Lana... Maker's breath, Lana was here, with him. Breaking from the sight of his sleeping dog, Cullen wrapped both hands around her waist cinched up in the exact same corset she used to wear in the tower. Her hair blossomed off her head, longer than he'd seen in years and softer as well. She even had the time to put a dash of rouge across her cheeks and kohl upon her eyelids. It was Lana at rest, free, as free as he was. Neither of them with an order to obey, vows to honor. They could be together, fully and whole.

Sliding her across the desk, Cullen pulled Lana tight to him. She giggled at first, then wrapped her own arms around his back as she placed her head against his armored chest. "Lana, I-I was so scared I lost you. I thought, I felt as if-as if someone stole the only hope in my life and replaced it with darkness. Unending, unyielding, insurmountable darkness." Brushing his palms across her cheeks, he pushed back her errant hair and sighed, "I love you."

Cullen moved to kiss her, fully give in to her forever, when she whispered, "I love you too." He froze a breath away from her lips. Pain throbbed up his jaw, his teeth clenched tight.

_Wrong. It was wrong._

Lana rotated uncomfortably on her hips, "What is it?"

He released his hold on her, his hands slipping back to the frozen air as they thudded alone against his desk. "You never said it," he whispered into the air.

"Never said what?" she laughed, trying to pick his arm up and put it around her. Cullen slid away from her grasp. He didn't yank his arms in rage, only wafted from her like a ghost ship cresting through the foggy waves. Without lifting his broken head, he turned to face the bookshelf and saw it, the blue bottle holding her ashes. Not her ashes, but the ashes pretending to be hers, because this wasn't Lana.

"Cullen," Not-Lana said, concern rising in her voice, "What did I never say? Talk to me, please."

Running a finger across the glass bottle, a warmth hissed against his thumb as if the pyre was just burned. The happiness in his heart drifted away like the ashes he dumped into the wind. Screwing his eyes up tight, his head flopped forward, and he sighed, "'I love you.' Lana, you never said that because you couldn't. You didn't love me, and there wasn't time for you to, before you..." Cullen turned to find her eyes wide, her hand pressed to her mouth, "You died, Lana. You went into the fade and you never came out. It's why I'm here. Out there. Fighting to find you, to try and save you. This isn't real."

"Cullen, please," she hopped off the desk, and tried to grab his hands again, "please, this isn't a good sign. I know, I know memories can be scary, especially the wrong ones, but you need help. I can help you."

"No," he couldn't stop himself from touching her cheek. The pleading was genuine, her eyes brimming in tears, her bottom lip wobbling. That was the Lana he knew, the one that hated seeing him in pain, who wanted to rescue him from every hurt outside and in. But it wasn't her. Tears slopped from his eyes, fat ones streaking down his cheeks as he struggled through two years of grief washing across him in one go. "You can't help me Lana, because I have to help you first."

Pulling his hand away from her soft skin, Cullen turned away and dropped to the floor. He nudged Honor in the head and called to her, "Girl, come on. Wake up, we need to be going." It took a few more tries before her tail stopped thumping in her dream and those sloe black eyes rolled open. She blinked, looking as tattered as he felt, before accepting that her master was here and things would work out. Honor rose to her feet to stand by his side.

"Cullen!" Lana begged. "Whatever you're going to do, it isn't safe. Not in this condition. You could get hurt out there alone. Please, come back to me. Rest. A good sleep will fix everything."

He wished he could look back at her, perhaps the last time he'd ever see her face again, but he couldn't. He wasn't strong enough to pull himself away a second time. Stroking Honor's head, Cullen flopped her ears back and forth before he grabbed onto the door's handle. His voice dropped into his chest and he whispered, "I'm sorry," while opening the door and stepping through.

White light flared up, blinding him again. As the sear faded away, it wasn't Skyhold waiting for him but a grassy meadow. In the distance, rocky hills burst through the ground, the cliffside red as a sunset. Cullen reached down to check on Honor, but his dog seemed to have already adjusted to the change. Turning back around, he spotted the door frame he stepped through free standing. There was no wall it was bolted to, nothing keeping it up. Only meadow shown through both sides, as cheery as a perfect summer day. In the distance, he heard birds chirping as they dove through tall grasses to catch grasshoppers calling for mates. The susurruss winds caressed his cheek, smelling of wood crackling on a fire pit, fresh cut hay drying in the fields, and the late summer flowers blooming in anticipation of the insects. It felt like home.

Gulping, Cullen checked his sword then a thought crossed his mind. _Would his blade even work in the fade or could someone turn it into a noodle with a thought?_ He never asked what it meant when mages went into the fade. Everyone dreamed, of course, but this felt real, nothing like a dream at all. Cullen gripped tight to his chest as if to stick his churned heart back in place. Too real. Uncertain where to head, he struck out in the direction of the smoke breaking through the bright blue sky. It wasn't until he crossed a hill that Cullen spotted a house. A fence circled it, half torn down, and barely a post matching as if it was ramshackled together from ten other fences.

"Hey!" a petulant voice cried out from the grasses wafting in the breeze. Cullen spun to the east when a boy rose from the ground appearing as if by magic. His skin was a soft brown, reminiscent of Josephine's shade, with a mound of curly black hair flattened at the top of his head. After playing on the ground, mud speckled his cheeks and a blue and silver tunic two sizes too large for the reedy frame.

The boy ran close to Cullen and stuck a hand on his hip, "Never seen you before. Are you new?"

"I..." Cullen's eyes rolled around the area, "I suppose I am. There's some people I'm looking for. A man about my height with blonde hair and a qunari woman."

Shaking his head, the boy giggled. Cullen would guess his age at seven or eight, adventurous enough to be playing alone but not yet obstinate enough to grow tired of adults. "There's no qunari around here. My dad says they're all in the far north. Oh," he snapped his fingers, "you should meet my dad. I bet he'd know whoever you're looking for."

As Cullen glanced over the boy, a fear stirred inside of his heart from the familiar features, but he had no other choice. "Yes, that sounds nice."

"And..." the boy wiped his muddy hands down the front of his tunic and stuck one out, "my name's Duncan."

"Duncan," he repeated, taking the small hand inside his and shaking it. "I'm Cullen."

The boy smiled wide, teeth dazzling against his lips, "Cullen? That's a silly name."

"I, uh..." he was at a loss at how to respond to this imaginary boy denouncing his name. Before he needed to bother, the child spun on his shoes and dashed towards the house. Calling to Honor, Cullen gave chase, his fingers at first holding tight to the hilt of his sword, but as they drew closer he couldn't stop the tempting urge to waft them across the tips of wheat. _They shouldn't be this tall in the summer heat_ , he thought, then shook his head. Nothing here should make sense regardless, that was how the fade worked.

Climbing down the gully sideways to keep from sliding down it, Cullen turned to find the picturesque farmhouse laid out before him. It wasn't a real one, where shutters draped off the sides because there wasn't time or coin to repair them, or bailing wire knotted up anything drooping or broken. It was the picturesque farm in paintings or storybooks, red as a brick with a charming stoop not crowded in muck boots and tools. Three chickens scratched along a gravel path with a single rain barrel brimming in water. A fence circled the area for seemingly no good reason; other than the chickens, no other livestock wandered around. Even the fence itself felt out of place, gleaming white despite the red dirt wafting on the breeze.

In the middle of it all was a man swinging an axe back behind his head to split apart an ever increasing pile of firewood. By the afternoon glare, Cullen could only make out the shadow, but he had a sneaking suspicion he knew who it was. The log clattered in half, both ends crumbling to the ground and the man reached over for another.

"Alistair!" Cullen shouted, his gait slowing until the shadow's glare faded, revealing the man who should be king. He wasn't in his royal armor, nor the pirate garb, or even his traveling splint mail. It was the outfit of every Hinterland man to ever till the earth, the tunic's sleeves rolled past his elbows, breeches patched from old quilting scraps along the knees and calves.

Alistair wiped off his brow with his naked forearm then dropped the axe against his shoulder. "Hey! Who are...?" His sentence fell away dead as the boy jumped up out of the grass to grab onto Alistair's midsection. Chuckling, the king tossed his axe aside and yanked the boy higher in his arms.

"Well, what have we here?" Alistair asked, shifting the boy back and forth. "A spy for Orlais, maybe? A fearsome antivan assassin sent to murder me for a famous Countess? Or are you a dangerous bandit coming to take the farm?!"

The boy giggled with every guess, then sighed, "Da-ad!"

Cullen's foot missed the ground and he stumbled walking closer to them, nearly falling face down into the gravel splattered with chicken shit. Shifting the boy over to the side, Alistair reached out to try and catch him.

"Whoa, careful there," the man was nothing but smiles while Cullen steadied himself and tried to not look at the boy. Alistair gripped tight to Cullen's forearm, as if afraid he'd fall again. "Don't think I've seen you around here before. Let me guess," he licked his thumb and drug it across the boy's cheeks, who tried to bat away his father's grooming, "this little demon led you to us. What did I tell you about picking up strays?"

"To limit it to two a week," Duncan answered.

"Maker," Alistair cupped his hand over his so-, the boy's mouth. "Don't let your mother hear I said that. Neither of us will be able to sit down for a week."

Duncan laughed at the empty threat, then he turned to Cullen, "Can we keep that one?"

"Hm, I don't know. Looks kinda mangy," Alistair snickered, his eyes finally taking in Cullen, when something inside struck a dormant chord. His easy smile wilted and he blinked a few times, as if the memory cried out in the back of his head the same it had to Cullen. _You know it's not real, but you don't want to believe it._

Duncan bounced in his arms, and cried, "Dad!" It was enough to break the worrying truth and Alistair faded back into his happy bliss.

"You're right, besides, you'll have to meet my wife. She'll kill me if I don't invite you in for dinner. Come on," he jerked his head towards the farmhouse, "it's lamb stew."

Without waiting for Cullen to say a word, the man and his...the boy walked towards the farmhouse. Dread settled in Cullen's stomach, the almost prophetic kind whispering what he knew in his soul would be waiting inside that home, but he had to see it through. Lead filled his legs, dragging him slower and slower as he marched up the wooden steps not sagging from over a hundred years of use. Alistair pushed on the sapphire blue door, with hinges in silver, and he swung Duncan inside as the boy dangled in his arms.

"Love," the king shouted through the room, "we're home and brought a guest!"

Following behind him, Cullen stood rooted in the doorway and stared into the house. Cozy in the way only a young family home could be, toys were scattered in front of a rug beside the hearth -- one of them a stuffed griffin made out of burlap. Herbs hung across the lower beams Alistair ducked under as he plopped his son onto a chair at the crooked table. Another child, smaller than Duncan, sat perched on a stool. Her misshapen shoes banged against it as she put quill to parchment, doodling random ink drawings with such ferocity her tongue stuck out between tiny teeth. Alistair placed a kiss against the top of her head, then he flicked one of her pig tails. Dropping the quill immediately, she spun around and wrapped tiny arms around his neck. A noise that could be mistaken for "daddy" or perhaps "happy" slipped from her.

"Dad, dad!" Duncan waved his hands around to snag his father's attention. Upon getting it, he grabbed onto a pair of squash left on the table and held them up to his head.

"Oh no!" Alistair fake cried, his hands splayed out against his cheeks. "This is terrible!"

"What is?"

Cullen screwed his eyes up tight at that voice, the one he knew was in here but prayed wasn't. Gulping air through his mouth, his vision darted up to spot her standing behind the half opened door. Everything about her was softer by the cozy candlelight, her cheeks more rounded, her less toned arms wrapped around a pair of fluffed blankets, her hair folded back by a blue ribbon with the ends trailing down her back. It was her without the stress of command, without the years fighting darkspawn and coming out the worst for it. It was a happy, unbroken Lana.

With eyes only for her, Alistair pointed at Duncan, "A fearsome ogre's come to attack us all."

"Oh no," Lana fake cried, "we need a mighty grey warden to slay it." Under both of his parent's attention, Duncan gave a weak roar and wiggled his squash horns around. As if he had a sword in his hand, the king pretended to stab at his son who gave a very dramatic performance of dying on the table.

"I see we have a guest tonight as well," Lana spoke up in the middle of Duncan's ogre death throes. Cullen shied away from her golden eyes smiling upon him. "Not that _someone_ felt the need to tell me," she turned a soft chastisement on her...the king.

Alistair reached through the partition partially hiding her, slid a hand over her arm, and placed his lips against her cheek. A small part of Cullen withered from the way she leaned into it. "Forgive me, Love, but your ogre-son found him wandering the fields and thought he could use a well-cooked meal."

"And here I thought it was your turn to cook."

"An okay-cooked meal, then," Alistair smiled, his fingers cupping her smiling cheek. Pinching the flesh between his thumb, Cullen willed down the anger trying to rise up inside.

"He's welcome, naturally. Please, take a seat," she spoke to him and waved at the table, but Cullen stood steadfast in the door. "You don't need to prop up the frame, I'm certain it can stand on its own."

"I...I," Cullen twisted his head, trying to dislodge the imaginary family projected before him. "Alistair," he spoke to the man, keeping his eyes away from Lana. "This isn't right."

"I know, you're letting all the flies in. What, were you raised in the kennels?" he smirked.

"You know this is false. A farm is not your life, you belong on the throne of Ferelden," Cullen said, struggling to jar him out of this illusion.

But the king had a skull as thick as a qunari's. Alistair laughed and wiped at his nose with his thumb, "Ha, right. Love, could you picture me on the throne? Ferelden would crumble to dust in a week."

"I imagine king Cailan would be rather put off as well," Lana said.

"King Cailan, but he's..." Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose doing everything he could to keep focused on the only real thing in the room. "You are king Alistair, married to queen Beatrice in..." Maker's breath, he didn't remember the damn year. It didn't touch him as he was in Kirkwall at the time. "That isn't your wife, these aren't your two children."

Alistair blinked a few times, then smiled wider, "Did you hear that Duncan, Duncina? You've got some far better father out there. I bet he gives you biscuits every night and lets you stay up late. Oh, and how could I forget..." He pulled back on the latch for the door below Lana and opened it to reveal her distended belly. Tenderly placing a guarding hand against it, Alistair cooed to her womb, "Number three coming in two months time."

"Three, Alistair," she corrected him while stroking his cheek, "it'll be three months time. You're so bad at counting." Unperturbed by his failed maths, Alistair wrapped Lana in his arms, careful to leave room for her growing belly. A wrathful red haze bundled in the back of Cullen's skull and he turned away, but he couldn't escape the image imprinted on the back of his eyes. Lana, draped in worn grey linen, her body soft and curvy as it filled with new life. _Maker, give me strength. I beg it of you. Please._

"How," Cullen gasped, his eyes burrowing into the floorboards. He couldn't look at her, not now, not as _his_. "How can you have children?"

"When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much..." Alistair began, then he waved his hands around and blushed, "Surely someone mentioned it to you before. There might be a couple pigs out back that could demonstrate it for you."

"You met at the battle of Ostagar, yes?" Cullen continued, needing to pull sense back into this senseless man.

Smiling like an idiot, Alistair draped an arm around the back of his imaginary wife and she placed her head upon his chest. "Yup, king Cailan, the grey wardens, and the armies of Ferelden stopped the blight right then and there. It was so romantic."

"You're terrible," Lana giggled as she dug deeper into him.

Cullen wished he could jam rags in his ears so he wouldn't have to hear her voice whisper those words to Alistair, not while she was... "But, you only met because you're both grey wardens, right?" Cullen continued, not about to abandon him now.

Alistair nodded his head, the goofy smile fading lower, "Yes."

Lifting his head, Cullen stared deep into the king's eyes and said the damning evidence, "Grey wardens cannot have children."

"What's he on about?" Lana asked, but Alistair slid away from her, his skin struggling to escape what his mind finally woke up to tell him wasn't real. "Ali...?" she continued, and he turned towards her.

Picking up both of her hands, he kissed one, then the other, "Let me talk to Cullen, Lanny. We'll get it all figured out. You should get the kids ready for bed."

"It'll be light out for hours," she chided.

"Ready for pre-bed. Won't be more than a minute," he ran his thumb against her cheek then he reached over to Cullen and grabbed onto his arm, dragging him into the room. Despite having sparred before, Cullen was surprised at the strength yanking him further away from the young family. "I don't know what game you're playing at here, templar, but you cannot harm her. Do you hear me? I won't let you do that."

"You're not thinking clearly," Cullen hissed in a whisper. The king backed him against a corner. Out of the side of his eye, Cullen caught the glint of a sword hung on the wall now within easy reaching distance of Alistair. "This isn't real. That isn't Lana. It's the fade."

Alistair sneered, teeth gritted as he glowered at him, "Or, or maybe you're a rogue templar sent to find her, to try and take back a free mage because you and your chantry can't handle the idea of her happy. You will not touch her or the children. I will not allow it!"

"For the Maker's sake, man, you know me. I would never hurt Lana."

He swallowed deeper, something percolating in his brain, but it didn't stick. Alistair jabbed a finger at Cullen, "Before today, we had never even met."

"Then how did you know my name? I never spoke it."

"I...I, um," Alistair's eyes darted back towards his wife who was bent over to whisper to her daughter and son, her hand caressing her belly. "No, there was a, I overheard it from somewhere, or guessed right. That's what it was. Pure luck. I can't..." Tears welled up in his eyes; he didn't bother to try and wipe them away or fight them back in. They rolled in streaks down his cheeks as the king crumpled his forehead into his hand. "No, I can't go back to before, to-to abandon what I wished more than ever. The lie is so much more, than..."

Cullen grabbed onto his forearm, digging his fingers deep to try and draw the man back, "We can still save her, the real Lana. If we get out of here, escape from the fade. She needs us."

He glanced over his shoulder at his Lanny, the imaginary one the fade created, the perfect one to trap him the same as it tried to do to Cullen. "I could stay here, be happy, really happy," Alistair whispered. A frown shifted across his face and he pinched his nose. Blinking back the tears, he wiped his cheeks and plastered on a smile.

"Love," Alistair called, his full attention upon Lanny.

"Look at what your daughter's drawn," she said, holding up a sheet of paper.

Slipping away from Cullen, Alistair picked up the parchment and pretended to love it, "It's a perfect representation of me on a dragon," he mumbled barely looking at the drawing before turning to Lana. "I just remembered I left a few things out in the field. And I should bring them in, in case it rains."

"Oh Ali, do you have to do it now? Dinner's almost ready."

He flinched from the fade pulling against him, the demon doing all it could to keep him trapped. Alistair picked up her hand and smiled, "I won't be more than five minutes at most, I promise. Then, when I come back I'll...read to Duncan and-and braid Duncina's hair." Eyes lingering across both imaginary children, he swooped his arms around Lana's waist and pulled her tight to his body. The pair shared a deep kiss goodbye, one that Cullen shielded his eyes from, before Alistair brushed her cheek one last time. "Be back soon."

Faking the smile, he turned to march towards the door frame and their escape. Cullen followed in behind, Honor on his trail, when Lana called out in the sweetest voice, "What if I made you walk barefoot across a lake of fire?"

Alistair froze, a shudder knotting up every muscle along his back. His head dropped down against his chest and he breathed in slow, ragged gasps for a moment. Screwing his eyes up tight, the king gripped onto the door frame. Cullen was afraid he'd need to shove the man through to end this, the king's knuckles white from the strain. Alistair clucked his tongue a few times before he whispered in a brittle voice, "There's nothing you can do in all of thedas or beyond to get me to stop loving you."

Releasing his grip on the frame, Alistair slipped out of the house into the blinding white light of the fade. Blinking from the change, Cullen rubbed his eyes until they came upon creaking wood. Flipping to face each direction all he saw was wood wrapped around wood, beams propping up even more wood, boxes of wood. "I think we're on a ship," he said aloud, the roll of the waves knocking him back and forth on his feet.

Alistair stood in front of him, his fist bunched up tight and shoulders scrunched up. He didn't say anything, didn't turn towards him, only dug his fingers deeper into his palm as if bleeding himself could draw the demon's poison from his heart.

"We should find Aqun," Cullen said, "and then the demon who's trapped us here."

"And kill it," Alistair whispered, his voice throaty and raw, the words clawing out through a rage boiling inside him.

"Yes, kill it," Cullen nodded. "Do you think she'll be on deck or...?"

A singing reverberated through the ship, sweet and airy, almost as light as the solos performed during chantry services in Val Royeaux, but Cullen didn't understand any of the language. He set out to follow the voice, then paused. Honor followed by his side, but the king kept remained frozen in place, his eyes glaring through the distance. Uncertain if he should whistle at the man or try and shove him to start, Cullen reached out to steady himself on his sword, causing the sheathe to knock against a cargo crate. The noise drew Alistair's attention and he whipped his head at him the way a vengeful bird would. Streaks of tears hung down his cheeks, but no new rivers fell as if they'd run dry. A soul crushing anger pulsed in his eyes, threatening any who dared to stand before him. For the first time since setting out, Cullen feared what the man would do to him. He'd stolen Alistair's only chance at happiness.

The king swallowed a few times, and then he dug the back of his hand across his eyes. It wasn't the usual effervescent self, but the anger blotted away from Alistair and with a tight, straining jaw he bobbed his head. Cullen patted him on the shoulder, and nodded. He knew the pain, but if this worked then they'd free themselves of it and find her. It was worth it.

Shoving past crates stacked to the ceiling in the hold, Cullen followed the voice picking through the maze. _"Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun."_

The sweet timbre rattled at the final word, eventually fading to a bitter gasp as the woman dropped her head into her lap. Aqun sat upon a barrel, but she looked different. Ribbons knotted up her horns, beads dangling off the ends and even a few bells. She wasn't dressed in the revealing but also imposing strip armor of the qunari, but wore a simple tan dress with brass buttons running the entire length down the front. It looked like the typical outfit for fieldworkers.

"Aqun?" Cullen whispered.

She tossed her head, almost colliding her horns with the ship. More Qunlat rolled off her tongue, the words staggered in her struggles to breathe, the long vowels hopping back and forth. Even if he could speak the language it was doubtful he'd have understood it through her grief. This was wrong. The demon tried to lull both of them into a false happiness, to keep them wrapped up forever in bliss. Why did it draw pain from the qunari?

Her hauntingly blue eyes rolled over at Cullen, and then to the king hovering behind him. "This is not correct," she said in common, her own jaw gritted tight.

"No, it's not. It's the fade, a demon's trapped us, and we have to break out," Cullen nodded. He was grateful he didn't have to try and convince an angry qunari that she couldn't stay in her perfect happiness, but he was curious why she wasn't fighting him. "How can you tell?"

Aqun shifted back on her barrel to reveal another qunari dressed in the same tan dress curled up on the deck, fast asleep. "Because, she shouldn't be alive." Both men watched the woman, barely even that, slumbering peacefully. Her breath bounced an errant strip of white hair in front of her mouth. Aqun shied away from touching her, keeping her feet and arms locked tight against the barrel, but she couldn't stop watching. Almost as if she wanted to reach over and push the tickling hairs away from the woman's face.

"We should go," Aqun said. "Free ourselves before we lose too much to this demon. It is a demon, yes? You, templar, must feel it."

Cullen nodded, it had to be a demon doing this to them. He could only tear himself away from his false Lana because of the hope that she was yet out there, still needed him to save her, to give them both another chance. What kind of willpower did it take for Aqun to slide away so easily?

Hopping off the barrel, Aqun gestured towards a backdoor into what must have been the qunari kitchen. "We can escape through there. We are whole. It will not stand against us. Please, I need to..." she wrapped both her hands around her horns and twisted her head back and forth to try and ground herself, "Leaving is preferential," she said. Happy to oblige, Cullen pulled open the door and moved to step through when the sleeping woman stirred, a soft cry breaking through her dreams. He froze, prepared to turn back and grab onto Aqun to drag her onward, but she stood straight, her eyes staring through the hull of the ship.

"Panahedan, kadan," Aqun whispered before disappearing through the door. Whistling at Honor to follow, Cullen stepped out of the fade and fell back into the real world.

The first thing to welcome him back was water seeping across his skin, and a pain knotting against his already swollen jaw. He cracked open an eye, then another, to find himself level with the fetid runoff. Struggling to not breathe in the water, Cullen rose up, splashing himself in the process, and grabbed onto his throbbing head. Then he remembered the demon, and he leaped to his feet, his fingers searching for his sword's grip.

"You need not bother, templar," Aqun's voice rang out from inside the room. A single halo of light circled around her while she stood like a holy statue, still as the grave. "Whatever demon was here is gone."

Behind him, Cullen heard Alistair shuffling through the water, his feet dragging as if he'd lost the ability to lift them. "That's not possible, demons do not vanish," Cullen said. Unsheathing his sword, he paced into the room. Five pillars ringed it with green crystals embedded into the top, each in the shape of an eye, but none of them glowed the haunting white light. At least not anymore.

"This one appears to have," Aqun shrugged. "Either we will have to face it again or it has fled into the fade."

He tried to find it, twisting his head back and forth for the tell tale smell of sulfur but nothing like that floated through the room. If anything, it almost smelled of cold tea, roses, and the spray of sea water. "I do not like this," Cullen said, keeping his sword extended.

"No one does," Aqun gestured at the king then turned her back on him. "We continue in this direction," she pointed to the only open portal and began to stomp towards it.

Rolling his eyes at her impatience, Cullen turned to Alistair needing to confer with another templar. Instead of standing near, or happily prodding at the walls, the king stumbled into the room and fell to his knees. Stale water splashed against his clothes, welling up the entire bottom half of his pants, but the man didn't seem to notice.

Alistair's eyes stared through the walls, his lips mouthing something in practice before he finally asked, "Are you going to hit me again?"

"Ah," Cullen stumbled, unprepared for that question. "No," he shook his head, "no, I...no."

"Feels like you should," he whimpered, pressing his palm against the cheek Cullen bruised before. Alistair must have been weighing every poor decision he ever made against that perfect moment the demon dangled before him, questioning what he could have done to make it possible in his life. Cullen assumed it, because he was doing the same.

"I hate the fucking fade," Alistair hissed. "First, it's my sister but not my sister, because she wasn't a colossal... Then, my father who kept me, let me grow up as his. With Lanny there beside me as, I don't know, a princess or someone I could be with. And now?" He gasped, digging his palms into his eyes. "I'd have given anything, bled myself dry to, to make the impossible happen." The king of Ferelden swatted his hand against the water with a flat palm hard enough the slap echoed through the room. Even in the dank pit, Cullen could see red welling up from his assault. Staring at his slapped hand, Alistair paused and a cruel quirk twisted up his lips, "Let me guess, yours was just a really, really good sword. Hard to leave and all but..."

"It was Lana," Cullen interrupted. He hated revealing anything about himself, but in this instance he needed to say the words as if speaking them would also banish the touch of her skin, the taste of her lips, the sound of her voice. Obliterate how the demon's vision plucked into his heart and almost kept him forever. "She tried to convince me that she'd survived Adamant. Any memories I had of the-of her death were a blood mage's doing."

"Maker damned demons," Alistair hissed, "they're too smart."

"A simple vision, I know. Nothing like what you..." shame curled up in his stomach. Somehow, Cullen sat smug in the right, knowing that his love was purer than the king's because he'd never broken her heart, never offered up a promise he couldn't keep, because of the reason of it being him. But he hadn't dreamed up an entire family, a life away from everything she hated, perfection for them both. It was just more of the same but with Lana in it. Did he even deserve her?

"A nursery," Alistair whispered, breaking through Cullen's fog.

"What?"

"The queen needed a nursery for, you know, and she decided that it was time we, time I clear out Lanny's room. I kept one for her in the palace so she wouldn't have to keep dealing with thieves at the inns or drunks trying to challenge the Hero of Ferelden to a duel. I hadn't entered it since she'd...since she died. Wasn't strong enough to-to look upon her few things. Not the -- you know -- staves, and books, and other weapons of hers, but the important stuff."

Alistair smiled through a wall of tears, and he sat up higher off his knees, "She had this little gear golem that if you turned the crank would lean down, pick up a boulder, then drop it back in place. Loved that thing like crazy, even if it only worked one out of every hundred tries. Lanny'd say 'Just wait, it'll get it this time' and I'd watch her crank it over and over until the broken thing finally went."

Cullen remembered the bear she kept in her room at Skyhold. He'd been curious about it, especially as he'd seen it in various stages of being complete and then back to a million pieces, but never questioned her on it. His mechanical knowledge was apt for weapons of war, not microscopic screws and gears.

"Her phylactery," Alistair continued, and he jabbed a thumb at Cullen's pocket. Obliging, Cullen unearthed the glass bottle that cast a red glow over them, and placed it in the king's hands. The king smiled through his tears and patted it like a dog's head, "It was in her room too. I couldn't bear to look at it, but I couldn't throw it away either. It was hers, it was _her_. The last bit of her to know when she fell, and..." Alistair turned and stared up at Cullen. On his knees he looked as if he was begging for forgiveness from him, "I only saw that it came to life because the queen told me to throw it away so she could have her nursery. Who knows how long it's been doing this half alive, half dead thing? Maybe it went all alive a year ago, and has been slipping. I don't know, because I was too much of a coward to look, to check, to hope that..."

"It's all right," Cullen whispered.

"No, it isn't," the king whipped his head back in forth in a frothy rage.

"None of us could have expected her to come back."

Alistair snorted, and rolled his eyes, "If it's Lanny, always expect the unexpected. I, of all people, should have learned that."

"You're trying now," Cullen continued attempting to convince himself as much as the king, "we can still save her."

"Yeah, save her," Alistair shuddered and wiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand. Using a hand upon Honor to help him up, Alistair rose to his feet. He passed the phylactery back to Cullen and scrubbed his eyes with his fingers. "We save Lana, and then she can yell at me for taking so long."

## Chapter Twenty Seven

**The Song**

_?:?? ?_

She waited, her knees pressed against the chantry floor - harder than she remembered the stones in the circle tower. Andraste stood above her, frozen in veneration with her arms extended, the statue framed by the pea green sky. The Black City floated beyond her head, like a crown of ink dribbling evil in its wake. This was the fade, she was certain of that. It didn't take much to see the obvious fact. She walked into the fade -- well, fell into the fade thanks to the Inquisitor -- and never walked out. That, Lana was also certain of. Except...

Her palms broke and she stared up at the Lady's stone eyes. In the fade nothing was certain.

"I know you are here," she said aloud. "You've always been here -- watching me, waiting, hungering, needing. Hiding will not help either of us."

"You are ready to accept my help, my dear?" it oozed around her, the voice smothering the air around Lana until it snapped back to the spirit rising from the ground to match it.

"Help is a loaded word," Lana answered. She wished she could rise off her knees, but the energy in her body was drained, almost beyond touching. A light breeze could topple her over. "First, we talk, spirit."

"Of course, sweetness. Whatever you need," the spirit floated through the pews as if it didn't see them.

Lana dropped her head, her eyes sliding shut as she gathered her thoughts for this final confrontation. "It took me awhile to figure it out, and you did an amicable job of exhausting me so I couldn't think. Couldn't wonder... Why do I see things when I dream? And not just anything, but something specific, static, in a place I've never been. The fade doesn't work that way, doesn't create new, it only steals and repeated as spirits and demons do. How, how can I see something I've never known? Because...my dreams aren't the fade, they're the real world. The real world where my body is."

The spirit flared a white hot light, but didn't attack her. Instead it hovered aimlessly around in a circle, unable to gather a response to her realization.

"You've kept me trapped here, kept my mind pinned to the fade for, Maker, I have no idea how long. Days? Months? Years? Why?" Lana's eyes flared open and she glared at the floating wisp.

"To protect you, to keep you safe. To guard you from those that would hurt you."

"Why?" Lana repeated.

"For your sake, for your own good. If it weren't for me, the demons would have torn you to shreds, feasted upon you. I sacrificed so much to save you, because-because..."

A cold chuckle rolled through Lana's dry throat, "Demons I understand, their hierarchy -- Pride before Desire, then Despair, Rage, Hunger and so on, but spirits... You have a power that terrifies Jowan, that obliterates Nathaniel, and even sends Wynne packing. And you use it all to keep me here."

"I do it out of love," the spirit shrieked, its face blaring in boiling orange.

"Restraining someone is not love. Holding them against their will, against their choice is not love, spirit."

"You never spoke against it."

Lana slapped her hand against the stone ground, "You never gave me the option!"

Edges of the world faded, the bubble the spirit kept her preserved in wobbling as her brittle emotions surged through it. The spirit extended a finger towards it and clucked, "See what you've done, what you're making me do?" Lana tried to twist to follow but exhaustion tugged on her weary body and she plummeted. Cracking against the stone floor, her head bounced twice, the pain dulled from death creeping through her veins. It wouldn't be long now.

"Sweetheart. Please!" the spirit begged her. "Let me help you. Let me love you. If you untether yourself from me, there will be nothing left. I can't lose you. Not after all this time together."

"What are you talking about?" Lana rolled around, struggling to try and rise but there was nothing remaining in her.

A warm tendril of the spirit caressed her cheek leaving a burn in its wake, her skin tender and enflamed from its touch. "Together we can save you, protect you, rebuild what we had before, before they tried to take you away. Let me help you, let me inside of your mind."

Lana snorted and blood bubbled across the stones. Cold seized up and down her body, her arms and legs drifting away from her as the smell of fossilized air blown from a crypt filled her nostrils. If she screwed her eyes tight she almost saw a strip of green light waiting beyond her. Maybe this was the answer, this was how she had to break out. Let herself die in the fade and then... Except, she'd never heard of it working that way. People escaped the fade, returned to their bodies, they didn't slit their own wrists and wake up fine. Perhaps it was over. She struggled for so long, hoped with every beat of her heart to find a way, but there came a time and place for accepting the inevitable, laying down and letting the others win.

"No!" the spirit shrieked, red light hissing through its ethereal form as if all of its veins caught on fire. "I will not let you go! If you'll not give me what I need, then I'll take it for myself!"

Before Lana had time to throw up her defenses, the spirit dug deep into her brain and unearthed an old memory.

"Alistair, what are you doing?" she folded up her arms and tried to maintain a straight face as the man struggled to balance himself upon a downed tree. Unsatisfied with nearly impaling his body on jagged branches by using both feet to stand on the log, he was now lifting one up.

"I was thinking when all this is over, I could join a circus," he said, promptly slamming his foot down to keep from falling over.

Lanny's cool eye slipped up from his foot to the rest of him, "It'll be the quickest act in thedas."

"Well," he hopped off the log and dropped in front of her, his feet sinking into the mossy forest floor. They were supposed to be hunting for werewolves, but somehow the two grey wardens kept finding any excuse to wander off alone together. It was a true mystery of the Maker. Alistair wrapped one of his sap coated hands around her back to pull her close, then brought the other together to close off the embrace. "If you came with they'd be certain to sign us on the spot. You could throw fire."

"I'd set the audience on fire," she whispered against his cheek. By dusk's light, his hair seemed to glow like the pyre of Andraste - an eternal golden flame.

"That'll just make it a more exciting show," Alistair shifted her over to his side as he waved an arm out, "Come, if you dare, to watch the fire spitting mage. People in the first five rows will lose their eyebrows."

"You are bonkers," Lanny said. Then she grabbed onto his cheek and took him into a kiss. "But you're my kind of bonkers."

"I don't deserve this," Alistair sighed in joy.

"What? Being called bonkers? I'd rather think you do..."

"I meant you," he chided, before wrapping all of him around her, enveloping her body. It was strange how quickly she grew used to the bite of his armor against her chest, even came to enjoy it. "Having you be this amazing you, and with me of all people. I mean, look at you!"

"That's rather difficult to do without a mirror."

"Should I describe every inch of your body? I bet I could, though there might be the danger of drooling in the middle."

She playfully swatted at his armor with a discerning toss of her head but internally Lanny swam in joy. In her nineteen years she'd never felt anything like this, never had a man grab onto her hand and hold it tight while they crossed a bridge just because he missed her. Never had someone whisper every wild idea in his head because he loved watching her laugh. Never had a person give so much of himself without a second thought for what the world expected of them, didn't care about duty or the rules because he was that far gone for her. Alistair held nothing back, even if he took the round about lamppost way of telling her he cared.

"Why the circus?" Lanny asked. "Why not something more interesting, like the Antivan Crows?"

"Sure sure, Zevran makes it look fun what with all of his fancy accents and leather things, but I bet half of the time you're stuck filling out paperwork and polishing your knives."

"Polishing your knife, eh?" She couldn't stop the smirk as Alistair's cheeks lit up bright red.

He stammered against her, struggling to pull in a breath as she clung tighter to him. "That wasn't what I...You know, I didn't... Oh, you are evil. So evil, super evil with an evil sauce drizzled on top."

Shrugging, she placed her head against his chest, the metal a sharp cold against her skin, but she didn't mind. Sometimes she wondered if she could fall asleep like that, held tight in his arms, his steady breathing and warm body gently rocking her away.

Alistair's chin butted against the top of her head as he snuggled into her. In a soft voice, he whispered, "It doesn't matter how evil you are to me, I'll always love you."

"What?" Lanny broke from his hold and stared up into those amused eyes, now slipping to bemused at her, "Did, did you say you love me?"

"I, uh, um," he swallowed a few times, bit down on his lip, and squinched up half his face as if he swallowed a bee. "I guess so?"

Her heart pounded fervently in her chest, terrified and ecstatic, confused and amazed. In her time at the tower, she never thought that anyone would come to her like that with his whole heart extended in hand. They'd only known each other, what, four or five months? And in that time suffered and shared in death and loss on an unimaginable scale. Alistair was the one she turned to, searched for when her heart languished in the bitter depths, and he took her hand, combed her hair back, and held her tight. A lightness enveloped her heart filling a hole she didn't realize was there.

Rising onto her toes, Lanny cupped his cheek in her hand, pulling his bashful eyes to hers. With a certainty that could crack a mountain she told him the truth, "I love you, too."

_9:44 Anderfels_

Cullen steeled himself for the next test in this gauntlet of horrors, his mind churning through what other possibilities the demons could dredge to tempt and taunt him. Sensing her master's ill ease, Honor growled softly, her head whipping back and forth at any noise. Normally, her snout would be buried in the ground as she ran around chasing anything potentially fun or food, but she ignored the tempting smells buried below the water - maybe dipped down once or twice for a drink, and nothing more. Behind him strode Alistair, the man's cheeks drawn more than normal, his skin a ghastly pallor as he kept digging his fingers into his forehead, trying to claw the memories out.

_It'll never work,_ Cullen thought, shaking his head. He wished it were that simple. Ahead of them waited Aqun, the qunari tapping her foot impatiently as if she didn't have her soul inverted out of her body and rubbed raw with steel wool. Whatever effects the Fade had upon her wore off the moment she left the room of emerald eyes.

"Templar," she called, jerking her spear staff in his direction, "we have a situation."

"What is it?" Cullen struggled to lift his steps higher, shaking off the memories clinging to him like rising dead wrapping putrid hands onto a person's legs. He could let them stain him later, when there was time. A small part of him warned that if they failed, if they didn't find Lana, then those false memories could be his undoing. His only moment of happiness he willingly walked away from.

"Wards," the qunari interrupted his thoughts.

Sheathing his sword, Cullen prepared himself to dispel another batch when he skidded to a halt. They glittered over every surface of the room beyond a small portcullis, but it wasn't ice or fire that would impale whoever trespassed. Red as blood and black as the void, death wards coated the walls and floor. If anyone crossed it, erupted it, they wouldn't have a chance to move before their body hemorrhaged blood from every orifice, every pore.

Alistair stumbled into the back of him and looked up. Then he whistled long and slow, "That's not a good sign."

"You recognize them?" Aqun spoke to Cullen.

He nodded his head before turning to the man who was also once a templar. "That requires powerful magic," Cullen said.

"Yeah, the slit your throat, pour all the blood onto the floor kind," Alistair agreed. He wrapped his fingers around the bars separating them from undeniable death.

"I am uncertain if I can remove them," Cullen said. He'd struggled through the ice ones and persevered, but these were another level entirely. In his old days they would require a full regiment to dispel, every templar taking one.

"You don't need to do them all," Alistair said. "Just make a small path we can walk through. Not too small, but that's what? Three?"

"Four," Aqun answered.

"Maker's breath, you are bad at counting," Cullen mused to himself, then he grimaced at his faux pas. He hadn't meant to dig up Lana's words, never wanted to think about that version of her ever again even as his traitorous mind preserved her voice and pregnant form. "I'm sorry, I didn't wish to..." Cullen caught himself, trying to apologize.

"Yeah, I get it. I mean, it...forget it, I'm fine. Good. But I'm not the one facing down _that_. So, best get templaring fast," Alistair spoke quickly, stuffing his pain away.

Sighing, Cullen chased the void inside of him, shifting reality to try and blot away the stains magic left upon the world. He glared upon the first ward, its mutilating runes daring him to try and defeat them. A headache beat in an arrhythmic pattern against the stem of his brain, but Cullen chewed through it, his hands gripping to the bars as he focused everything inside of him upon it. Clinging by bare knuckles to the blankness, he snapped his eyes tight to struggle against the blowback. Exhaustion rose out of the void, bringing with it the vision of Alistair and the qunari both peering over at him. He didn't notice the sweat across his brow until a fetid breeze blew past, his slick hands sliding down the bars as his grip fell limp. He failed.

"Okay, well, we wait awhile and then you try again," Alistair tried to encourage him. "I can maybe add a bit to it, though I'm far out of practice."

Cullen shook his head, "No." He'd felt the ward staring back, chuckling at him that he'd never wipe it away, never be able to remove the powerful magic some malifecarum infected the world with. "I cannot remove it. I didn't even draw close." Cullen brought his forehead against the bars cold as a gravestone. The thought drove nails into his heart. He failed her too.

"I may have a solution, but..." Alistair reached his fingers into his satchel and rummaged through it. The noise was so cacophonous it drew Cullen's attention, his exhausted face turning to watch as the king extracted a bottle.

_What could he... No!_ Cullen felt it singing in the air before the king opened the amber bottle and a vial of pure lyrium dropped into his hand. "What are you doing with that?" Cullen hissed.

"Originally, I thought we might need it for trade purposes. You know, if you give us the keys to your fortress you can have this shiny blue liquid," the man shrugged, clinging to the lyrium as if it was nothing. "It might be enough for you to be able to clear the wards."

"I..." Cullen shuddered as he found his fingers reaching towards the vial, "I can't. You don't understand what you're asking of me. I cannot, will not. If this is your plan, you take it."

"I, uh," Alistair glanced over at Aqun either made aware of his near templar heritage or already having known it. "I've never had the blue stuff before. And there's just the one vial so, if - when - I screw it up, we don't have a plan B."

He was correct. The first sip of lyrium was that, little more than a drop cut with wine so initiates could build up their resistance to it. That much lyrium would kill him dead. But, no, he couldn't fall back into that endless abyss. Cullen shook his head, the trembling rising in his hands. "No..." he sputtered.

"Look, if there were a bunch of templars singing songs in passing, I'd drag them down here to do it, but--" Alistair tipped his head, "I don't hear any out on a meadow walk, so it's this or..." He swallowed deep, his red eyes brimming in tears, "or we don't reach her."

_Damn him!_ Damn him for even bringing it. For making it an option. "I will not leash myself again!" Cullen shouted. Throwing himself off the bars, he stomped through the flooded, body-less catacombs trying to find an answer when he knew there was none. Lana needed him, he was never more certain of that in his life. Needed him with a greater urgency than when they fought through an army of darkspawn, or when they faced off against the harlequins, or when she...

Watching her scream at the grey warden's corpse while her own blood dripped down her robes into the water chipped away at his soul. He froze, uncertain what to do as the woman who ended a blight, who built an army from nothing, who stormed a tower full of demons, crumbled before him. She'd begged and pleaded with the Maker or anyone else to fix things so her Nathaniel hadn't attacked her, so she hadn't killed him. Cullen had no idea what she needed, so he chose to do what he in that moment did and clung tight to her. As if his body could somehow protect her from the pain of losing a friend, worse than that, the betrayal of someone she cared for, helped to train and grow. It was a foolish thought, and Andraste save him, he had no idea if it kept her with him, convinced her to stem her own bleeding. Holding her while her magic took ages to knit together abused flesh, Cullen made a promise in his heart that no matter what it cost him, he'd do anything he could to keep her safe.

Anything...

_Maker, guide me. Give me the wisdom to decide._ Cullen grabbed onto the crumbling brick with his fingers and in ragged breaths whispered part of a prayer, "Through blinding mist, I climb. A sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base endlessly far beneath my feet..." Panting, Cullen turned his head up to stare at his fingers dug deep into the bones of this vile place. "The Maker is the rock to which I cling."

Releasing his hold, he stepped back from the wall itself and a wash of light burst from his pocket. Red as blood, the light coated the surface in front of him highlighting a small carving low along the wall, as if done by a child. "Lana," Cullen's fingers fumbled for the phylactery, glancing across the surface. He tripped across that tattered picture the king gave him. Gazing at it by the light of her phylactery, his heart constricted into his throat. She was so perfect there, preserved behind ink and vellum, incorruptible, her doe eyes gazing to some great beyond. Bringing the portrait to his lips, Cullen whispered, "Please forgive me."

Alistair looked up at his return while Aqun only glared through him, tired of the delay. Knocking back and forth on his feet, Alistair said, "We can try something else. It doesn't have to be the lyrium if..."

"Give it to me," Cullen said, his hand steady as he held his palm out to the king.

"Are you sure?" Alistair asked. Cullen didn't answer him, only glared, and the king dropped the vial into his hand.

It felt heavier than he remembered. How could such a small bottle of liquid feel as if it was full of lead? Cullen's thumb ran along the edge. The last time he came this close he wanted to obliterate every memory of Lana, purge himself of ever knowing her, ever loving her. Now, he prayed to Andraste that he not lose a second of their time together. It was all he had left.

"I cannot see the path," Cullen recited the next verse of the prayer as he unscrewed the top. "Perhaps there is only abyss." The vial's edge sat against his lips shaking with both fear and anticipation. "Trembling, I step forward...in darkness enveloped." Tipping it back, Cullen lost himself in the cold blue liquid oozing down his throat returning to him a part he forgot he lost. It felt as if he grew another arm or leg, an invisible limb that withered and fell off from his three years of sobriety. Why did he even bother? Energy surged through him, the sweet song of duty blanketing down his anxiety until he felt -- no, he _knew_ what he had to do.

Grabbing onto the bars, Cullen claimed the lyrium snaking through his blood as his own and blasted apart the first ward, then the second, and third. This was easy. So much easier than when he attempted it before. How could he have been so blind to give up this strength when it was needed most? The lunacy of it...

Whether through the phylactery pressing next to him, or his own clinging mind, a vision rose of Lana -- her lip quivering -- as she asked him if he'd begun to lose any memories. She tried to wall away her emotions but he could sense it, read it in her in a way he never could in anyone else. Lana was terrified that one day he'd wake and not remember her.

Tears welled up, burning brighter from the lyrium surging inside his body. He wiped them away, digging his grimy gloves into his eyes because he deserved to feel the pain.

"There's one more," Aqun pointed out, her voice breaking through the hushed silence that fell between the group.

When this was over, no matter what they found, Cullen swore to himself he'd never take lyrium again. Gritting his teeth, he obliterated the last ward, wishing he could will the chantry's poison out of his body with it, but the lyrium remained as it would for a few days. Maker only knew how much of his mind it would drain when it went.

## Chapter Twenty Eight

**Heartbreak**

_?:?? ?_

_Damn it!_ Lana's fingers pinched into her forehead, the thumb screwed tight against her skull as she tried to block her memories from the feasting demon fattening its liver on every flush of her heart. Raising off the ground, she shook her head madly, willing the demon's grasping fingers out of her weeping brain.

"You're growing stronger," it said, as if that was a good thing. Of course she was, with every memory the demon grew indomitable clenching her tighter to this place like a butterfly pinned to a board. "Do not make that face, dearest. I'm helping you. Saving you so we can be together. Isn't that what you want?"

"What I want is to be free!" Lana shrieked, spinning around to glower at the floating form. She knew why Regret transformed itself into Jowan, Duty into Nathaniel, and Curiosity to Wynne -- but it took her ages to determine why this spirit bore no face. There were two logical candidates in the running and yet it chose neither. But then, maybe that was why. This spirit, or demon, was interested in only one thing from her, and to see either face would cause the opposite of what it wanted; heartbreak instead of love. _Was it that simple? It couldn't be that easy? Right?_

The demon's eyes, little more than shadows against the white smoke, darkened as it sensed the change in her. "Your crafty mind has thought of something, hasn't it? I can feel you calling to her, that...what did you call her? Wynne? But she won't be coming. None of them are strong enough to reach you now."

Lana paced back and forth, her mind flitting through her past but not touching it. She needed something beyond a quick burn to strike back at this spirit. Her body was breaking down out there, losing its fight. If she didn't free herself quickly, there...there would be nothing to come back to. Just like Niall in the tower. A sly smile knotted up her panicked face, and Lana smugly turned to the spirit.

"You want to revel in every love to cross my path? Have this."

Camp. Maybe the last one before the end. No one spoke much after they set out from Denerim for Redcliffe. No one needed to. They knew what was at stake, an entire years worth of buildup for the end. An end she never thought they'd reach. She should be happy, or at least grateful to come to a conclusion, but... Lana stood perched upon a log staring deep into the hooded forest. To the handful of soldiers traveling with their strange group it looked as if she was on guard piercing through the darkness for potential danger. To those who knew her...well, at least they hadn't said anything yet.

"Eamon's reporting some sightings of darkspawn near the Hinterlands."

Her back tightened at the voice trying to wedge itself back into her life. "I see," Lana responded, hoping he'd catch on and return to his own royal tent.

But Alistair was always slow. "Lucky thing we'll be there tomorrow."

"Uh huh."

"And there was a bird, or squirrel, or something from Riordan. He's off scouting the darkspawn to figure out where the horde is. I think. I was never very good at deciphering the Grey Warden code. We should get special rings to help with that."

He continued flinging words into the air as if an incessant babble would somehow blind her to what happened after the Landsmeet. Make her forget the choice he made without including her, without even raising the question to her before he decided. Unable to take anymore, Lana interrupted him, "Why are you here?"

That threw Alistair off, his ideas on an official grey warden handshake evaporating into the night air. "To fight darkspawn...?"

"You don't belong with us. You should be with the royal regiment surrounded by guards sworn to protect you, not traipsing through Ferelden's backwaters with a slapped together crew of murderers, witches, sisters, and whatever Oghren is," Lana gestured towards the people who somehow became the friends she could most count upon. Turning around to face him, for the first time to stare into those eyes since he broke her heart, Lana spat out, "Your highness."

"I..." Alistair banged his limp hands together, "I will see this through."

"Oh, you'll see that through, but not--"

"Lanny, is now the time? I, we have to stop this blight. To finish what was started over a year ago, do what wardens do. You can yell at me to your heart's content after. Okay?"

Maker damn him, but he was right. Her skin burned as she oscillated from a tearing-his-limbs-off rage to crumpled-in-a-heap sorrow, but somehow neither appeared on her face. To the rest of the army, she looked stoic, concerned, but prepared to throw herself fully into battle -- which was what they needed. A year, a fucking year they traveled up and down Ferelden knotting together every farmer with a pitchfork, city elf who carved himself a shiv, and branded dwarf willing to risk the surface all to create an army. The army necessary to stop the blight. To let it all fall apart now would...would make every sacrifice moot. She couldn't do that, not after all their work, not when thedas needed her to be strong.

Lana turned back to the woods so he wouldn't see her cry. She'd learned how to silence her sobs years ago in her bed at the tower, to curtail the tremble of her shoulders and the gasping of breath, but those cursed tears always fell. The man didn't deserve to know that he'd gotten to her. Alistair bounced back and forth on his feet, not wanting to leave but also not wanting to stay. Realizing there was nothing there for him, he turned to leave when Lana spoke up.

"When I was in the circle tower, we... Love is a luxury, relationships are a luxury. You can't afford to become invested because there is nothing beyond the few stolen moments. No marriage, no children, no growing old together. I thought I was, I could play the game same as any other mage. Keep my heart locked away, to not get emotionally invested in...a bit of fun. Not two weeks out in the world I meet you, obliterating everything I put in place to protect myself."

"I..." his voice whispered through the howling winds, the solitary word thudding to the ground.

She wrapped her arms around her chest and glared through the shadows, but all her attention was upon the man staring limply at the ground behind her. "Tell me, I... when you, all of it, every touch, every kiss, every- If you were playing with me, then, then I can hate you and move on. If it was your own game, your way of testing the waters, getting your feet wet before settling down, then...then I, I-" She needed to know and yet didn't want to ask, but Lana spent most of her life doing things she didn't want to, "When you told me you loved me, was it a lie?"

The sound of Alistair sucking in his breath broke so strongly above the winds a few of his guards glanced over. It seemed as if she managed to kick the air out of his lungs with only a question. But he had to know she'd suspect it. How easily he swapped her away for the crown with nary a shred of loss on his face as he denounced her. Not even worthy of a single tear. She thought she knew him, thought he was better than that. Believed Alistair wasn't one to toy with her for his own gain.

"No, Lanny. I..." he swallowed again. She could feel his hand hovering just above her shoulder as if he wanted to touch it but was terrified to get near her. "I love you."

He could lie now, but what would be the point? She'd hate him either way, whether for using her like his play thing and discarding her the moment she became inconvenient or for idiotically throwing away something she never thought herself capable of. Love had been beyond her, a pretty ideal in books and songs that intrinsically meant nothing. Pain was life, the tower taught her that, and losing people hurt in varying degrees. If that was all love was, the pain of loss, then who cared? Every person in the circle could be swiped down at a moment's notice. It wasn't the sorrow tearing up her veins and wrapping its tendrils deep into her brain that concerned her. It was the fact that, in spite of him ripping out her heart and crushing it below his crown, she still hated the idea of hurting him. She still loved him.

"That's a pity," Lana whispered to the forest, "because I love you too."

"It wasn't, I..." Alistair struggled to find a word to say, anything to somehow wipe away the fact he drove a hook insider her chest and gutted her clean through. Through a mumbled breath he whispered, "There's nothing you can do."

"No? What if I made you wear frilly trousers with embroidered cats upon them?" Her words were light hearted, but her voice choked through a sob.

"I'd still love you," Alistair gulped behind her.

She shouldn't be dragging this out. He made his choice, his peace, he had a future to look forward to and she had...she had a blight to finish. "What if I filled your bedroll with moldy potatoes? Or if I hid ants in your porridge? Or if I had Oghren spit in your gloves? Or..." Every 'or' grew higher and higher in pitch, her voice panicking as she spoke them. If she could find the right one, the reason he'd give up on her then maybe, maybe she'd find her reason to stop loving him too.

"Lanny," the first man she ever trusted with her heart, ever let not just inside her body but her mind, to know her thoughts, her dreams, grabbed onto her hand. She didn't turn around to face him, couldn't -- just watched as he ran his fingers over her skin. His voice cracked from tears dripping in his words as he whispered, "There's nothing in thedas, the fade, or beyond you could do that would make me stop loving you."

Lana closed her eyes tight, willing away the pain burning behind them. As she pulled her hand away from his to let it dangle in the cold air, she said emotionless, "What if I made you king?"

"AH!" the spirit shrieked in her ear, the voice rattling across every stone below her. Lana opened her eyes against a burn as the tears from so many years ago dribbled free. Her heart crashed the same as it had at that last campsite, the memory pouring all the emotion into her with it, but Lana smiled at the spirit. A grin of malevolence twisted up her cheeks as she gazed out at the demon's domain crashing apart. The statue of Andraste rotted away, the head tumbling backwards into weeds twisting up through the stones of the chantry, dead vines claimed the Lady's body. It was working.

"What's the matter, spirit? Don't enjoy that love as much?" Lana taunted. She struggled to rise from where she landed in a pew, the energy unhappy to flood into her depleting veins. A bone curdling cold swept across her skin, inexplicable in the fade.

"If. You. Do. Not. Stop. You. Will. Die," the demon spat out, clinging to its head as if suffering from a splitting headache.

"So you say, and yet I'm still here," Lana mocked, savoring this narrow victory. She had more, so much more inside of her. An entire lifetime's worth of heartache to throw at this creature. "Give up now, let me go and I'll stop."

The spirit chuckled, "You know I cannot do that. I cannot let you injure yourself the way you dream of, the pictures of how you'd end it flitting through your mind." Lana's victorious smile fell, her throat clutching at the spirit's taunt. "You cling to them sometimes, press them into the pages of your memory in case they're ever needed. But I will not let you accomplish it. I will save you."

"That's not love, demon," anger knocked over any shame, sending Lana barreling towards the creature, "I'd rather face death at the thousands of spiders you keep at bay or live for a brief second in the real world than face eternity with you."

Twisting its head back and forth, form began to take substance across the demon. Not much, only a glimmer of opacity, the creature's head knotting upwards into two streaks almost like horns. "How do you intend to stop me?" the demon asked.

Crossing her arms, Lana tipped her head back and shouted, "Jowan? Get in here, because I'm going to give you the memory you've always wanted."

The last of the smoke curled around the pyre creaking in the winds upon the sands of Seheron. Varric and Isabela both left a few minutes into lightning it but he stood there, his chin pulled to his chest, watching silently as the flames consumed Maric's body. Alistair's only family wafted away like ash on the breeze.

Lana curled her hand inside his, clinging tight. He'd been quiet after they found Maric, the real Maric outside of the fade. Sullen wasn't Alistair's way; when something bothered him he walled it up tight and distracted anyone prying apart the bricks with jokes. But silence was all he could manage while they tried to do right by the one great king of Ferelden, barely a word slipping through his lips.

She tried to shake the fade's memories from her mind -- how easily she'd fallen into its trap, imagined that-that, it didn't matter. None of it was real, nor could it ever be. Maker only knew what havoc it would wreak upon Alistair, had already shattered inside of him. He reached his free hand out towards the ashes which were still blisteringly hot. Lana threw ice around them, struggling to cool it before he burned himself on accident. Barely slowing at the flare of magic, Alistair picked a pinch of the ashes between his fingers - the same amount they'd used to heal Eamon so many years ago. He released his hold on her to cup his father's ashes in both of his hands, staring down at them trying to mourn the man who created him, the one he never knew.

"Alistair," Lana tried to guard him from hurting himself, "it's been a...a long day. We should get some sleep first."

He looked about to agree with her, to return Maric's ashes to the pyre so they could collect them all later, to follow her to the campsite with the qunari, to cry against her shoulder as they figured out their next step. Slipping her hand back into his, Lana tugged upon him to follow, when a sigh groaned through Alistair's body.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not your fault, you...you had to do it."

"No, Lanny," he opened his hand letting hers hang alone in the air. Straightening up, he turned his empty face towards her. "I am sorry for misplacing your honor, for taking advantage of you."

_No. He couldn't be serious. Not again!_ She snapped her hand back, tears bunching behind her eyes. "Don't you dare," she threatened, jabbing a finger at him.

"It was my mistake, my failure, my weakness," he moaned as if he wanted to be punished, wanted to make himself feel as miserable as possible by taking her down with him. "I think it's best if we-if we return to what we were before."

"You bastard," she stated the fact, glaring coldly through his Maker damned, white knight bullshit. "You spineless, cold hearted, feckless bastard." Alistair flinched with every word, but he shuddered as she threw bastard at him, not because the word hurt but because it struck back at her. If he wasn't a bastard, if he hadn't been some king's hidden son, then he wouldn't be breaking her heart again.

"Lanny..." he began, "I know this isn't--"

"Know? You don't know a Maker given thing, Alistair. You've never known because you don't want to. You run the moment something falters, fails. Tuck your tail between your legs and scamper on home while the rest of us pick up the pieces alone!" She tried to fight down the hurt in her voice, the tears burning her eyes, but she wasn't strong enough. _Damn him! Damn him to the void!_

"I'm doing what's right for--"

"Oh no, don't you dare give me that noble bullshit about how you're sacrificing yourself for the better good, for my sake, for the fucking kingdom. You don't give a nug's ass in winter about the gentry, about any of that shit. You'd have given it all up in a heartbeat if you could," she shouted, gesturing at Maric's pyre. "All you care about, all you've ever cared about is yourself."

His jaw twitched back and forth while he chewed through her rant, choking on her damning words. It was one thing to have strangers call him on his faults, but when she did it every barb dug deep into his flesh. "You think I'm happy about this? About any of this? For Andraste's sake, I wanted to...I hoped to."

"I know what you hoped to do, Alistair. To free yourself of any duty, any requirements placed upon your head. You wanted to run as far from leadership as you could get!" _Just like you were doing_ , she damned herself in her head. The similarity only fueled her anger, reminding her of everything she gave up in her life for him, for his whims. _Damn her too!_ "You...we could have worked together, but no, no it all has to be about you, about your noble sacrifice for someone's cause. I never get any fucking say in it, like I'm, I don't matter. To you, to anyone. I'm just supposed to be happy you even glanced my way!"

"What am I supposed to do, Lanny?" his eyes snapped up from his sulk, anger finally threading away his pout. "What can I do? Tell me. You're good at that. You love telling people what to do, what to think, what to notice, what to eat."

She growled deep into her chest, her shoulders bunching as she burrowed her head deeper into her neck. "You begged me to come along, drug me from the wardens and offered me...gave me a...let me even think that I. I could have-- Ahh!" Lana tipped her head back and screamed, her voice cracking through the muggy Seheron air as she let eight years of pain thunder through her. Eight years of watching from the sidelines as he flirted with the noble ladies auditioning to be his wife or mistress. Eight years of him smiling serenely at her, telling her she was the most amazing woman he knew, and then taking another mage to his bed. Eight years of him giving her hope that maybe, maybe she'd have a chance again.

No more. A cruel laugh gurgled in her throat, and she faced her shoes, snickering at the idiocy of it all. Surrounded by pirates on one side, the other by qunari, all while she cursed at the king of Ferelden. That's what her life led to. From a little girl raised on a farm in the Free Marches, cursed with magic and bundled off to a circle, to whatever demented torture this was. Returning to the circles sounded better with every passing day and even that was no longer an option because of, because she dared to trust someone she never should have.

"Wh...?" Alistair looked spooked, as if he expected her head to snap up and find she'd become possessed by a demon. "What's funny?"

Her soft chuckle grew into a greater laugh, strangling her smoke burned vocal chords as tears traced a path through her soot stained cheeks. "You almost had me, almost convinced me that it was, that you'd changed. I foolishly thought, believed even if Maric was gone you'd-you'd," Lana's laugh died and her lips trembled. She swiped the heels of her palms across her eyes to blot away the tears. "Keep me. But of course not, why would it change? Eight years, eight Maker damned years and it's still the same all over again. Why is it so easy for you to give me up? What do I keep doing to make me worthless?"

"Lanny, I..."

"I know, you're sorry, as if that'll fix everything. Slap a sorry poultice on it, that'll cure a broken heart a treat," she screeched through the pain dropping on her chest and raising her voice higher as the emotion built up. It throbbed inside her brain, heartache threatening to burst from her ears.

Alistair shook his head, and mumbled, "I was going to say I love you."

"I don't care," Lana cut back with, causing the king to whip his head up. He blinked rapidly, and for the first time she saw the start of tears burning in his eyes. It didn't happen the entire time she yelled at him, nor the first time he broke her heart, but somehow her truth was enough to shake a few free. "What you do and do not love has no bearing upon my life any longer, king of Ferelden. You had a chance, two chances, and you-you ruined the only fucking good thing in your life."

She expected him to scoff at that, to come back angrier against it, but Alistair crumbled - whatever backbone he bore slipping away. His eyes drooped downwards, the browns watering to a simpering, pathetic turn. He whispered to the ground, "Tell me what you want, please. I'll do it. I'll always do it."

Lana spun around and snatched up her staff - the only constant companion she had in this world, then turned back to face him. Raising her voice loud enough so all the interlopers with straining ears could hear, she told him the truth, "Stay out of my life. It means so little to you, it should be easy to accomplish." Smoothing down her robes, she turned away from him for what she thought would be the last time. Alistair didn't speak up, didn't try to pull her back or beg for more forgiveness. The only hint that he even heard her was a solitary sob floating on the sea winds, and then silence.

## Chapter Twenty Nine

**Wake Up**

_9:44 Anderfels_

The templar should have hit him - smashed apart his jaw, knocked his brains against the floor and put him out of his misery. Damn the fade, damn it and all those damn demons and their damn deamony damning tricks! Alistair lurked at the back of the group, their saucy Qunari leading the pack as if she already knew where to go, while Cullen... Maker, how was he still going? How did he manage to yank himself out of that razor wire trap and not even show a glint of pain across his face? He mooned more over taking the lyrium than whatever the fade did to him.

Alistair gripped tighter to his stomach, trying to pry apart the splint mail with his fingernails as if that would make him feel better. Somehow remove not just the image of Lanny and their children from his brain, but the serenity it filled in his heart. He never realized how much he wanted that until it was gone. But that wasn't a possibility, had never been one, would never be. Why not wish for edible candy clouds and the ability to fly while you're at it, Alistair? It's far more likely you'll sprout wings.

The others eyed up the walls as they continued to climb higher into the fortress. By a small miracle of the Maker, the water finally receded, leaving their ankles sopping but free to dry in the dead air. It stank the further they continued, like dried skin stretched in preparation for the tanner with chunks of gristle still attached, and the sharp bite of magic. Every time he went to lick his teeth, he feared it would spark back at him from the growing hum in the air. The templar had to feel it, especially with his own veins glowing bright, but Cullen didn't respond. He'd barely said a word since dissolving the wards, that sword's edge focus back. It unnerved Alistair how quickly the templar swung from a bubbling panic to honed certainty with a single drink. He'd only brought the one vial as a half hearted joke anyway, as if the Anderfels wouldn't use proper coin for trade. Now he regretted not bringing more, worried how the templar would react when his ration wore off.

Walking under a half broken archway, Alistair screwed his eyes up from a strange green light permeating the room. He blinked a few more times, trying to chase away the white dots across his vision when the truth of the room came into focus. It was grand by tunnel standards, with massive columns propping up a stone dome undulating green energy across it. No, not a dome, there was a big metal ball hanging off the ceiling, dented as if the sculptor couldn't be bothered to smooth it out. That was weird. "Have you ever...?" Alistair began, breaking his silence as he walked towards the others.

Cullen stood deeper in the room, his body rigid as he gazed outward at the wall. With his eyes on the giant hanging ball, Alistair didn't see what fascinated Cullen until he ran into the man's shoulder. The templar whipped back, pure focus across his face, and Alistair's eyes slid away from the slightly scary man to the alcoves dug three feet deep into the walls. It wasn't the multitude of them that startled him, nor the green barrier slapped across each one hissing in magic. No, what nearly sent him scampering out the door was the fact every single one was filled with a dead body. A good thirty bodies circled the room, their skin stretched taut against prodding bones, lips receded away from teeth revealing white gums. Their eyes were shut tight, for which he was grateful. He didn't want to stare into the depthless void of rotted away eyeballs inside those mummified skulls.

Placing a hand against the wall, Alistair leaned closer to the barrier trying to understand who and what this once was. Human, probably, though the ears were shriveled mushrooms on the side of the head. The clothing was the same across every alcove, worn and faded robes without a stitch of any ornamentation. They all looked like monks; ordinary, mummified monks resting almost upright behind the most powerful magic he'd ever tasted. While interesting, this wasn't getting them any closer to Lanny. He began to turn away, when the mummy's paper wasp-nest chest rattled.

"Merciful Andraste!" Alistair shrieked, leaping back, "They're alive!"

"Don't be..." Cullen began, then he caught another body heaving the dust from its leathered skin as it too took in a breath. "Holy Maker, what is this?"

"That's what I was gonna shriek about," Alistair continued.

"How can they be alive? They, this is..." the templar looked freaked, beyond terrified as he whipped his head around at the other mummies that weren't quite dead. The whites of his eyes glowed in the haunting green light as he glared into each alcove, scrounging through the bent and twisted faces.

Alistair shrugged, "You did sense blood magic, and this isn't beyond the pale for them. But..." Why was it bothering the templar? He'd had to have seen this kind of thing before, perhaps worse in Kirkwall and... "Shit. Oh, shitting shit. Where's Lanny?!" He joined in the hunt through the faces, trying to fight down the panic clawing up his throat. No, no, not after all this, after the heartache, the jawache, the miles, the long nights, they were not going to find her turned into one of those- one of those... _Maker, no._

"The phylactery," Alistair gestured to Cullen, but the man's broken eyes widened and he shook his head.

"It's gone dark again. I can't get a sense any longer. I, I don't know if, if...what if we're too late?" The taut string he'd been running on snapped and Cullen dropped to his knees, a groan cracking through his lips. Whatever wall he built for himself after the fade, the fight, maybe even from the day he set out must have crumbled, dragging the man with. Honor tried to nudge her head against him, but the man was beyond her, beyond reaching as he crashed deep into the empty void.

_No!_ Alistair stomped his foot like a child; he refused to give up. Even if he had to scour every desiccated face buried behind thick green glass he was going to find Lanny. Digging his fingers into his forehead, Alistair struggled to think, to find an answer, when he heard it gnawing at the back of his head. The song that'd been barely a tickle before was growing stronger, knocking from the base of his skull up through his teeth because... _Oh, Maker._

"These are wardens," he moaned. And every one of them was still tied to the archdemon, to the calling, all of them knotted together in... "Of course!" he slapped himself in the forehead for being an idiot. Alistair dropped a hand to the fallen templar. At first, he batted it away, wanting to wallow in his misery, but Alistair wasn't about to give up. "Come on, I know how we can find her."

"How?" Cullen staggered to his feet, not accepting the hand offered to him.

Alistair tapped his head, "I'm gonna follow my nose." Like all grey wardens, he could kinda tell the difference between wardens and darkspawn - the former a gentle symphony in the distance, the latter like climbing inside the bass drum. He couldn't really tell the variances to associate between different wardens, all save one. "Not here," he barely paid attention to the surroundings as he zipped through a doorway into another room similarly stuffed with the dried out husks of wardens.

Cullen groaned at more of the same, even Aqun sighed in consternation, while Alistair waved his hand around, listening with his mind. "No, not here either. This way..." He could hear it -- it wasn't loud, not the way it should be, but it sang to him, through him, every part of him knew it. Running past another two chambers also circled with the preserved mummies, Alistair chased after what he heard in his heart. With each step the singing grew louder through his soul, driving him further and further towards it, until they stepped into the largest chamber of them all.

While the others were impressive -- your salons, or foyers, or vestibules -- this was where the real shit happened. It was the grand ballroom to the quaint drawing rooms of before. No giant metal balls hung from the ceiling, but a griffin statue stood proud in the middle of all - its wings extended as if it turned to stone mid-flight. Shit, given what ancient magisters were capable of, perhaps that's what happened and it had once been a real griffin. The others gawped at the grandeur of another time pristinely preserved away from grave robbers, while Alistair pried apart his forehead, his lips tasting the song. Spinning on his heels, he raced towards a single alcove directly across from the griffin statue.

He didn't tell Cullen what he felt in his gut, but the templar kept close to him, both men coming to a dead standstill at the end of their quest -- Lanny resting peacefully upon the standing altar. She wasn't a mummy, though her cheeks were sucked in more than he remembered, her hair dull and listless, her body fragile under thick robes, tattered and filthy with black mud. If they'd taken any longer there may have been nothing to find.

"Maker, blessed Maker, I..." Cullen stumbled for words, his hands skimming across the impenetrable barrier.

"She doesn't look good," the words slipped from Alistair's mouth. He didn't want to say them, didn't want to think them, but it was the truth - Lanny looked near death. The templar's ragged eyes turned to him, bloodshot around the edges as if he'd popped a vessel while holding every tear at bay. "What do we do now?"

Bowing his head, Cullen placed both hands against the barrier. His body snapped rigid as he touched it, waves of dispelling emanating off him, but that damn green barrier stayed in place. It didn't even wobble from his attempt, and the templar's power was so great it nearly knocked Alistair backwards. Cullen's eyes opened for a moment and he softened from the view of Lanny asleep on the reclined altar like in those old fairytales. Gritting his teeth, the templar tried again, pouring more of his power and the lyrium into his spell.

"I don't think that's going to..." Alistair tried, waves of nausea washing over him. Andraste's dimpled buttcheeks, whatever he was doing was having an affect on him as well, but not doing a damn thing against the barrier. "Something's not right," Alistair mused, sliding back. "Something we're missing." There were the big glowing balls, which was weird, and could be causing the barriers, but then why weren't any in here? The room was blank save the griffin statue to remind everyone it was full of wardens; stupid, not-dead wardens.

"Do you have any ideas...?" Alistair turned to ask their qunari guide. She'd been quiet, standing stock still as her eyes hunted across the undead wardens, then trailed along the ceiling, as if she knew what to look for. It wasn't her interest in wainscoting that caught Alistair, but the way her hands folded into her sleeves, reaching for something hidden up them. He knew what came after that.

Aqun's eyes zeroed in on the templar with his back fully turned to her, all his concentration on trying to free Lanny. There was little time to plan, only react. Unable to draw his sword, Alistair shouted something incoherent and rushed at Cullen. The man spotted him coming out of the corner of his eye and moved to turn, but not fast enough to see the glint of a dagger Aqun lunged for his kidneys, or liver, or whatever soft spot she'd stab to goo.

Against all sense of self preservation, Alistair knocked into Cullen, throwing the templar back against the wall out of range. He took the slash of the knife across his shoulder and arm. "Maker, damn it!" Alistair screamed, "I just cleaned this!" Blood trickled through the wound across his upper arm, the splintmail doing most of the work to bounce it free.

Roaring, Aqun sliced wide, driving her dagger to finish him off while Alistair fumbled for his sword. Luckily, she forgot about the plucky little mabari that leapt off the ground and dug teeth deep into the qunari's tender hand flesh. Cursing in Qunlat, the blade scattered from Aqun's hand but Honor held tight, shaking her head to pierce her teeth deeper into bleeding skin. Unable to reach another weapon, the qunari kicked wildly against the dog's ribs, the last connecting. Honor whimpered, her teeth releasing in pain, and Aqun whipped her arm sending the mabari flying across the ground.

Her hand looked like moldy venison, blood oozing from a dozen bite marks, but the qunari only glared and moved to unsheathe her spear. Alistair swallowed against those creepy blue eyes sizing him up. He tried to reach for his own sword, but for some reason his hand wouldn't obey. It screamed in agony at the wound still bleeding down his shoulder. While his fingers nudged against the leather hilt, knocking it up and then losing their grip, he faced down death from Aqun's spear driving through his skull. Yanking her arm back, the qunari roared, when a sword smashed towards her side. She rolled to avoid it, almost missing Cullen rising from his shove.

Pressing his attack, the templar slammed his shield towards Aqun's arm, but she dodged quickly away - her spear giving her the greater reach. And yet, even with that she couldn't hope to get past his shield. They found themselves at a strange stalemate.

"Let me guess," Alistair hissed, gritting his teeth as he pressed his hand against his wound to try and stem the blood, "you're ben-ha--"

"I am ben-hassrath," Aqun declared.

"Of fucking course you are," he groaned. He was never going to hear the end of it from the templar now.

The templar didn't back down from his stance, only cast a sidelong glare at Alistair to drive his being right home. Cullen aimed a glower at the turncoat qunari, "What does the Qun care for this place?"

"Why would they even know of it?" Alistair came back with.

"Foolish bas, you know nothing of your own world. Of what you leave waiting in the fringes, like forgotten gatlock barrels to explode when you are caught unawares," Aqun whipped her head from one to the other, her spear following. If he could get his damn hand to work, maybe Alistair could flank her and finish this. But no, it had to get grumpy all of a sudden.

"Do you have any idea who this is?" Alistair tried the one card Lanny'd give him so much shit for playing while gesturing at her body. "The Arishock doesn't just know her, she's his damn kadan. Or does that not mean anything to you?"

Aqun glowered at him, her eyes barely sliding back to Lanny, "I serve the Qun, the Arishock serves the Qun. It does not matter how one bas fits into the picture, this place must be purged."

"Why?" Cullen began.

Chuckling in that mirthless and cold qunari way, Aqun whipped back to the templar - the only real threat. "The Darvaraad found mention of this place when we were in the fade. Forgotten by the bas who created it, another option left available to the elven shokrakar, a threat to the Qun. I am sent to end it before it destroys us. And I will, after I kill you."

"Someone's very certain of themselves," Alistair mused. Yanking his hand away from his wound, he managed to unearth the shield off his back and slide it along his forearm. At least his left hand wanted to work. Aqun whipped back to him, her spear dancing closer to him. "Two on one, qunari," Alistair taunted.

"Three on one," Cullen said, jerking his head towards Honor who'd risen to her feet, the entire stripe of her back fur up as she snarled at Aqun.

"Not sure how you're gonna honor the Qun under those odds," Alistair said, twisting his head to emphasize their greater numbers. But that was the problem with qunari - give them impossible odds, back them into a corner and they didn't do what any right thinking person did. They'd never cut and run, make a deal, back down - no, they had to fight until the last breath was drawn from them regardless how many others they took down with them. He didn't know about the templar, but Alistair wasn't in any mood to die that day.

Moving to lick his teeth, a spark zapped against his tongue, knocking across the roof of his mouth. How could the damn magic be even stronger in here? There weren't any of those giant glowing... _Oh, you cheeky bastards._ That was it, right there, the whole damn time. Alistair raised the shield in front of his face and he tried to whisper at Cullen. "Pst, pst!"

"What?" the templar glared because it was all he could do.

"It's the statue."

Groaning, he glanced over at Alistair, "What is the statue?"

Alistair jerked his head at the griffin in the middle of the room, then circled it around towards every single barrier blocking off the undead wardens. "The stat-ue. Break it and..."

Understanding and certainty glittered in Cullen's eye. He whipped his head towards Aqun, then gazed at the griffin statue just behind her. In her haste to escape their reach, she'd almost butted up against it. _Crap_ , Alistair thought, _he was going to need time_. Oh this was stupid, this was high on the list of stupid shit he was about to do.

"Hey!" Alistair shouted, hopping an inch ahead and then back. Aqun's eye turned towards him for a moment, then darted back to the templar who had to drop his stance. He needed more than time, he needed a full on distraction. "Hello! Scary qunari lady! Come and get me!" Leaping forward and then back, Alistair rattled his shield. "You know you want to, prime king meat here." It worked, but only for a few seconds, Aqun catching on that something was happening, but uncertain what to do. Her spear began to lean towards the man dancing like he had to pee, drawn by his elaborate movements

Gulping, Alistair prayed a bit to Andraste that the templar worked quick. And then he took a full step forward. Aqun whipped her spear to him, her eyes narrowing. He, in turn, did the same, snarling his teeth as he screamed the first word to come to mind. "Marmalade!" echoed through the dead halls - not liable to become a great war cry, but it was enough to focus the qunari fully upon him. Throwing his shoulders down, Alistair ran towards the spear most likely to slide through his innards. One step. Another. Aqun smiled, showing her sharp teeth.

Then the world exploded. Alistair's breathless body dropped to his knees as the full power of Cullen's 'break magic shit' anti-spell cracked against the griffin. He'd thought it would provide a distraction for them, cause Aqun to turn back. Instead, the magic was so unstable it blew apart, taking the entire stone griffin with it. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" he didn't know who was cursing, probably him as sound scattered from his ears. Alistair ducked under his shield, baring the brunt of debris raining against it like vengeful hail.

Even as the beak and tips of the wing shattered against Aqun's arm and stomach, she remained upright. Blood trickled out of her nose, something inside of her broken beyond repair, but she wasn't about to let some internal bleeding and certain death stop her. Pain seared up Alistair's arm, driving right for his gut and he flopped down to a knee. Smiling at the opportunity, the bruised and battered qunari lifted her spear, ready to drive it into him. He tried to huddle all the best parts of him behind his shield, but with the force she was throwing behind it, the damn thing would probably go through his shield and then him.

"Nehraa Qun!" she shouted. Aiming her arm back, those solid grey muscles prepared to bring about his doom, when the tip of a sword prodded through her throat. The spear scattered from her fingers and she reached up with both hands, trying to drive the crimson point free as blood poured from her grey neck. Sneering, Cullen grabbed onto her shoulder and both thrusted his blade deeper while yanking her back into it. A screaming gurgle gushed out of the hole in her throat, the mighty qunari toppling to her knees as the last of life drained away.

Cullen ripped his sword free, half decapitating the qunari, the empty body slumped on its side. He pinched the bridge of his nose to steady himself, swiping it with the qunari's blood, when Honor nudged him in the leg. His sword clattered free, and Cullen dropped to a knee, both hands palpating his dog. "Did she hurt you, girl? Some bruising here, but..."

"I'm fine too," Alistair winced, struggling to rise to his feet. His head buzzed as if he'd hung upside down for too long, probably from the errant magic zipping through the air. "And..." Both men stared at each other before turning back to the woman they loved, the green barrier shattered off her cage.

Reaching her first, Alistair grabbed up her hand and hissed, "Maker, she's ice cold. Lanny. Come on, Lanny. It's all good to go. We're ready to head out now. No more scary qunari going all Qun happy. Lanny? Don't do this. Don't you do this." He rubbed his hand up and down hers, trying to bring some warmth into it. "Don't you dare, don't tell me you're doing this!" Alistair cried, despair and rage competing for his heart.

Calmly, the templar lifted up his bloodied sword and held it against her nose. A puff of fog hazed up the crimson blade. She was breathing. "Sweet Maker, thank You," Cullen gasped, his sword falling from her nose as he brought his hands together in prayer. But that wasn't what they needed right now. They had to wake her, to rouse her from whatever spell she was under, to bring her back. There had to be something to it.

"Lanny...Lanny," Alistair called, jiggling her arm up and down. It was dead weight in his, offering no resistance, her body limp and far too light, "I'll call you Solona, you hate that. But I'll do it if you don't wake up. Please. Wake up. Why isn't she waking up?" Panic rattled in his veins. They'd done it, damn it. They'd crossed the insurmountable, found her, defeated the unexpected villain. That should be the end of it!

"We have to..." Cullen coughed. His hand hung above her frozen cheek as if he was terrified to touch her. "Look around, for whatever's causing this. I may have an idea. I'll, um, I'll go and find it. Shut them down." He began to slide his body away from Lanny, but he kept his hand just within reach as if he couldn't really leave. "Remain with her, watch her to see if-if it works."

"No, wait," Alistair tried to grab onto him, "you should stay here. Be the one to, to wake her up. To be here when she, that's how that works, right? True love's kiss or something like that. In all the stories..."

Cullen slipped away, shaking his head, "I'm the one with lyrium. Only I can, I-you remain. I'll see what I can do. Stay with her, please." Before Alistair could dredge up another argument, the templar vanished into one of the other chambers, Honor limping on his heels.

_Maker's balls, why do you have to do this now? You know, You've pulled a lot of shit over the years, but this?_ To get so close and then... Alistair slapped his own cheek, trying to draw himself out of his misery. He patted Lanny's cold hand, "Hey, it's me. The one you hate, remember? Don't you want to wake up and yell at me? Give me one of your famous tongue lashings. All you have to do is open your eyes. I, I bet it's eating you up to know I'm here, getting involved in your life all over again. Come on, Lanny. Please."

Slipping his arm tighter around her back, Alistair pulled Lanny away from the altar. Maybe that was keeping her asleep, chilling her to death. _Not death, never death, no, just cold, really cold that had nothing whatsoever to do with..._ Without her awake to hold onto him, her body slumped in his, her head lolling back, limp like a straw dummy. "It's not just me here, you know. I brought that templar of yours. All right, he's not really a templar anymore, but you know who I mean. Lanny, you have to wake up to see him. If you wake up then you two can-can run off into the sunset picking daisies. You can have a house crammed full of mabari. Whatever you want. All you have to do is wake up. Please."

Ignoring the pain screaming in his shoulder and digging through his gut, Alistair pulled her limp body to his, hugging her tight. He couldn't fight the tears anymore, but shame and grief caused him to bury his face in her limp shoulder. "He loves you so damn much. You wouldn't believe what he's had to do, to-to, put up with me and, there were... Lanny, please. We need you back. Wake up. I'm begging you. I love you. Just, just wake up."

## Chapter Thirty

**Freedom**

_?:?? ?_

_No._ Lana inched along the hissing ground as water and lava in equal measure bubbled up below it. Cracks burst through every inch of the fade, as if someone was ripping it apart at the seams exposing its internal skeleton to the air. In the distance, the demon's protective bubble shattered revealing an endless march of spiders moving towards her desolate mountaintop. With each heartbreaking memory, more of the land stripped away until only the broken and jagged rock below her remained. She'd given it her all -- every loss, every regret, every deep well of despair that she never thought she'd climb out of -- and it was killing her. The connection to her body, her real body increased, cold dragging down her limbs until she shouldn't stand, couldn't lift her arms. Her eyes barely fluttered from a dreadful exhaustion knotting through her veins. Lana drained her soul for freedom, but it wasn't enough.

"That was an excellent showing, my dear," the demon coughed, beaten but not destroyed by her mental attack. "You are a stout one, aren't you?"

Lana dragged her hand another inch along the ground, reaching for something, anything, when she bumped into Jowan's foot. The regret spirit hovered close to her despite the demon's presence. For once, it was strong, stronger than the real Jowan ever was, from what she fed it. Even Nathaniel appeared from years of duty strangling her heart, his form glowing as if the chest was coated in medals. All that was missing was the final piece of Lana Amell, that ever driving curiosity, that need to understand. But Wynne wasn't needed, because she knew the truth. Out there in the real world she was dying, being drained of life by this spirit she turned into a demon. Her only hope was to pop its protective bubble.

"Give up, please. You're only harming yourself," the spirit continued.

"And what'll happen to me if I do?" Lana hissed through her chattering jaw, the chill trembling her famished skin.

"You'll be here, with me, safe. No more pain, no more misery. Only joy and love. What everyone wants," the spirit was little more than a wisp now, the echo of its form wafting in and out of reality as it spoke.

She needed more, something to push herself beyond the seeming never ending heartache of Alistair. But what was there? No one else ever got close enough to her for their betrayal to mean anything. Even Nathaniel she forgave overtime, understood that he had no choice, that it was her doing that... A chuckle rumbled in Lana's throat, like gravel churned up by a horse's hooves. It had to be that. It had to always be that. How could she be so foolish? The spirit snapped back into form, its black eyes drifting down to her face skimming inches from the muddy ground.

"What everyone wants?" Lana repeated back its words while swiping at her face to clear away the filth. The longer she remained in the fade, the stronger she grew here and the weaker her real body became. "What everyone wants, demon, is freedom."

"There is nothing left inside of you. Every pitiful attack remaining in your mind will have no affect upon me. I know you, I know every beat of your fragile heart, mortal. Face it, you and I are intertwined forever."

She knew what she had to relive, had to fling back into its mind to break its hold upon her. Gritting her teeth, Lana shoved her forehead into the mud and thought back to the darkest day of the blight -- when she returned home.

_9:30 Kinloch Hold_

Irving weighed more than he looked, his mass dragging Lana downward as they tried to slip out of the harrowing chambers. His bloodied hand skimmed across the walls while she struggled to catch the breath Uldred knocked out of her. Behind her, the others stomped down the stairs, Wynne close as she whispered something to Irving. Lana should have been able to hear it but her ears couldn't stop buzzing, her own blood boiling over with a battle frenzy that had yet to leave.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, a cold certainty chased it all away. "Leliana," she called, waving the red haired sister over. "Could you take the First Enchanter for me?"

"Of course," she smiled sweetly, and slipped Irving's drifting arm over her shoulders. "Right this way, Sir. We only have a few more flights to take. Should be a quick walk."

"Delightful child, but a terrible liar," Irving joked, his voice raspier than normal. Leliana smiled wider as she and Wynne escorted him down to the templars.

Lana turned from them to the man she'd left behind in her race to the harrowing chambers. He was right, with Uldred dead the barrier was gone, but he didn't rise out of it, didn't run. His head bowed, he'd taken to a knee with hands clasped outward while prayer dripped from his lips. Shrugging away the pain burning through her bones, Lana stepped across where the barrier once was and extended her hand to him. For a beat, he didn't react, only continued his prayer, the words of Andraste guarding him from all the evil mages. Embarrassment burned up her legs as her hand hung suspended above the man refusing to look at her, but she'd feel even more foolish yanking it away.

Finally, his caked hands broke apart and burning eyes turned up to her. She never thought those honey eyes could fill with so much hatred, all of it burning through her. But Cullen took her hand and let her help him to his feet. He swayed, exhaustion laying claim quickly. Instinctively, Lana reached out to catch him, but he shook her away, his body sliding back deeper into the prison.

"Don't, do not... I am fine," his fingers dug into his forehead trying to wipe away the pain. "What you have done..." Cullen whispered it, but Lana wasn't about to let it go.

"Was for the good of the tower."

He snorted, nearly all fight kicked out of him from Uldred or maybe the earlier torture. But he bore a fire inside she hadn't recognized until stumbling upon Cullen trapped inside his prison. Broken, beaten, beyond hope, he'd cling by bent fingernail to survive, to endure.

"You have unleashed Maker only knows how many blood mages back into the world. Blood mages who will infect others, turn people against their own wills, make them..."

"I saved people, saved the First Enchanter," Lana hissed. She lifted on her tiptoes to meet his face.

Cullen chuckled a mirthless dirge as he yanked his hands away from his face. Leaning down into her, he was only a breath away as he shouted, "They will harm untold innocents. Every man, every woman, every person they hurt, everyone they kill will be upon your head."

They'd never been this physically close in the years she'd known him, seen him staring in her direction only to twist away in guilt upon being caught. His stale and metallic breath washed across her face. She could see the streaks where tears washed away grime and blood from his cheeks, his pores exposed like craters from the detritus. Something inside of her cracked, something she'd buried deep out of fear anyone would ever find it. Each piece scattered, leaving only a gaping hole in her being. Staring at him -- him of all people -- cursing at her, willing her away, telling her she failed...Lana knew this would never be her home ever again. She'd never be welcome, never belong, never be...wanted.

Squaring her shoulders, she wiped her palms down the midsection of her robes, smudging up the trim of white fur with demon blood. "If I do not stop the blight, then all of Ferelden will be upon my head."

Cullen's sneer wobbled for a micro second and those flaring eyes drifted to the floor. She had no leaders to give her orders, no army to back her up, no Maker-damned hope to pull any of this off to end the blight, but she was going to fucking try.

"Hey, Lanny..."  Turning away from the broken templar, she spotted Alistair knocking his shoes together. At least she had one other grey warden to share in this misery with. That counted for something. "Are you, you okay? This was..." he waved his hands around the blood sacs and ichor dripping off the walls, "one hell of a home coming. In the literal sense, I guess."

"I'm fine," she said, but something in his tender brown eyes snagged her and she elaborated upon her brushoff. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Well, too bad. I already am. It's this thing I'm good at, might be the only thing but there it is. Look, you were there for me with, you know..." He meant Duncan. She wanted to reach over and hold his hand, to squeeze it to comfort him comforting her. "I'm just saying if you want to talk, my tent flap's always open." Her eyebrows shot up at the euphemism and Alistair turned five shades of red as his brain played it back. "That's not what- I mean if it's on the table, I wouldn't be opposed, but..."

A soft smile, the first she felt since entering the tower, lifted up her lips. Patting Alistair on the shoulder, she sighed, "I will take it under advisement, for now we should return to Gregoir before he sends his templars in."

"Good point," Alistair nodded his head. "Biting the hand that saved their asses sounds like the templars. I'll slip past the cavalcade and warn 'em not to stab first."

He began to move towards the room filled with the putrid smell of a dead arcane horror when Lana snagged his hand. She barely clung to it, only a whisper of her fingers knotting through his as she breathed to him, "Thanks for worrying, Ali."

"Anytime, Lanny," his face lit up, the smile stretching his cheeks wide and then he slipped away.

Lana's smile melted in his wake as if Alistair took the last shreds of joy with him. She had a hundred questions waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, and the need for mages fast. Redcliffe waited for them. Would any be ready in time to help? Maker, what if she spent too much time in here, in the fade, and Conner had...?

"What was said earlier," Cullen's gruff voice spoke from the corner he'd sidled into. It hurt her ears to hear it so much raspier from the sweet silk she remembered. "When I...thought you were a trick of the blood mages. It was not meant to be, I was under the delusion of, I should not have..."

"Forget it," she said, all emotion burned from her body. "I have. Come, we should all return to Gregoir. There's nothing left for us here."

Blood gurgled out of her mouth spraying across the dust whipping through the desolate land. Nothing of the green grass, the trees, the stolen rooms, or the lake remained. It was broken, beaten down, shattered the same way she had to crack open her heart and pour every despair into it. Cold. Beyond cold. This was the final chill, the one as death drew upon its victim, icy fingers clawing up the body.

"Look at what you've done!" the demon hissed. It'd been a spirit once, a powerful one of love, but Lana or something else had warped it from the unconditional support to an envious and controlling demon. A small part of her almost felt sorry for it, clinging to what it needed just as the others did -- the rest of her wanted to see it destroyed with every inch of her being.

Lana tried to lift her head, but there was nothing left inside of her. All she could do was roll her eyes towards the unending march of demons breaking through this one's territory, hungering for the mortal in their midst.

"I could have kept you safe, kept you here with me. But now," the spirit drifted in and out of their dimension, only the flicker of light betraying it, "now you will die."

She screwed up her eyes, shutting them against the dirt and dust blowing across the stripped landscape. As desolate as the areas the blight touched, only rot and decay took hold - every inch of life drained away. Her throat was raw from dust and Lana swallowed to try and clear it out. When she opened her lips, a cough echoed up her throat, spraying more blood across the dirt. "I would rather face death and try, than do nothing and live in servitude for eternity."

"So be it," the spirit/demon huffed. It could have finished her off, physically attacked the way the coming spiders would, but perhaps something of what it once was remained. Maybe demons could return to their previous form after all. Drawing back its tendrils, it drove a jagged end through the air. Green light poured out of the gap - strong enough to sear Lana's eyes. She hissed from it, but knew in her heart this was it. This was her final chance, the last hope.

Fading back to where it came, the spirit left her alone. With her ear pressed to the ground, Lana heard the chatter of hundreds of spiders racing up the mountaintop, pinchers thrashing to chew her apart. Willing whatever energy inside of her she could, Lana jammed a hand into the dirt and dug. Her body shifted an inch closer to the green gap in the air. Too bad it remained a good three feet away. Tears sprung behind her eyes from the pain and pressure as she gritted every bone in her body to obey, every muscle to answer her call. Even knowing there was no way she'd made it before the spiders reached her, she wasn't going to give up. Snapping her arm forward, she snagged the ground and inched closer. Two down, only another thirty three left to go.

A cry echoed from the bottom of the hill. Lana couldn't see it, but she heard Wynne shout through the air, "I have them, dear. Go and find your answers!" The noise of blade shattering through spider chitin answered in kind as the spirit took on the demons for her.

Nathaniel's cries of, "For the Warden Commander" echoed from the other side, her best warden not about to abandon her now.

Ignoring unimaginable pain chewing through her body and the chill deadening her limbs, Lana reached further and further. "I am not alone," she prayed. "Even as I stumble on the path..." Her teeth gritted as debris buffeted through the winds, blinding her. It didn't matter, she didn't need her eyes to know the gap remained - its power rippling through the air like the coming of a storm. Digging deep, Lana yanked her body forward, "...with my eyes closed, yet I see the Light is here."

Chittering erupted beside her. Instinctively she rolled, as if she had any strength inside of her to attack the spider, when its mandibles cracked into the arm of Jowan. He sneered but didn't cry in pain, only watched the spider attempting to dissolve his robe with poison. "What are you waiting for? This is already your biggest regret. You can't give me anymore. Get going."

Nodding, she waved her fingers near the green light. At less than an inch away, all she had to do was-was, what? _What lay beyond it for her? Freedom? Or another trap? Did she have a choice either way?_ Dropping her head down, Lana whispered the end of the prayer - the one that'd trailed her for years. "Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the veil, and the fade, and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand," she shuddered, the breath in her chest knocking wildly as she reached a hand into the green light. "And be forgiven."

Behind her, the sounds of battle faded away, the wind, every noise save the rapid pounding of her heart growing sluggish as it fought against the frozen chill. She fell into the endless expanse of nothing, the air in her lungs pounded out of her body. Her spark of life leeched out of her toes, her legs, her stomach, chest, and shoulders, rising to leave the broken body, until it landed at the tips of her fingertips. There it hung, vibrating as if only an errant breeze would knock it loose, ending her once and for all. Lana zeroed in on it, knowing but not seeing the final vestiges of her life glowing at the tips.

She watched her hands limply extended away from her body, as if she was flying free through the air. How easy it would be to let go, to free herself from the pain, the misery, the eternal despair trailing her every step. All she had to do was wave her fingers and release her soul back across the veil. So simple, anyone could do it, and yet... Lana glared at her hands shifting her willpower into the only spell she knew etched through her soul, the ice that called to her, the chill that trailed her since she was a child. Blocks of ice coated her hands, keeping the life trapped upon her fingers. She wasn't going down without a fight, not even against herself. Swallowing in the airless void, Lana shut her eyes tight.

Then a hand grabbed onto hers. The ice shattered away, warmth seeping into her skin - not just her hand but all of it, her dead limbs rising from the grave, air rushing into her straining lungs. Light pierced through the slit of her eyes, and carefully Lana raised her eyelids. Blinded by the sear against her pupils, her eyes watered, rendering whatever held her body in a strange wash of tears. A bloody thumb wiped the tears off her frozen cheek and he came into focus.

"Ali..." Lana coughed, her voice dust, "Alis-" Willing any saliva to coat down her throat, she finally finished, "Alistair?"

It was him, looking a mess with reddened eyes and someone's blood splattered across his face, but he cracked a massive smile and then scooped her unresponsive body tight to his. "Lanny!" he cried, jiggling her in his arms, "Lanny, I...Maker, you're here. You're...it's really, you, and all of... Oh, right." Alistair raised his voice and shouted through the echoing hall, "She's awake! She's here, she's...!" Through his own shock and tears, he caught her struggle to swallow the dust down her throat and swung around a water skin.

Lana could barely lift her hand to catch it, so he uncorked it and dribbled half the contents into her gaping mouth. Sweet Maker, it was as if she hadn't tasted a drop of water in months, the cool liquid knocking spiderwebs free. "Alistair?" she tried again, the word coming freely now, "What are you... Is this a trick? A trap of the fade again?"

"I have no idea. I don't think so," his eyes darted around the room.

"Tell me something, something I wouldn't know."

He held onto her tight, one arm wrapped around her back while the other gripped onto her hand - the warmth spreading from their joined fingers through her body. His adam's apple drifted higher as he thought, "Uh, Teagan's going bald. He wears this incredibly stupid hat to try and cover it up, but we all know. I keep telling him it'd be better if he just shaved it all off but..."

"Andraste's ass dimples," Lana cried, her fingers digging into his cheeks, feeling the muscles moving below, "It is you! I, I'm...where am I?"

"The Anderfels," he shrugged, "in some grey warden fortress thing. We're not 100% certain what for, but..."

She did it. Maker's breath, she was out, she was free of the fade. There wasn't enough moisture in her body for the tears to roll free, but Lana felt them in her soul, her lips stretching a smile - muscles straining from the lack of movement, the skin stinging. Free. After so long and...

"Ali," she asked, her hand digging into his as her muscles returned to her, "how long was I in the fade?"

He tried to pull her tighter, but her weight finally won out, and she slipped from his grasp, her toes landing against the ground. Pain knocked up her bones and into the knees, but she was standing - she had help, but she was standing. "Lanny, it...it was two years."

"Two years!" No, it couldn't have been that long. Not... She'd feared a year at most, twelve months of her life lost. She could fight to get a year back, but two...?

"Hey, hey, Lanny. It's gonna be..." Alistair swallowed whatever he was going to say and jerked his chin away from her out into the great hall. At first she didn't follow, her mind stewing at her own misfortune, her failure to figure out what was happening to her and break free. What life could wait for her after two years? She'd wasted so much time already, and now...

A soft gasp rattled through the hall and she lifted her weary head. _Maker's breath_ , Lana's bottom lip wobbled, her free hand cupping over her mouth in shock. The sword clattered from Cullen's slack fingers. He didn't even flinch at the noise, his eyes frozen upon her. _How? How was he standing there? How was he...?_ She didn't realize she moved towards him until her knee gave out, sending Lana's unused body towards the floor. Alistair struggled to keep her up by his grip on her hand, but there was no fighting it. She sank to her knees, both of her arms falling to the sides, unable to lift her up. Cullen plummeted to his own knees and slid across the floor to her, his hands curling around her face, fingers pressing into her cold cheeks warming with the flush of joy.

"Holy Andraste, I, thank you. Maker, thank You for bringing her back. I...I cannot, thank you. I needed to, you are..." Tears gushed from his eyes, a waterfall cascading off those honey eyes she'd yearned to gaze into. And now she could. They were here. He was here.

Lana blinked, finding her own eyes answering his in kind, the tears almost blindingly painful from all the salt in her body. But she didn't care, barely noticed it as her hands lifted to hold his shoulders, and then up to wipe across his stained cheeks. "That's what I was going to say," she whispered, unable to pull her eyes away from his. Whatever grace of the Maker brought him here, back into her life, she was grateful from the bottom of her heart.

"Lana, I," Cullen swallowed, his own thumbs trying to stem her happy tears, "I feared that you'd, that I'd..."

She wanted to apologize for everything she put him through, for staying behind, for not being enough. Sliding closer to him, Lana placed her forehead against Cullen's, the heat of his body warming her to the core. With her eyes screwed tight, she whispered her soul to him, "Cullen, I lo-"

A whomp reverberated from behind her, and Lana spun around on her knees to see Alistair prostrated across the ground, his eyes shut tight. With her hands as leverage, Lana scooted across the stone floor to him, crying his name and getting no response. His head lay at a strange angle to his neck, but his chest continued to raise up and down struggling for breath. "What's happened? What...?" She spotted blood dashed across his shoulder, the shirt ripped in response to a wound.

"There was a fight with a qunari," Cullen explained, waving towards the body of one crumpled below some exploded rocks.

"Shit!" Lana lifted one of Alistair's eyelids, getting the response she expected but not the one she wanted. "Poison, they're always using poison. I have to get it out of him, but..." She tried to dip into the veil, to part it, but her body was drained, not even a drop of mana remaining. "Something's wrong, I can't, I can't touch the fade. I, damn it, I can't fix this!" Panic grabbed onto her frayed nerves, sundering them from joy to despair in an instant. _No, not now. Not like this._ There had to be something she could do; a mixture, a compound, a bloody health poultice if it came to it. Lana ran her fingers over Alistair's pouches looking for anything, when Cullen's stiff hand landed upon her shoulder.

He coughed for a moment, then in a broken voice said, "There's lyrium in my veins."

"What?" Lana whipped back at him, but his head lolled down, his face hidden from her. "Why is there lyrium...?"

"Take it, use it to heal him."

"Cullen, no, that's-it's incredibly painful," she said, the panic rising inside of her, "dangerous. Beyond. I-I can't."

A broken smile twisted up his lips and he rolled his head, "Save him. I will endure."

She didn't want to, to never, but there was no other choice. Waving one hand over Alistair's shoulders, Lana ordered him, "Don't you dare die on me." She reached behind to grip onto Cullen's hand to begin the transfer, when she rubbed her thumb over the back of it to add, "And don't you die either."

Rolling her eyes back, Lana tugged upon the lyrium floating inside Cullen's veins rich with the raw power of the fade she could tap and alter into whatever she wanted. He let down his defenses, giving her full access as no right thinking templar ever would. As the first drops leeched from him, his hand clamped tighter around hers, but he didn't cry out, only groaned low in his throat. Maker, it bit deep into her to have to hurt him, but she didn't have time to worry about that. Reaching for that healer inside of her, the one that cared too much at times, she traced across Alistair's clammy skin. Cullen's body stiffened behind her as she drained more and more of the lyrium from him, she had to clear the poison, at least enough to ensure they didn't need to do it again. But, Maker, it had to be agony for him to have it boiled free so fast. Pressing one last spell against Alistair, Lana released her magic hold on Cullen - leaving a few drops in his veins. Consciousness snapped back into Alistair, his eyes springing wide awake, and he rolled to his side. The retching began immediately, all the poison purging from his shaking body. Lana rubbed her hand against his back, trying to soothe him without any magic, while she clung tight to Cullen's hand. "I have you," she whispered to the both of them.

## Chapter Thirty One

**Stayed Safe**

_9:44 Anderfels_

Splashing echoed off the few trees providing a modicum of modesty. The king lay stretched out upon his bedroll, his skin clammy and yellow but looking far better than he had inside the fortress. He had explicit orders to remain seated at all times or... Neither of them knew what came after the or, but they didn't want to ask either.

Cullen sat perched upon the ground, his back turned to the woman trying to bathe two years worth of the fade off her skin. He kept close to hear her in case she slipped or needed help, and because she didn't want to be alone. They set up the camp near the edge of the river for that very reason. They, ha. As the only one capable of walking without assistance Cullen did most of it, having to help first Alistair, then...then her, and finally Honor out of the hole and to daylight. A warm sunset hugged the horizon, threatening to dip down into a chilly night, but for now they had a rosy glow to match a massive question hanging over their heads.

"How are you getting on?" Alistair shouted, his hands cupped over his mouth while he gazed up at the sky.

"Are you talking to me?" Lana called back, her voice strained but growing stronger with each passing moment. She'd drank both of their water skins dry and it still wasn't enough to refill her dehydrated body. _Maker only knew how long it'd been since she'd had a real drink, a real meal, a real...anything._

"Who else would I be asking? Captain Sullen over here?" Alistair called.

"That's Commander Sullen," he shot back, trying to keep up with the ease with which the old...whatever they were fell into conversation.

It had to be his ears knocking against his heart, but he thought he heard a snicker from Lana before she smacked her fist against the water. "Going pretty good. Got at least an inch of the grime off, only another five more to go. And this is delicious!" Chewing sounds followed her statement, as she was probably finishing off the last of their rations. After holding her brittle frame, his fingers tugging against her gaunt cheeks, they were both happy to watch it all vanish into Lana's malnourished stomach.

Cullen shook his head and he raised his voice, "All that time and your first meal out of the fade is hardtack. Seems particularly cruel."

"Actually," Alistair rolled over to the side to look at him but didn't raise his head off the ground, "she loves that stuff."

"You must be kidding," Cullen grimaced. Hardtack was what you ate because it was preferable to starving. Durable, long lasting, tough as shoe leather but somehow tasteless. No one bothered to add any spice to it, because no one wanted to face the dangerous reality of one day needing to eat it. Armies marched to get away from hardtack.

"Ate her damn weight in it during the blight," the man who knew her inside and out said before shrugging his shoulders and dropping back down to the ground.

"I know you two are talking about me," Lana shouted from her private grotto. "This is rather idiotic all around. It's not as if you haven't seen me naked before."

Cullen pinched his hand to try and compete with the cauldron of emotions rampaging through his system. He wasn't certain if he should be ecstatic, scared, lost, or grateful so he tried for all at once.

"All right," Alistair cut through his mental turmoil, "what's your theory?"

"My what?" Lana asked, more chewing sounds punctuating her question.

"We've been out of the fortress for a few hours now, and I know you swiped some of their literature. You've got to have figured out what that Iquo whatever was built for, how it failed, and if we're about to have some world ending catastrophe on our hands. I hope it's something new, like gigantic baby nugs that can crush cities under their creepy feet."

He couldn't be right. After the fire in Cullen's veins cooled, he did his best to help Lana out of the first room, then returned for the king who swore he got the last of the poison out of his stomach. With the barrier's down, they kept an eye on the not dead and now freed wardens. Mercifully, none rose from their tombs to attack, and Cullen worked quickly to get everyone to safety. There was hardly time for the woman whose atrophied limbs barely worked to swipe a book or inspect the walls.

But she spoke up, proving how little Cullen knew her, "I've got a suspicion, based upon what was in there, what I've read, and what you mentioned. I mean, it's not concrete by any means. People don't tend to leave 'Hello, We're Doing This Evil Thing Here' signs around."

"It'd make our lives easier if they did," Alistair answered, then he crossed his eyes, "What do you mean 'what you read?' Lanny, are you eating, washing, and reading at the same time?"

"What? No, don't be absurd, I would never, um..." the sound of a book smashing against the ground echoed through the dampening air, cushioned by grass. "Most of the language in the text we found is ancient. I can recognize some old Tevinter dialect but not as much as I should. The long and short of it is..." the sound of dribbling water paused while Lana did, as if she needed to shore herself up to continue, "I think that was originally where wardens went for their calling. As they, you know, succumbed to the taint, they didn't go into the deeproads but were locked away from the rest of the world."

Cullen glanced over at the other grey warden who was struggling up to his elbows at the news. A memory struck him, and he responded to Lana, "That would be why there are no footholds to escape out of the emergency exit."

"Exactly," he heard Lana grin in her sentence, as if proud of him. But he wasn't the one to notice, he'd barely paid any attention at all, his cloudy mind sharpened to a single task. It was all the king who'd kept up a vigil even as, even as everything fell down around them. "The fortress was built not to keep people out, but to keep wardens in."

"Okay," Alistair interrupted, "interesting idea, certain to give me lots of nightmares if I think about it. But, how did you wind up in there? What was with all the mummies?"

Silence fell as they heard Lana slide out of the water. Her movements sounded laborious while she climbed out of the river. Cullen risked a glance in her direction to make certain she was all right. He could only spot her silhouette crumpled on the edge of the bank, scrounging through clothing. Indecency struck at him and he turned away, certain that she could dress herself or she'd ask for help.

"You remember the talking darkspawn from after the blight?" Lana said. He had no idea, but the king nodded along, apparently this was old news. "I've often wondered if he maybe didn't have some tie to..." Whatever she meant, she shook it off and restarted. "I, I don't think the wardens facing there lives tossed into a pit and locked away from the world went gracefully. I don't think they stopped being wardens either even as they, you know..."

No, he didn't know. Somehow everyone kept skipping over exactly what happened to grey wardens when this taint consumed them. At first, Cullen assumed that it killed them, like a slow illness, but from the shrouded eyes of the king and Lana's vague words he suspected there was a far more painful answer. He should ask, it might be important to... Shaking his head, Cullen slumped deeper into his chest, his body rigid save his fingers curling up Honor's fur as she lapped up a puddle of water beside his feet.

"The text was vague but based upon the level of magic, the counter spells in place, and what I'd do in that situation, I'm guessing the wardens created the spells to rip apart the veil so they could physically walk into the fade."

"Why? To try and escape?" Cullen spoke up.

"No," Lana whispered so softly he barely heard it.

"To cure themselves?" Alistair asked in a broken voice, the bags under his eyes lengthening by the vanishing sunlight.

"I..." Lana limped into the clearing, her gnarled fingers clinging tightly to Aqun's spear. It was the only thing they had to offer as a cane, but she said she didn't mind the blood. Cullen broke from his sulk to glance over at her, and he felt his heart constrict at what remained. He'd hoped that somehow by washing away the mud of the fade, the dust of time itself, that the bloom would return to her waning cheeks, but her skin was still sallow barely clinging to the sharp bones he never associated with Lana. Without any extra clothes of her own, she borrowed a tunic from both of them. The king's bright blue swallowed her gaunt form; the breeches were knotted at her hips to try and keep them up even with the assistance of a belt. Cullen couldn't see the shirt he offered to her, perhaps she missed it in the pile or didn't want it and didn't have the strength to gather it up.

Gingerly, Lana parted her fingers through the fade, drawing more energy to wrap around her legs. The power was enough to give her the strength to hobble into the site, her campfire reaching to embrace her as she flopped onto the grass in between both men. "Maker," she screwed her eyes up tight, then wiped at them, "I am so glad you recognized the nodes." Smiling with a haggard breath, she turned to Cullen. "Being without mana for so long, I-I was starting to panic."

He thought they were what had her trapped, the same old metal nodes left in the deeproads that Lana used to snare White. Something of both dwarven and elven make that could drain all mana from an area without needing a templar, surely that had to have something to do with whatever kept her from waking. Cullen should have been panicking, been trapped in a perpetual heartache, balled up his fists and cursed to the Maker - but no, he felt only distant certainty in his veins as he left Alistair to tend to her. It was logical, he recognized the nodes, he had some knowledge of how to dissipate them. It had to be him.

When Alistair shouted for him, Cullen couldn't make out the words, only that something had agitated the king. He was in the middle of breaking the first node when the cry rang out through every deathly silent antechamber. At first hope sprang in his chest, and Cullen turned from his work, rushing back with Honor close on his heels. He made it five steps before despair strangled out the optimism inside his soul. He'd only begun his work when Alistair called for him. There was no reason for the king to disturb him, unless... Unless they were too late, unless they failed and-and...

As he walked back into the grand chamber, stepping past Aqun's bloodless corpse, he spotted Lana's still body clutched in Alistair's hands. With her head hung downward and her eyes gazing at nothing, Cullen's heart shattered apart. Dead. She was here, but she was gone. He'd failed, after everything, every step, every fight, every prayer - none of it mattered. They couldn't save her. They were too late.

Struggling to keep from screaming in rage and wailing in despair, only a soft gasp escaped from him. Then, a miracle from Andraste herself. Lana lifted her drooping head, her beautiful eyes focusing upon him. A light rose inside of him burning every sorrow, every pain as if-as if none of the past two years ever happened. He didn't remember falling to her, holding her, speaking whatever tumbled off his bumbling tongue - all he could remember was his heart screaming that she was alive. She was herself and she came back to him. It was the happiest moment of his life.

And then it had to come crashing apart. While Lana healed Alistair, soothed him as he vomited up all he'd eaten and the poison, Cullen thought over every argument with the man, their physical fight, how he acted the belligerent child to the king's certainty that they'd find her. Alistair never gave up, never stopped believing, but Cullen...he threatened to turn around every time the boat rocked. He didn't deserve Lana, he didn't deserve anyone. The pain burning through his veins, the unquenchable thirst clinging to his tongue seemed little to the bottomless void dangling where his heart was. He could barely look at Lana, afraid to watch when she'd realize the truth of him.

"Those giant metal balls, they were made by the mages to disrupt magic? Seems rather stupid all around," Alistair spoke, struggling to keep up with the subject.

"No," Lana shuddered, her hands knotted around her sharp shoulders. "I'm guessing those were put in place to keep the grey warden mages from escaping their prison. They must not have known about..."

He felt her eyes glancing over him, almost as if she was trying to will the memories back. "Blood magic," Cullen responded. It was how White broke through the magic, how he overpowered them before Lana countered it, which was what the grey wardens did as well. It was always blood magic.

"Every time someone says that phrase I get a chill up my spine. Like I spat on my own pyre. Ugh," the king groaned, rolling around on his back.

"Should we," Cullen spoke softly, "the wardens remaining in the hold. Help them?"

Lana turned fully to him, her bottom lip hanging slack as her eyes stared past the world itself. "They are most likely trapped, as I was. In a demon's web centuries old. Even if we could free them, they would have nowhere to return to. Their bodies are...they are beyond help. I'm afraid." Her last sentence ended in a whimper and she glared into the firelight. It was enough to drag Cullen out of his sulk and he watched her chatter her teeth silently, her fears playing through her mind. If it'd been any longer, if they'd delayed...

"So..." Alistair waved his hand in the air, interrupting the dour turn. "The wardens, the fade, how'd you wind up back in the real world? We're all on the edge of our seats here."

Lana pursed her lips and pointed at the man almost sitting up. He rolled his eyes, but flounced back down on his back. For a moment she glanced over at Cullen, her thoughts enigmatic before she returned to the campfire, "I think, and it's only a theory because this is a lot of conjecture, that the wardens went into the fade to try and clear it of the blight."

"They walked in the Black City?" Alistair marveled. "Did they miss what happened the first time that happened? Blight, tainting the world, lots of no fun. Kinda gave all the wardens a job."

"Or, maybe blight used to be all over the fade. Maybe they cleaned it up, I don't know. Hence con-ject-ure. Perhaps they were trying to find a cure in the fade. It's possible. Regardless, in order to accomplish their task they created a very complicated spell to pull their physical bodies out of the fade while also keeping it in stasis so-so they wouldn't hurt anyone. That was what caught me, whatever ongoing blood magic they designed to find anyone with taint in their system in the fade and pull them back to the fortress."

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to digest all of this. "If that's true, then why were all the bodies, wardens, still alive trapped behind the barrier?"

"Shit!" Alistair suddenly exclaimed. "The taint was what kept them alive!"

Lana nodded, "Probably what saved me too, though it isn't as thick in my veins so I, I don't think I had long." She shook her head and plowed through her thoughts. Pivoting in her seat, she turned to Cullen, "Unfortunately, all that movement in and out of the fade attracts spirits and, if it's anything to go off of my experience, I'm guessing every warden thinks they're physically trapped in the fade right now. Or worse, perhaps the demon or spirit convinced them that they're out, living their life free of the blight right now, while it feasts upon them."

"Maker!" Cullen reached out and grabbed her hand, instinctively trying to protect her from what already happened. She bobbed her head a few times and wiped at the tears dripping across her cheeks, but she didn't pull her hand away. Instead, Lana knotted her thumb around his, tugging him nearer to her. _No, it wasn't right_. She didn't know the truth, but she deserved to. Chastising himself, Cullen removed his hand and resumed petting Honor.

"Ugh," the king groaned, flopping over on his side, "not to be a whiner, but I think it's oozing again. Are they supposed to ooze?"

Lana swiped the sleeve of Alistair's borrowed tunic across her nose and staggered to her feet, "Yes, that's a good sign. But, I should have a look anyway. Make certain you didn't scratch it and undo all my work."

"I swear I didn't!" he raised both hands in his defense but Lana only glared down at him before she sighed and shook her head.

While she tended to the king's wound, her gentle hands caressing his shoulder, Cullen staggered to his legs. He didn't know what he wanted, not then, perhaps not ever, but he knew he needed to be alone to think. "I'll go and, and check the perimeter," he whispered to them before walking away from the warm fire. He doubted either of them cared enough to listen.

* * *

After peeling off the bandage, Lana scoffed at Alistair's barely oozing wound, "You complained about this?" She gestured at the gash whose weep barely reached the inner-binding. "There isn't even any puss. You know I don't bother unless there's puss."

He struggled to look over at his own shoulder, but grimaced at the small cut that were it not for the poison would have been a grade one injury. They'd called it the "chew some elfroot and walk it off" kind during the blight.

"You know my delicate constitution can't handle the sight of..." Alistair gulped, "blood."

"Oh shut up," she laughed, unwinding the barely used bandages. Free of the nodes, mana surged through her body, practically sparking as it continually raced to fill the hole inside - one she kept emptying into both Alistair and herself - just to have it top back off. Lana ran her fingers above Alistair's exposed skin and dropped a bit more of her healing magic into it. Not enough to fully suture up the wound, but it'd keep the blood from weeping free.

The small expenditure was enough, and exhaustion reared up like a vengeful dragon. Gripping onto his arm for leverage, Lana stumbled to the ground beside Alistair's bedroll. His ornery eyes inspected the wound, then darted over to watch her cross her legs as she tried to steady her wilting body. Cold seeped up off the wintery grass, and Lana tried to tug the blue tunic further down her arms to cover her hands. Closer to her skin was the tan one from Cullen -- his earthy scent comforting her. After the toll her body took, she needed nearly all the clothing at her disposal to keep warm even with the fire.

In her fumbling, she spotted her once mighty staff, now broken in three pieces. Lana prodded it with her covered fingers and sighed. "Ten years, a blight, qunari attacks, talking darkspawn, that harvester creature, whatever the dalish thing was, and it's coming out of the fade that finally does it in."

Alistair ran a single finger down her staff covered in the names of everyone who didn't go home, who crossed the veil before her. "Maybe we could fix it. I hear they can do amazing things with duck glue."

"Duck glue?" Lana arched an eyebrow at him and chuckled. She was grateful to Cullen for taking the time to gather up the pieces, but there was no point. It was beyond repair. "Maybe it's time I let it go," she whispered to herself.

"Lanny," Alistair said, his voice dropping low as he reached over to pat her knee, "I don't know what you went through in there, but I'm damn glad you came back."

"What would you do without me?" she smiled through the pain. Sifting through the loss of so much time would take even more of it. She had no idea when the fortress plucked her out of the fade, but she knew she'd walked there physically alone for long enough her robes were tattered, she'd fashioned the pride demon bladders into water skins dangling off her back, and her hair was a brittle mess. After so long with no one but the spirits to keep her company and, regardless of how angry she'd once been at Alistair, she didn't want to be left alone.

He rolled his head and shrugged, "Up shit creek without a paddle. It was not fun without you. Which you probably already know. You know better than anyone how useless I am at everything. The only reason I'm not dead is because of you, again. It's a wonder I don't slit my own throat shaving in the morning."

"How long's it been since you've tried?" she asked gesturing to the full on beard sprouting off his chin. Maybe it was his blonde hair, or some hairless ancestor, but somehow Alistair could never grow any stubble along his cheeks or jaw. It confined itself to his chin and upper lip exclusively.

Trying to strike a pose and jutting out the wad of facial fuzz, he smiled, "You like it? I'm thinking I should have all my official portraits painted with a beard."

"Leave a few youths alone with a paintbrush in the gallery and you'll get your wish," she sighed.

Alistair smiled, his lips cockeyed as he tried to roll on his side to look over at her without straining his neck. Something in her appearance must have caught him, because the cheeky grin wafted away. In a stricken voice, he whispered, "Two years."

How could it have been that long? She was still struggling to come to terms with the fact this wasn't the fade or some terrible final trick by the spirit. Facing that she'd lost two years of her life, two years of thedas shifting beneath her, two years of...of people moving on. How could she come back? "Yeah," Lana answered, "two years. So, what all did I miss?"

"Hm," Alistair wadded his fingers through his chin hairs in feigned thought and Lana understood why he hadn't bothered to shave it yet. "Well, Teagan got married."

"I knew that already."

"You did?"

"It happened like...five years ago," she paused to append two years to the date. That was going to take time as well. "You're a terrible not-nephew, forgetting his anniversary like that."

"Uh, Orlais continues to be a fickle pain in the ass," Alistair struggled to think of a way to answer her question, "oh and there was nearly a qunari invasion into the south. Found barrels of gatlock hiding along with the wine in my cellar. Great fun. Though the wine was piss poor anyway, so not a huge loss."

"What? No," Lana shook her head. "Sten, Arishock would never..."

Alistair bobbed his head, his eyes widening, "He certainly would ever, did in fact. Calls you kadan one minute, then plans to blow your house sky high the next."

"At least you caught it in time." She pinned her frozen fingers against her forehead, trying to file away the potential for a qunari war in the future.

"Actually, it was the Inquisition that did. Which only seems fair seeing as how they were the cause of the qunari invasion."

Lana waved her hand out, "Hold a moment, the qunari invaded because of the Inquisition - which is still in power after, I assume, Corypheus was defeated."

"Oh yeah, he went all smoosh or something in 9:42. We had a big party to celebrate the lack of a new god. But the Inquisition is actually working for Leliana now."

"What happened to the Inquisitor?" They may have not got on but she certainly wouldn't have wished the man any ill. She knew all too well the toll one suffered in the aftermath.

Alistair smacked his forehead, then he grinned, "You're gonna love this. The Inquisitor's fine, survived taking down the evil ancient darkspawn would-be god. He works for Leliana now because...are you ready? Leliana's the new Divine."

"No! Leliana, my Leliana? The Divine?" Lana couldn't hide the total shock in her voice as her hands froze an inch off her forehead.

"Who'd have thought it, huh? The little red haired girl we found in a tavern willing to take on a bunch of Loghain's thugs got the big hat and is in charge of salvaging all the souls of southern thedas."

Lana wadded her hands up watching the thrum of her bones from below the gaunt skin. It seemed impossible, particularly impossible given the things she knew of her good friend. Divine? "Next you will tell me Zevran is king of Nevarra."

"No, haven't heard from him in awhile. Not a lot of assassinating needed as of late. Morrigan did something sneaky, then sneaked off to do other sneaky witch things, I guess. Uh, I think that's about it," Alistair glanced around, his voice dragging the 't' out enough to draw Lana's full attention. He didn't look at her as he quickly spat out, "Oh, and the queen's pregnant so there will be a little butt to sit in the throne soon enough when mine finally keels over. It's not my kid, obviously, so not really sure how much an effect it has on my life in the end, but it's something fun to add to the Satinalia newsletter and all."

"Alistair," Lana folded her arms across her chest, glaring at the man who still wouldn't look at her. "Do not tell me you traveled across thedas, risked your life, did Maker knows what else to rescue me from the fade all so I could tell you what you already know."

"Uh, um, maybe?" he knotted his lips up, the fear evident in his eyes.

Lana leaned forward to clap him on his unhurt shoulder, "You will be a wonderful father. You know that."

"Even if...?"

"It won't matter who...made the child, because you'll take one look at that little face cracking its first smile and you'll fall head over heels for your baby prince or princess. Ten sovereigns says it happens in the first week."

He dug his fingers into the grass, threading each one as if he intended to weave it, "I keep thinking how easy it was for Maric to, you know, and well... What if like father like son?"

"You're not your father," she smiled. "It's not a traditional arrangement true, but that's no reason for you to not love 'em, which I'm sure you will. You love easy, care greatly, that much is obvious. Besides, you're about 85% child anyway."

He laughed at her assessment, then nodded softly, "Thanks, Lanny. I guess I just needed to hear it from someone I trusted, who I knew wouldn't blow smoke up my ass."

"They charge extra for that at the Pearl," she cracked, before patting him one last time on the shoulder. "You're a good man."

Alistair shifted his jaw around, his eyes darting past her towards the stand of weak trees. "The templar, I know he's not really a templar, but... He's a good man too. I mean, you can do better of course, but if you had to settle for a templar, he-" Alistair rose up from the ground to sit up. His eyes bored into hers as he defended the last person she'd ever have expected him to. "He put up with a lot to get to you, more than I'd have expected anyone to make it through."

"What did you do to him?" Lana asked, turning her head back to the shadows Cullen disappeared into.

"Me? Nothing. Not, entirely nothing, there were a few things that aren't even worth mentioning, really. Look, I know I don't trust templars -- especially near you -- but he's not so bad. Cares anyway. Got a hell of a right hook too."

Lana blinked from trying to peer through the darkness to whip back at Alistair. "Right hook? Did you two...fight? You brawled? And I missed it!"

Alistair gawped, his mouth dangling open to let flies in before he jammed it shut, "I am not at liberty to divulge that sensitive information. Upon pain of more black eyes."

"You know I'll get it from one of you," she said, waving a finger in Alistair's face, but he clasped a hand over his mouth, the edges of a smile peeking off the sides. _They really fought? Maker's breath. What else happened to them?_ There were a lot of dangling conversations she needed to have with Cullen. Maybe it was finally time to yank off that bandage and see if there was any hope of healing. Lana staggered to her feet, her makeshift cane bowing from her weight. She was going to have to find a real one soon.

While she turned away, Alistair reached over to snag her hand. He placed both of his overtop hers, pinning her in place as his pleading eyes beamed up at her. "Lanny Amell...?"

"Hm?" she turned to him, feeling awkward at him sliding up to his knees to reach her.

"Will you," he wiggled back and forth as if struggling to draw forth the question weighing on his heart, "will you be my friend again?"

Lana chuckled at the pure sincerity in his plea, like a child asking if another would come out to play. "I will have to think about it."

"All things considered," Alistair sighed, "that's the best I could hope for." He released her hands and slumped back to his bedroll.

Willing more mana into her limbs, Lana staggered towards the direction of Cullen. She made it past the eclipse of the firelight before turning back to Alistair and saying, "But I probably will." His grin cracked from ear to ear, infectious enough to jump to her strained lips. Turning away from her once and future friend, Lana limped into the darkness.

With eyes closed, and his head tipped back to let the breeze wash over his face, Cullen looked almost at peace as he sat upon the grasslands. Below him, a valley drifted into the shadows of the setting sun - the tan grass a vibrant orange as if it erupted in flames. One of Cullen's hands rested in his lap while the other knocked around his dog's ears. Honor leaned into it, savoring the scratch until spotting the mage limping towards them.

Her entire back end wagging, Honor leapt away from Cullen to bowl into Lana's legs. He spun around and tried to shout her down before doing any damage, but Lana only laughed at the ecstatic dog. Rubbing madly, she massaged the mabari's stomach getting a shaking leg for her troubles as well as a free lolling tongue.

"Honor," Cullen sighed, his voice weary, "here." He patted his side to enunciate the command. Rolling to her feet, Honor glanced up at Lana, but she waved her hands that obeying seemed the best choice. "She can be over exuberant at the best of times."

"It's all right," Lana smiled, unable to stop patting the happy mabari's head. It'd been years since hers had passed, and despite so many insisting she get a new one to replace him, it never felt right. "I like dogs. May I join you?"

Guarded eyes turned to her but he shrugged his shoulders and patted the ground. This only encouraged Honor to scoot over towards his hand which got another eye roll from Cullen. "You are a silly one," he sighed, grabbing onto his dog and trying to manhandle her to his other side. Carefully, Lana lowered herself to the ground. Not an easy task, but she couldn't stand for longer than a few minutes. Either way she was hitting the ground; she'd figure out how to rise later.

"How is he?" Cullen asked, gesturing to the king.

"Fine. If it weren't for the poison the knife wound would be little more than a scratch." Lana watched him knot his hands in his lap, uncertain where they belonged. "What about you?" she asked.

"What of me?" In the setting sun she couldn't see his amber irises, only a darkness across his eyes.

"Withdrawals from the lyrium..."

Cullen sat rigid, both hands slapping into the ground, "I can explain why I had it--"

"It's all right," Lana wanted to touch his arm, to hold his hand in between hers. Instead she plucked at the tie against her borrowed breeches. "Alistair told me."

Cullen's head bowed down as if someone placed another brick atop his heavy crown. "He had to talk me into it."

"I wish he hadn't at all," Lana mused, pinching her lips together.

"Why?" Stricken cheeks pulled back in confusion, his brow a furrow of deep rows. "It worked, it-we...saved you. Found you."

"And it could have killed you!" Lana tried to strangle back the tremble in her voice. She'd drug it out of Alistair the second he was conscious enough to talk, not happy then and growing more unhappy with each moment neither of them spoke of it. "Or worse, for that matter still, it could... I, it must hurt you." Cullen waved off her concern like an errant fly, but she knew he had to be suffering while having to do it in silence, as so many others thought they deserved. "Please, I could help. Heal the pain, maybe take away some of the thirst. I have a few ideas on how to..."

Her pleading fingers glanced over his and a shudder knocked through his body. Instead of yanking his hand away from hers, he gaped at it as if it was the final oasis in a never ending desert. "No, I-I will be fine."

"For the Maker's sake Cullen, why won't you let me help you? Is it my magic? Are you worried I'll, I don't know, raise a demon to do it?" Her voice slipped higher in her anger, the raw edge scratching up her underused throat.

His lips parted for a moment, a certainty gripping him, but then it all flooded away. The stoic warrior sunk back in on himself, his head drooping as he glowered at the ground. "I don't deserve you," he whispered. "You don't know, don't understand what... He, he was the one to plan all of this. The reason either of us are here, the one to keep pushing us to find you," Cullen kept jabbing in Alistair's direction, who had to overhear them but was thankfully pretending he didn't. Lana cast a glance back at her patient, then tried to catch Cullen's eye, but it fell to the ground once more. "I, I nearly didn't come. I tried to abandon this-you, abandon you because... It doesn't matter. My belief wasn't strong enough. I didn't have hope to...I failed."

Lana's heart cracked in half as she cupped his cheeks with her hands. She barely had the strength to lift his head from his dour turn, tears dripping across her fingers as she struggled to catch his eye. "Cullen, oh Maker. No. You didn't fail anything. You're so much more than... Blind faith isn't what I, one grand romantic gesture means nothing. It doesn't make up for-for years of, or what we..." Lifting his hand in her own, it felt heavy as lead, Lana carefully cupped his chin. "Even if you weren't here, if it was just him and some hired mercenaries -- Cullen, you would have been the first person I hunted for, I found after being released."

"Why?" he struggled through a knot twisting up his features, pain etched across every well worn line. All she wanted was to wash them away, if not with her magic then with her words. "I am no romantic, I know this. It has...I am never good enough for it, for any chance of..."

Gently, Lana twisted his hand in hers. "You're better than you know. You held me so tight after I had to-to end Nathaniel." She rolled up the first of his fingers into his palm. "You defended me, not just against harlequins or demons, but anyone who thought I was a danger." Another finger down. "You've been the constant shield at my side, even in the face of...of things beyond belief, when doubt is in question you are still there, still trying." As she closed another finger, her other hand cupped his cheek. Those amber eyes remained shut tight, but he leaned into her palm, his lips dancing close to touching. "I don't need the fancy poetry, the dancing, the whatever else makes up courting. You'd, you listen to my ramblings, my wild theories, not because you had to but-but because you wanted to." After rolling up the last finger, Lana lifted up his fist closed tight around her own fingers.

"One large gesture cannot compare to a lifetime of small ones. Love's so much more than making one move, saying the right thing at the right time, winning the war after losing every battle."

His eyes opened, hope bobbing in the depths as he focused on her. Licking his lips, Cullen whispered - his cheek rising against her hand, "Love?"

"Ah," Lana dug into her forehead with her fingers, trying to cover up the obvious flush rising to her cheeks. "I didn't want to- I had a speech planned and it was pretty good. I could start over, but there's not... Sorry, I'm-right. Okay."

Now it was her turn to focus on the ground, digging in a steadying breath, "Cullen, I am so sorry for what I did to you. For leaving you without an answer, an answer you deserved. I was scared, of myself, of how badly I could mess everything up. Did mess everything up."

Warm fingers ran down her upper arm, gently patting her, "Lana, I-" He turned in on himself, struggling to raise the words clinging to his tongue, "why did you stay behind? Was it...?" he gestured at Alistair, then his head dropped down and he pointed the accusing finger at himself.

"No, Andraste no, it wasn't you. It wasn't even..." Absently, she wiped at the tears percolating in her eyes. "I was wounded in the last fight, badly. Beyond badly, it was fatal. And with my mana drained, I knew that I wasn't going to survive more than a few minutes. I just kept thinking if I went with the Inquisitor, if Hawke remained behind then she'd die in the fade and I'd-I'd bleed out on the floors of Adamant. Possibly at your feet. I couldn't, I couldn't take two lives, not like that."

"I don't understand. The Inquisitor, Hawke, neither mentioned you being injured."

"They didn't know. There wasn't time to tell them, and, you know Hawke. She'd probably have spat on the wound and thought that would close it," Lana struggled to smile through the tears washing her cheeks.

Cullen gripped tight to both of her shoulders, his body hanging off her for support, "How did you...?"

"Survive? A spirit rescued me, healed me. I should have died in the fade, the way everyone thought, but I didn't. I held on, every day, every hour, every minute clinging to life because-because I had to find you, to tell you the truth." She lifted her weary head, Cullen barely visible through her tears. Lana swallowed deep and steadied her breath. "I love you. I've loved you for, Maker, I don't know. So long. Too long, but I was so scared and-and wrong." Unable to explain it verbally, Lana lifted up her hand, a spark of fire raising off her fingers. It burned an otherworldly purple between them before she extinguished it. "I should have realized back at Skyhold, or before, but I wanted to run and hide, to keep myself chained away so I didn't..."

Lana tipped her head back, unable to speak coherently through her wobbling lips. Screwing her eyes up tight, she willed the tears back, at least for a moment. Taking a calming breath, she looked into his inscrutable eyes, "I never wanted to hurt you." His thumbs massaged into her muscles, tenderly rubbing the tunic closer to her skin as his eyes drifted off a thousand miles. Thoughts churned through his brain, all of them cut off from her as Cullen drifted deeper inside himself.

_That was the easy part_ , Lana thought. Now...now to face up to what she suspected would be her undoing. Knocking her teeth together for a moment, Lana searched for that mysterious and mythical courage to damn herself. "I don't want to hurt you now either. Cullen, I...Maker's breath, I was dead and, gone, and-- Two years is such a long time. If you've--"

Before she could continue, he pulled her across the gap between them and pressed his lips against hers, all of the man she loved poured into that one kiss. Both of their lips were salty from the tears but Lana didn't care. She cupped his cheek, trying to dive deeper into his kiss - to never surface. Two years she walked the plains of the fade with only the spirits to keep her company. Despite shoring up her heart behind a wall of stone, lying to herself about what hid deep inside her soul, every sleep she whimpered to taste his kiss one more time.

Cullen broke first, but not far, his lips opening a breath from hers as he panted for air. "Lana, two years is nothing for you."

"You," she gasped, her mind struggling to understand. The way he'd kept himself aloof, distant, disjointed from her, she assumed he'd moved on - perhaps more than moved on this time and closed his heart to her. "You want me?"

"More than anything in thedas," he whispered, his heart clutched in every syllable.

"I-I want you too," she said. "For so much longer than, I never dared... But," her forehead slid away from his as she struggled to place a hand on the ground - her meager energy draining away. "To the wardens I'm dead, to the circle I'm long gone, even as far as Amaranthine is concerned I'm nothing - the line of succession long since passing me by."

"What is it?" his strong and callused palms rolled across her cheeks, Cullen's concern etched in his lifelines.

"I," Lana bit her bottom lip and turned her full gaze upon him, "I'll always be a mage. It's more than a part of me, it is me. It took me a long time to accept it and, and if you can't, then..."

"Oh, Lana. I," he lifted up her fingers that sparked tinder with a snap and brought the death of winter with a wave. Gently he kissed one, his cracked and bruised lips pressing warmth against her skin, "I know you're a mage."

"It's not that, it's... Can you trust me? Can you trust my magic?"

Cullen paused in kissing her other hand so tenderly as if he was tending to a cut. "I do. I..." he sighed in agony, "I've given you nothing but pause, reason to doubt me, but I do trust you with it, Lana."

"Then why won't you let me help you? Let me heal you?" she pleaded, her fingers curling up into fists even as he held her wrists.

Furrowing his brow, Cullen cursed under his breath at himself, "It's not you, it's... I'm scared too, scared of growing dependent upon you to wipe away the scars in my mind or my body, just as I did the chantry, only to... Only to have it all get taken away. Losing you nearly, it-I couldn't survive having all of that, everything lost. I never wanted to reject you or your magic, I'm so sorry."

To defeat the demon she had to chip away at the barrier using every heartache inside of her. While Alistair's wore it down, it was the one of Cullen that freed her because it cut so deep to the bone. Intellectually, she forgave him, she understood the horrible stress he was placed under, his reasons for lashing out. But in that animalistic part of her brain, the brash section of her heart she guarded closely, she feared she could never be all of herself with him. That she could never fully trust him to not cut her down, to grow distant because of what she was, to turn from her with every spell she cast. Now, a small chip of that fear knocked away. It'd take time to break it down, time to be her full self with him, but it was a start.

"I love you," Lana whispered, placing her lips against his forehead.

He shivered at her touch before tugging her down for another kiss, softer than before. "I love you too," Cullen answered. He wiped away her tears and she did the same to him.

"I feared that you'd grow angry at me, for the fade, or because I couldn't..." she stammered, terrified that this was all some dream. It didn't seem possible by any stretch.

"Never," he sighed, cupping his lips against hers for another kiss, "I can never be angry at you."

Lana chuckled, "I'll hold you to that one day."

"Losing you, it-it wasn't easy, but I..." he rolled over on his side to reach into his pocket. After yanking free a small book, he left it in her confused hands. "I'd read your journal to give myself a peace of mind, to hear your words."

Ripe with the warmth of his body, Lana rifled through the book's pages, a smile knotting up her stomach. She forgot about leaving it behind. "Did you find anything good in there?" she asked mischievously.

"Proof that I was a fool for ever questioning if you cared," he ran the back of his fingers across her cheek and she turned to plant a kiss against them. They needed to talk but Lana couldn't stop kissing his skin to remind herself this was real. He was real and so was she. "I read some of your book recommendations too."

"Oh? The adventure stories?"

"And the mage tomes as well," he rested his hand upon her lower thigh, squeezing the muscle back to life.

"Really?"

"I suppose the key phrase is tried to read. Most were beyond me, all save one about Nullification of Magic..."

"You understood the Null Theory of Magic and Its Adverse Affects Upon the Veil?" Lana sat up higher, her eyes glowing in excitement.

"Uh, I believe so," Cullen glanced briefly to the side, his lips twisting as if fearing this was all a trick of the Maker's.

"Only a handful of mages can wrap their minds around the idea of a null magic, an anti-magic as some call it. But then, perhaps your templar abilities give you greater insight into..." She laughed at her own idiocy and bit her lip. A dozen questions flitted through her mind to ask him about a magical theory that bore no semblance to their problem at hand. "I had the sudden urge to deluge you in questions about the null phenomenon. And you thought you were the terrible romantic."

His hands brushed back the gnarled hair off her cheek and he pulled her close for a series of quick kisses, a gentle laugh punctuating each one. "Maker, I've-I've waited so long to hear you do that. Spin your theories at me, and...You're here, you're really here, in my arms." Cullen wrapped his caressing fingers around her back, drawing her tight into his chest. How did she spend two years away from him? Away from his bittersweet smile, from those honeyed eyes, from his full embraces, from his gentle stutter. Fourteen years, Lana Amell walked the lands of thedas struggling to stop the blight, to put an end to darkspawn, to save people and protect it. She'd sealed her own wants, her own needs behind glass because it was the only way to keep going. Now what?

With her lips buried against his chest, the heat of his body overwhelmed her trying to drag her to sleep, but she clung tight to the waking world - never wanting to miss another moment of him. Gently, Cullen's fingers brushed back her hair exposing her neck and her birthmark. He didn't race to kiss it, but his thumb tapped against the edge along her collarbone, as if grounding himself.

"Lana, I..." his waning chin raised up as he paused for a moment. "I should, you deserve to know that in your absence the wardens of the south have rebuilt, though their leadership was devastated in the wake of Adamant and is still waning. And Grand Enchanter Fiona created a college for mages near the Waking Sea."

She parted her fingers down his chest, pushing the lesser of his soft shirts against the outline of the muscles. Without any evident armor, she was able to feel him below - his body folding into her touch. "There are many options. I could resume killing darkspawn, I was rather good at it. Or, return to the circles for study and research. Put all my half thought ideas to some use."

Cullen didn't respond, instead he locked his arms tighter around her, his chin resting on the top of her head. Matching him in kind, Lana circled her own hands around his back, snuggling deeper into him. "Or, there's Leliana. As Divine, I'm certain she'd love having me around. I could play the good mage example, an advisor, or council member, or whatever they call it in the chantry hierarchy when you're not really in the chantry."

Releasing her hold, Lana tugged down upon the back of Cullen's head, aiming his focus to her. He resisted at first, redness welling around the sides of his eyes, but eventually he gave in. Lana caressed her fingers across his warm cheek. "For the first time in my life, I don't care what I do..." she pulled herself up higher to place her forehead against his, "as long as it's with you."

A whispered sigh broke from Cullen's lips, raising in a tepid smile. "Are you...?"

"Kinloch, Kirkwall, Skyhold, I've put my duty ahead of my heart, ahead of you for far too long. I-I can't do it anymore. Every time I've given you up because I thought I had no choice, because it was the right thing to do. I'm, I'm not strong enough to walk away again."

Chuckling in relief, he swooped her up for a kiss - at first as gentle as before with lips soft and sweet. But as she pressed her chest against him, the smoldering fire between them lit brighter. Cullen's hands cupped against her waist, tugging the wide collar of both tunics further down to reveal more of her birthmark and her straining cleavage. With her arms wrapped around his neck to anchor herself, Lana teased his tongue with her own, tasting all of him - the earthy undertones of her stoic templar.

Heat rolled across her body, and she blinked rapidly realizing it didn't come from her desire rising up from the dead, but the campfire sputtering into a small inferno. In her excitement, she'd dumped enough mana to take out a small nest of deepstalkers. A grimace knotted up her face as she tried to wave it back down, but Cullen caught her flinching cheek - angry at herself for losing control - and he pulled her eyes to his. "I trust you," he said kissing her and nearly restarting the fire she dampened down.

Lana moved to kiss him harder, when Alistair's voice rose through the night air, "So, uh, totally unrelated to anything happening off in that direction, but I'm suddenly going to talk a walk far away over there. Does the doggy want to come with? You want to come with, trust me."

Rising off the ground from her nap, Honor quirked her head at Cullen, who sighed. "Yes, you best go with to keep him safe."

"Hey, I'm the one who saved you from a back stabbing, remember," Alistair complained as he staggered up to his legs. "And all I got for it was a lovely qunari souvenir." Running his fingers over Honor's head, Alistair began to stagger away from the campfire and what they probably shouldn't have shared so close to him.

Lana knotted her lips up from the faux pas, then she turned her head to shout, "You better not tear any stitches because I'm not fixing them."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he complained, his voice already drifting away in the darkness.

With a strange but welcome certainty in life warming her bones, Lana turned to Cullen and saw him anew. Her fingers rolled across his hair and she smiled, "You're back to the curls."

"Oh, yes," he reached up to touch his hair and found her hand instead. "With the sea water, killing slavers, and qunari problems, there wasn't time to-to straighten it. Is that a...um, is it a problem?"

"No," she sighed, his knotted hair twisting around her finger, "I've always loved your curly hair. In truth, I was a little sad to see it gone."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Lana shrugged, "It didn't seem my place. And wavy hair, curly, bald..."

"Grey," he threw out.

By the dim light she could barely tell if there was any white mixed in with his sandy blonde. Maker only knew how much snow moved in through her ebony. "It doesn't matter, Cullen." Her fingers splayed out across his whiskered cheek, the same one she'd watch rise in discerning smiles and even, on occasion, full laughs. Those deep, golden eyes that'd wash over her in concern and hunger. His tender lips that'd ignite her body and soothe her soul. "You'll always be the handsomest man to me." Perhaps it was a little of the Jowan's spirit remaining in her mind, but Lana tenderly touched the scar splitting apart her face and felt a pang of regret at her own marring.

Cullen caught her hand and pulled it away so he could look at her fully. Their palms pressed together, fingertip to fingertip, as he gazed over her, "Lana, I-I've tried to, to think of a way to describe your...um. There's no woman in all of thedas like you. I love you, all of you."

"I love you too, Cullen Rutherford." His full name drew a great smile to his lips, so great she blinked in surprise, "What?"

"Your r's, the way you...Maker's breath, but I love hearing your voice again." Enveloping her into his embrace, he peppered the top of her head in kisses while Lana struggled to remain awake. Unable to sneak anything past him, Cullen's warm fingers pushed back her hair as he whispered, "You're probably exhausted. Beyond. You, if you want-need to sleep I, don't let me stop you."

Lana threaded her arms around his back and gripped her fingers against those straining biceps - the ones that could cut down a qunari warrior now holding her secure. She didn't realize she was crying until she spoke, tears threaded in her words, "No, I...I am tired but, the thought of. I'm-I'm...scared, terrified about returning to the Fade again and...and not coming back."

Agony washed over his face as he slumped down to press his forehead to hers. "Oh, Lana. I'm so..."

"Be here, with me. Ground me. Keep me...here. I'm sure I'll pass out eventually, but I-I don't want to wake alone. Okay?"

Cullen, the awkward templar baptized by trauma into a vengeful protector, rescued from his own hubris and transformed into the compassionate man before her, rolled his thumbs against her tears. He whispered with certainty, "You won't have to, ever again."

_Maker, whether you're real or not, thank You for this moment._ For every bad day in her life, at least there was this. Lana's head snuggled onto his shoulder, the warmth of his body and the cushion of his chest doing most of the work to drag her back to sleep. A chuckle rumbled in her throat as she drifted back to the other time he held her until she slept.

"What is it?" Cullen asked.

"You made it. You got to the Anderfels," she smiled, dredging up their conversation as she struggled to heal from Nathaniel's wound. "Did you try the dumpling I mentioned?"

"I did," he said. "It was spicier than I expected."

"Ferelden boy," Lana snickered, savoring every inch of this man from Ferelden wrapped around her.

Cullen laughed as well, his warm breath caressing her forehead, his lips almost dancing across her skin as he spoke, "And, I also stopped in Rivain."

"Really?" now she struggled to rise up, a final shot of adrenaline waking her up. "What was it like? Did you see the fabled towers of Kont-arr?"

"No, I'm afraid it was only a stop at a port before we resumed sail on the pirate ship."

"Pirate ship?"

Massaging up and down her exhausted arms, Cullen worked his own magic to comfort her. "Yes. A friend of the king by the name of..."

"Isabela," Lana answered, then her eyes widened as she glanced around the area. "She didn't uh, mention anything about her past and any um, with, uh, people who might be wardens?"

"No..." those golden eyes narrowed down, "though I am curious now."

"That uh," she snickered at memories of her less than discretionary youth, "that will take some time, but I promise I'll tell it in full." She thought back to who shared in the moment and amended, "Mostly in full."

"Very well," he didn't sound fully convinced, but he let it go. "Perhaps we could visit Rivain again, together."

That sounded perfect, maybe he'd even find something of interest in her own scholarly quests - or he could play with Honor while Lana buried herself in books. It would be wonderful to walk the streets of...her legs whined in a pain deep to the bone, not the kind she feared would heal in a day or two. "Someday," Lana smiled, promising it to herself, "we will go. Will be together."

"As long as we can," he answered.

The whippoorwill of a bird dashing through the grasses drew Lana's attention up into the... _Maker, the night's sky._ She forgot how beautiful it looked, blues and blacks comforting the world in an evensong blanket glittering with Andraste's tears. "The stars," she gulped, her fingers digging into Cullen to remind herself this was real. "I forgot what they looked like."

A shuddering breath broke from Cullen's throat, but he powered through it, kissing the top of Lana's head as he pointed above them. "That's Draconis."

She smiled, "You're right. And over there's Fenrir... Cullen," Lana raised her head with the last of her energy - she knew sleep would take her soon, but she had to get this out. He caught her waning jaw and lifted it so their eyes would meet. Smiling wide, she whispered, "You stayed safe."

Blinking through his own tears of joy, he beamed at her, "So did you."

## Chapter Thirty Two

**Bloom**

_9:44 Orlais-Nevarra border_

"Welp, that looks like the dreaded crossroads," Alistair called from his perch on a borrowed horse. He directed the bay further across the road to glare down at the jointing of two different highways. "How many undead do you think are buried under there?"

Lana urged their horse to follow the errant king, her thighs digging into the shared saddle. She slid from the moisture hanging in the wintry air, but Cullen reached out from behind her to offer a steadying hand. "I suppose this is where we part ways," Lana said to Alistair.

Her voice snapped him out of his attempt to glare into the ground and hunt for any skeletons waiting to pop out. He'd healed rather quickly from the poison, only a day down - she was proving less resilient. "Guess so," Alistair tugged on his reins until his horse butted up against Lana's. "I know you're going underground and all, but you'll be sending me letters, right? I'll go mad if I don't learn who the Countess wound up marrying."

"You could always read the book yourself," Cullen interrupted. Travel was slow, even with the horses, and somehow Lana found herself retelling nearly the entire plot of an old epic tale to Alistair to pass the time. She had no idea Cullen even listened until he'd fill in the occasional missed detail for Alistair.

Scrunching his royal nose up, he turned to Cullen, "You're going to miss me, templar. I just know it."

"And the sky could split in half and all the demons of the fade would fall from it," Cullen answered, his words light.

"Or an archdemon would crawl out of the depths of the deeproads and plunge all of us into a blight," Lana spoke up.

Alistair scratched the back of his head, "Or, or, someone could destroy the veil and plunge all of us into a magic infested world of...eh, I've got nothing. Lanny, get better, eat all the tiny cakes in Orlais, spend a month in their bath houses, and I'm serious about the Countess. She'd better not have wound up with that brutish Duke or so help me."

He reached across to pick up her hand, gently shaking it. The warmth of his skin washed over hers that were always trapped in cold now. Gloves seemed to be an inevitability in her future. Dropping her hand, Alistair turned to Cullen, "Can't say it's been fun, but...it worked out. For your sake you better treat her right, or--"

"Or you'll come after me and finish what you started?" Cullen asked. Lana wished she could spin around to see his face because his tone gave nothing away.

Alistair snorted, "Me? I was warning you. You're both off to visit with Her Hatness. She gets even a whiff of you not being, you know, up to snuff... Maker, I don't want to imagine what she'll dream up." Rolling his head, he turned his horse and began down the road towards Ferelden. "So long," he called, waving his hand while trotting away.

"For now!" Lana shouted out, struggling to rise up in the stirrups so he'd hear. As she slumped back, Cullen's hands enveloped around her stomach and she leaned against his steadying chest.

"How are you feeling? If it's too much we could rest," he said, his fingers sliding down her thighs to dig blood back into them.

Lana shook her head against his chest, almost lulled into agreeing by the warm musk radiating off him. "We have a long way yet to go. And I'm, I'm good."

His hands broke from the massage to wrap around her shoulders in a one sided hug. "Lana, you do not need to push yourself. Val Royeaux will remain even if we take another day or two to arrive."

"I know," she gripped the rather patient horse's reins in one hand to hold onto his crossed arms with the other. "Now that Alistair's gone, we could always, uh, enjoy our alone time."

"You can barely stand," Cullen started in surprise, as if she didn't regularly feel him erect, pushing against her as they slept, or when he pulled her into his lap.

"Last I checked, there were a few positions that didn't require standing. Rather a lot of them, in fact."

He snickered from behind her and placed his lips against the back of her neck. The hot breath warming her frozen skin sent shivers down her spine. Goosepimples answered in kind. "Maker, but you are a challenge," he sighed, locking his arms tighter around her. She knew that to be true beyond measure and yet he came for her. Not like that, well, okay he had done that as well, but to have him forsake the Inquisition to save her. To risk his life when there seemed no chance to find her. She pinched herself to remember this was real, all of it.

Cullen whispered to himself, "I never want to hurt you."

And he'd forsake sex for her, for fear of pushing her past her limits, for her comfort. Lana wished she could spin in the saddle to kiss him, but the best she managed was pressing her lips to his hand. Happy tears in her eyes, she asked aloud, "How in the past two years did no other woman swoop in and take you?"

"Because," Alistair waved his hand, drawing their attention as he'd gotten a bit further down the road but not far enough away to miss their conversation. "Swooping is bad!" he finished with before kicking his horse into a gallop, the dirt misting in their wake.

"That man is..." Cullen sighed, shaking off whatever he was going to denigrate Alistair with. Instead, he pressed his lips to Lana's ear and whispered, "I was thinking, when we arrive in Val Royeaux, there's no reason we couldn't stop by the White Spire."

Lana smiled wide as she steered their horse towards Orlais. "I love you."

* * *

Careful to roll up the drooping sleeve of her robe, Leliana lifted the match higher as she dropped it against every white wick crying out for light. It was a trivial matter, beyond the Divine's attention, but she enjoyed the tranquility in watching each virgin candle burst alive with its first flame. That spark that would carry it throughout its brief life to warm the chantry and bring light to the darkness of all who gazed upon it.

"Your Perfection," a clerk's voice called from behind her. She didn't recognize this one, her preferred personal attendant on leave to visit her family. A few clerks took over her duties, none of them as quick witted or sharp tongued as Leliana's favorite.

"I assume you have compiled my agenda for the day," Leliana said, reaching the second row of candles.

"Uh," the clerk stumbled, unused to the perceptive Divine. Many glossed over her previous life as a Spymaster, even if it was only two years ago. "Yes, we've slotted in a few meetings before the first services of the day."

"Wonderful," Leliana sighed. She'd prefer to have a few moments peace to herself before diving headlong into the never ending arguments, but if she wanted that to be her true lot in life she'd never have put on the hat. "Who is first on the list?"

"Duke de Comfot." The clerk rolled open a scroll to read through it, "He wishes to discuss..."

"The chantry's levying of his lands nearly one hundred years ago to aid in a matter. Yes, I know. And will hear it repeated until the day I am on the pyre...or he is." She meant it in jest, but it was tempting to solve some of her problems with the employ of an assassin. The Maker knew she yet had access to them, but that wasn't the reign Leliana wanted to leave behind. She was better than that. "Who else?"

"The Grand Enchanter is..."

"Ugh," she refused to hide the groan at the mention of Vivienne's name. The woman never came herself, only sent toadies in her stead to sow chaos about the 'mage situation' in thedas. Their particular scuttlebutt of late was to try and scoop up the few templars remaining in the Inquisition's possession. Some they'd already wormed away with the promise of more lyrium in their ration. "And I'd been hoping today would be a lovely one," Leliana sighed, the final candle alighting. Smiling from her work, she laid the matchstick on the altar and turned to face the clerk. "Anything else of import?"

"No, not much..." the young woman flipped through her scroll, probably mentally jotting down a note to never mention Vivienne again. Her finger paused and she glanced up, "Oh, the commander of the Inquisition is here."

Leliana snapped her head up, her eyes winnowing down to their old crystal glare. "Commander Cullen? He is here, in Val Royeaux? And you're only now telling me?!" Striding past the harried clerk, Leliana clipped quickly down the aisles of the Grand Chantry, her heels echoing off every stained glass window and marble statue. A few heads swung over to demure to the Divine, but she paid them no heed, only kept shouting questions at the clerk trailing her.

"Where is he?"

"In your outer office, with the others waiting to speak to you," the clerk huffed beside her. Divines were supposed to be ancient, with slow laborious movements. Normally, Leliana obliged this assumption, taking her time to pause a moment after each step, but now she flew through the halls up the grand staircase towards her numerous antechambers.

"Did he come alone?" she shouted at the clerk behind her.

"I'm uncertain," the woman rattled her scrolls as if there was an answer there.

The Divine snapped to a halt, and she spun on her heels. It wasn't the beatific voice of Andraste who glowered death at the clerk, but the once bard turned Spymaster for a heretical Inquisition. "Was there someone with him?"

"I don't know!" the clerk squeaked.

"You do not know?"

"There were a lot of people in there this morning. And I didn't check to see who was with who and...I, I don't know!" she cried but Leliana spun back on her heel, practically running towards her office now. The clerk kept begging for forgiveness and also understanding, but she ignored it all. Blood rushed through her veins, dredging up both fear and hope in equal measure. Pausing outside the door, Leliana whispered a prayer to the Maker to do the impossible, to bloom on the dead rose bush once more. Using every skill available to her, she wiped away the panic in her face, steadied her trembling hands, and she slipped into her office.

A dozen faces lining along the benches of the lavish chambers turned to her, preparing to snag the Divine's attention. Leliana wafted past each of them, all her sights upon the blonde man with his back to her. He twisted his head, catching on to the rising excitement whispered around the room, and rose. Sure enough, it was Commander Cullen - even without his trademark armor none could match the man's taciturn cheeks and hollowed eyes. Something in his weathered face struck her, dragging the panic back from its banished depths. If he had succeeded at all, then...

The commander bent over and offered his arm to help lift up someone with a hood drawn over her face. Leliana gasped, her hand slapping over her mouth as she drew across the gap between them. A few concerned people begging for her attention tried to stop her, but her eyes were only on the woman inching back her hood. "Blessed Andraste!" Leliana cried, her heart blooming in joy as she wrapped her arms around the friend she'd lost those two years ago.

"It's good to see you too, Leliana," Lana whispered, gripping back.

# _My Future_

After Cullen rescues Lana Amell from the fade, the two of them find their lives at a junction. With no Grey Wardens, no Circles, and no Inquisition, what will they do? All they have is each other and a lot of questions.

## Chapter One

**Arrival**

Maker, that was a lot of gold, and silk. Far more silk than he would have expected in anything related to the chantry. In his mind, the chantry was all hard wood pews, grouted cobblestones, and fraying woolen robes. Cullen felt a growing urge to turn around and run, and they hadn't technically gotten past the front room, which Orleisans would argue themselves to death over whether it was a foyer or a vestibule. He missed his old days of referring to it as the mudroom, which would certainly cause some of the soft spoken Mothers in Val Royeaux to faint straight to the marble floors.

"Forgive the state of things," the Divine spoke beside him. She'd rolled up her drooping sleeves and pinned them in place with the eye of the Inquisition. It felt strange to see the symbol that encompassed so much of his life yet again. "I'm afraid no one's really cleaned it up since Justinia."

"Leliana, it's beautiful," Lana gasped, her eyes widening even more as the Divine pushed open a door revealing a room large enough to house the entire scouting regiment of the Inquisition. With the inborn manners of a dog, Honor barreled past her owner to stand panting in the middle of the room. Her stubby tail wiggled back and forth, daring Cullen to call her out for being naughty in the face of such adorableness. Sighing, he only pointed a finger at her and threatened in a whisper, "Do not break anything."

"Oh dear," Lana's gaze wandered over to him and she placed a hand to her gaunt cheeks, "I fear this may be too ostentatious for the Commander."

"Nonsense," Leliana waved her hand at Lana's statement before lifting a flint up off the mantle and bringing to life a candelabra dangling over a table inlaid with not only gold but what looked like silver and possibly rubies as well. "This is the breakfast nook," she gestured at the table whose sale could probably buy them an entire cottage. "And somewhere in the back is a proper dining table."

"A proper..." now Lana's lips slackened in her own shock. Cullen turned his cocky grin and mouthed "ostentatious" back at her. She only shrugged, her eyes widening further. This was even beyond the jaded Arlessa.

"Wait until I show you the bedroom. There's a jewel encrusted washing basin from the Blessed Age."

"I..." Lana moved to take a step, when her body slipped out from under her tight control. Cullen raced forward, both hands grabbing onto her. One caught her arm, digging tight around her brittle bones, while the other managed to wrap around her waist. It pained him how easy it was to lift her back up, but he kept a calm turn to his face.

As he bore her far too light weight, Lana lifted her weary head. "Sorry, perhaps I should sit for a spell," then she paused and laughed at her own pun. Even while putting on a brave face, Cullen and Leliana shared a concerned glance over Lana's head.

"Allow me," the Divine wrapped her own arms around Lana's waist, the mage winding a hand over her friend's shoulders. "Most of the furniture here's as hard as a chantry pew, but Justinia had one of the softest divans I've ever sat upon installed which I ordered moved here for the time being." Guiding her past the golden arm chairs with high backs designed to make the sitter look imposing and not comfortable, Leliana jerked her chin at this mythical divan. While the rest of the furniture bore the same crimson, deep gold, and cherry wood motif of the chantry proper, the divan was every designers worst nightmare. Wide enough to seat two people, it bore a swooping back that bulged at the bottom to fill into someone's lower back, while the sitting cushions themselves fluffed upwards with a good foot of downy give. But what was perhaps most perplexing was the upholstery done in soft pinks and greens and bearing a continually repeating folksy chicken pattern.

The Divine helped Lana down onto it, then sat beside her. Ever since she first threw her arms around Lana in her office, Leliana hadn't let her get further than a few feet, even chasing away some very important grand clerics, not that Cullen could blame her. He felt the same need when he looked at Lana, to touch her skin, hear her voice, and remember that this was all real. She was back.

Uncertain what to do, Cullen slid off the pack around his neck, letting it lay beside the door. He picked up one of the chairs and pulled it closer. Sweet Maker, the thing had to weigh a good hundred pounds. Not expecting it to be made from solid gold, Cullen struggled to get a better grip before a chair worth more than himself slipped from his fingers and broke. Gritting, he managed to lift it a few inches off the floor and placed it near the divan. He caught a small quirk of Leliana's lips from his strain, but she didn't say anything. She was too busy fussing over Lana, who kept trying to wave it all away.

"If you are tired, you could nap," Leliana said, gesturing back towards the most imposing room in the apartments lurking behind a solid door. "The bed is beyond grand, but the reliefs carved into it are...not what one would expect. Apparently, Divine Innocente had a particular aesthetic that belied her rather stringent reign."

Lana buried the panic he came to know whenever sleep was mentioned. She needed to rest so her body could recuperate, and she knew it. But any mention of sleep and returning to the fade drew forth a sinking in her lips and dread in her eyes. "No," Lana shook her head, her hand patting Leliana's in a comforting fashion. The Divine frowned, her painted lips knotting from the sharp bones poking up through Lana's skin. "I only need to sit for a time. Take in all this grand splendor. It's..."

"You didn't see the apartments the first time you visited the Grand Cathedral," Leliana smiled. "Though these are nothing compared to mine."

"I'd imagine," Lana bobbed her head. "Enough room to raise your nugs?"

"Three families."

"You've been to the Grand Cathedral previously?" Cullen interrupted. He shifted against the hard seat already trying to flatten his tailbone. Any longer in it and he was liable to wind up without a backside, period. Absently, his hand patted Honor's head as she took up sentry sitting beside him.

Lana tipped her head, "Officially, no. But..."

"She assisted me in a small matter," Leliana filled in.

"I hope there were no darkspawn involved for you," Cullen chuckled.

"Maker, no," Leliana shook her head with a laugh and then a wry smile rose, "No sex either."

"Leliana," Lana groaned, burrowing her head back deeper into the cushions.

"Am I to keep pretending as if I'm not aware?"

"No, but, I don't know. It's a bit...all," Lana waved her hands through the air as if she was trying to cast a spell, then she glanced over at Cullen. He was doing his best to glare through the wall and pretend he wasn't there. It was one thing when her dearest friend caught him nearly naked with Lana, but now that Leliana was the Divine his brain all but shut down at the very idea. Maker, it was bad enough fearing what Alistair would do to him. What havoc could a vengeful Divine wreak?

For her part, Leliana merely turned her head back and forth, washing her hands of the whole affair. She'd left her official hat back in her office, she claimed it was so she'd fit through the doors. Cullen began to suspect it was because she didn't want to be the Divine when with Lana. "I assume you two are still..."

"Yes," Lana interrupted, then concern shifted over her face and her eyes darted over to Cullen, "I mean, right?"

"Of course," leaning off the chair, he grabbed onto her hand. The chill of it rattled across his own skin, and he placed his other palm overtop it to warm her up. "Assuming you still wish to..."

"Oh yes, I mean, I only..." Lana glanced over at her friend and sighed, "We're still working on it."

He felt the calculating glare not of the Divine but the Spymaster who worked beside him for a year, cutting through every inch of his body. She sized him up almost immediately, causing a chill to ride up Cullen's spine. As her ice blue eyes burned through his soul, her whispered threats of what she'd do to him if he ever dared hurt Lana bobbed out of his buried memory. And that was from before she had the entire arm of the chantry with her. Could a Divine declare an Exalted March against a single person?

Either unaware of the rising tension, or in order to diffuse it, Lana rose up a bit from her seat and cheerfully called out, "I could really go for a snack."

* * *

Half of a picked clean chicken rested in the middle of the breakfast nook table. At first Lana felt a bit self conscious having Leliana watch her eat, but the gnawing hunger in her stomach won out over the blush and she dove fingers in. On occasion, Cullen would try one of the multitude of sauces she'd mention, dipping into them with the sweeter breads left on silver platters, but for the most part he also sat back watching. Apparently, it was quite the event to see the nearly starved to death, ex-grey warden chomp through a half dinner. Only Honor attempted to join in with her, the mabari steadfast as she sat statue-still waiting for her treat. She chuckled at the seriousness the dog mirrored from her owner, and her fingers occasionally slipped a pinch of bread to her greedy mouth.

Lana reached for one of the mustard based sauces when her stomach rolled in a loop. Having fallen barren for Maker only knew how long, at first Lana couldn't fill it with more than a few bites. Each day she found herself able to eat more, but pushing past that limit only ended in nausea or worse.

"I'm afraid I'm stuffed," Lana admitted aloud, folding her napkin up on the edge of the table. She caught Cullen's eyes wandering over the remaining food, a calculating concern flaring in them.

Leliana shook her head, "Don't concern yourself with that. The chefs will find something to do with the remainder, I'm certain."

"Chefs?" Lana mouthed at Cullen, and he shrugged. Back at the Vigil they only had the one, and she also doubled as a blacksmith when Wade was in one of his moods.

A soft whine drew them towards the apartment doors cresting open. A cleric stood in the opening, her robes starched and pressed, whiter than a star. She practically glowed regulations as she ran a finger down the clipboard in her hands. "Your Most Holy," she bobbed her head deep to the Divine relaxing in the chair, one of Leliana's hands holding up her chin.

"What is it?"

"It's only that, well, you see..."

"Maker's Breath, spit it out Gatlin," Leliana rose up from the chair, a fire in her words.

Gatlin dove deep into her clipboard, her entire face eclipsed by the vellum, as if she hoped it could defend off the incoming Divine's wrath. "Well, my Perfection, it's...you seem to have spent most of the day in private commune with..."

Lana rose up at the hand pointed at her and a panic knotted around her throat. She didn't want...what did she want? Maker, with a full stomach and her limbs crying out for relief, all she wanted was to rest on the divan. Not about to let her friend waft in the breeze, Leliana interrupted, "The Commander of the Inquisition and his accompaniment."

"Of course," Gatlin bowed in relief, her quill scratching down the information for chantry records.

"And they will be staying in these apartments for..." Leliana turned back to Lana for an answer, but she had none. Her mouth jammed shut tight as her widening eyes hunted through the ether. Smoothly spinning back, Leliana continued, "some time. They are not to be disturbed under any means."

"Of course, Most Holy," Gatlin bobbed again, her continual bowing giving Lana seasickness. "What of servants come with food or to draw baths?"

Leliana turned fully to Lana so the cleric couldn't see her face, but Lana only shrugged. In theory, no one else in Val Royeaux should recognize the Hero of Ferelden, but her portrait was passed around for sometime, especially after that woodcut was made and inked into every one of Tethras' books. "I will..." the Divine sized up her underling, "think of something."

"Very good, very good," Gatlin jotted that down as well, her tone switching quickly to condescending. Her watery grey eyes snapped up at the Divine, who crossed her arms and lifted only the barest edge of her lips in a snarl. Realizing her mistake immediately, Gatlin bobbed so low she was practically on her knees.

"If there is nothing else, the...Commander and I have much to discuss," Leliana said.

"Begging your pardon, my Worship, but as I said previously, you have spent the entire day with the Commander...without taking any other appointments."

A groan rolled through Leliana's throat, far more guttural than anything Lana thought her ever capable of. Even when under great stress, somehow Leliana always managed to keep the sweetness in her tone for the sake of appearances. But now she looked as if she wanted to rip the cleric limb from limb.

"It is the Grand Enchanter, is it not?"

"Yes, and she's, um, she's here," Gatlin squeaked, rolling back and forth on her heels.

"Andraste guide me," Leliana prayed, her hands clasping. "I cannot avoid this, not if Vivienne..." She snapped her crystal eyes up and spoke only at Lana. "Will you be all right to remain here for a few hours? Perhaps the entire day?"

Lana opened her mouth to speak, when she caught the cleric leaning in listening intently to try and suss out any gossip. Quick to catch on too, it was Cullen who answered instead, "Yes, I think I will retire. The road exhausted me more than I anticipated."

"Good, good," Leliana bowed her head, her eyes closing as she screwed up the courage to face whatever the Grand Enchanter had for her. She rose away from the table, already adjusting her robes and making preparations to swing by and pick up the hat. At the door, suddenly she scampered back to the table and threw her arms around Lana's shoulders. In shock, Lana barely had time to embrace back before her old friend stood and drug the cleric away with her.

Lana held her breath until the door clicked shut, leaving them both alone in the ostentatious room. "That could have gone worse," she said. A chill crept up her skin and she wrapped her hands around shoulders to try and combat it.

Always watching her, Cullen reached into his pack by the door and unearthed a blanket. Blue with green checks, it smelled of horse and the waning bitter weeds of the Anderfells. They bought it off a rattling merchant whom Alistair made certain to take the time to ask if he knew of any golems they could use. Alas, they didn't find anymore slayers of birds to add to their retinue.

After helping to wrap it around her shoulders, Cullen slumped back into his chair. One hand remained pinned to her upper arm, massaging life into it. Lana sighed into the back of her throat at the thought of his hands climbing up her legs to dig away at the pain. "You look exhausted," he said, those honey eyes trying to pierce through her hooded ones.

"I always look exhausted," she groaned. Cullen pursed his lips from her hand wave answer, and she chuckled at him. "No naps, but...we could sit on the sofa and would you mind rubbing my legs?"

He smiled, happy to have a task ahead of him, "Of course I don't mind." After piling up the few plates, he rose to his feet and offered a hand to Lana. She took it and brought her full weight to the waning muscles in her legs. The calves screamed out first, a fire burning from her daring to use them, then the thighs joined in. Lana felt herself sinking towards the floor -- she'd pushed herself too far -- but Cullen swooped in to rescue her. He caught her about the waist, both hands steadying her up as he transferred her weight off her legs and onto his arms. "I've got you," he assured her.

Lana couldn't bury the smile from how obvious his statement was as he worked her over to the couch. After she fell down into the cushions, Cullen gently scooped up her legs and brought them into his lap as he joined her.

"Maker's breath, this is comfy," he gasped while arranging the blanket around Lana's legs. Beginning with her right foot, he dug the heel of his hand against it, pushing with enough force to bring the blood down.

Biting down a moan almost on the edge of pain, she laughed, "I know. Think Leliana would notice if we stole it?"

"Most certainly," Cullen said, his palms rolling around her ankle and worrying up her calf. The pressure was a harrowing mix of pain when he gripped tight, and pleasure when he released it - her muscles contracting the way they were supposed to instead of the jagged stone feel of before. "If you intend to abscond with it, you best hope you can evade an Exalted March," he said, barely a hint of a laugh in his tone.

Rising up as best she could, Lana's fingers traced down his jawline, then back up so his scruff scratched them up. "I have faith in you," she sighed wistfully. Focusing on her thumb, she traced it against his lips in a tempting circle before aligning it with his scar. By all that was real, she ached to kiss him, to tousle his far too long tresses, and... Lana shifted in her seat, aware of the a blush burning not only her cheeks but up through her inner core as well. She was uncertain what to do with either of them, her body always fighting her every move. Releasing him, she leaned back, savoring the massage as Cullen switched to her other leg.

Silence fell between them while Cullen's hands broke apart her pain and rebuilt it into something almost livable, at least for a few hours. With the sting fading into the background, exhaustion roared back to life, tempting her into its grips. Lana crinkled up her nose, damning the yawn rising up her throat back to its grave. She felt amber eyes watching her struggle, but he didn't say anything, only kept up his work. As his hands climbed higher above her knees to dig and knead into her thighs, the dormant fire burned through her. If he felt the same rising desire, he did his damnedest to hide it, his face neutral to the point of being unreadable. Lana bit back an accidental moan when his flexing fingers spread over the tops of her thighs.

"Did you mean it?" Cullen stopped, his work done. He laid her legs out over his lap and smoothed out the blanket, wrapping her in as much warmth as he could find.

"No, I won't steal the divan. I'm not certain how I'd get it down those winding stairs without breaking something."

He chuckled once at her thinking he was truly afraid she'd steal from the Divine. His hand flexed overtop her legs, and he lifted one, almost as if he wanted to reach out and hold her hand, before he dug into the back of his neck. "I meant after I, we pulled you out of the hold upon you in the Fade and you..."

Screwing his eyes up tight, Cullen swallowed deep, the discomfort in him drawing Lana closer. She struggled to sit up higher, her legs pulling away from his lap. The move caused him to look over at her, but the sudden sadness at her departure vanished as she snuggled her head against him. With a grateful sigh from the bottom of his heart, Cullen pulled his arm around her, enveloping her into his half embrace.

After kissing the top of her head, he started again, "When you said you wanted to be with me, in the future, did you...I understand, stress, and you'd only just revived. It's understandable that you weren't thinking clearly and made a brash--"

Lana knotted her hands around the back of his neck and guided him to her for a kiss. His guarded lips took a moment to soften, as if they were tied up in the same knots twisting his tongue. But as she curled the back of her fingers against his cheek, and he pressed his hand to the small of her back pulling her tighter to him, Cullen melted at her touch. With the tip of her nose sliding against his, she whispered, "I meant every word I said. I love you."

"I love you too," he responded back and then a bright smile lifted his lips. He wore the same every time she'd tell him the truth in her heart, a surprise that it was real, that she loved him. "My concern is only in, we, we're in Val Royeaux."

"What now?" Lana caught on to what he was dancing around. "Everyone worries about ending the blight..."

"Stopping the would-be darkspawn god," he said, both of his hands locking around her back.

"But it's the aftermath when the real work begins," she sighed, remembering Amaranthine and the toll it took upon her. "It doesn't take much to knock over a city, but rebuilding one..."

"Even after years, it's never the same," Cullen sighed as he buried his face into her scraped hair.

"No, it isn't," her eyes darted away. She forgot that he spent years in Kirkwall after the chantry explosion, same as she did in Amaranthine. Both of them separated by a sea, struggling to put back together what was taken in an instant. "Cullen, the future, I..."

"We never had much time together," he said, a rueful smile falling in place.

"Having second thoughts about trudging across thedas to find me?" she smirked, trying to be playful about the truth. People wanted to act like love was enough, somehow it would sustain and blanket over any problems, but she'd already lived through that falsehood once before. Love took work and sometimes vice versa.

"Never," he pressed his forehead to hers, the full luminosity of his amber eyes beaming into hers. "I...I've never felt like this before and Maker, I don't want to ruin it by rushing things, or not rushing things, or anything else I could..." His eyes slipped closed and he whispered, "This is all new to me."

"So," Lana ran her fingers over his cheeks, "we take time, get to know each other. I don't think there are any darkspawn about to knock down the door at this moment." She turned and lifted a hand to her ear, "Nope, I'm not hearing any. No, grand clerics screaming about a dragon swooping in out of the sky."

Laughing at her flapping her hand to mimic a dragon, Cullen asked, "What do we do?"

She shrugged, "I..." Rolling her tongue through her cheek, she struggled to sit up higher in his arms. Draping her elbows beside his neck she smiled, "have no blighted idea." So she kissed him, the taste of his lips pushing her past the weighty questions that trailed her every move. Since she was nineteen people placed the weight of nations upon her shoulders, and that pressure only broke to have her thrown into a never ending struggle to survive. For the first time in half her life, she felt she could stop and really breathe.

Snuggling to his chest, Lana ran her fingers down his tunic, the filth of the road flicking up from her nails. His clothes needed a good washing, as did hers. All of which she wore amounted to a few purchased over shirts and the still borrowed tunics and trousers from the men who rescued her. "What's your favorite color?" she asked.

"What do you...?" Cullen started as if she yanked him from his own waking dream by her question. Locking his hands around her back he took a deep breath, Lana rising against his chest, before slipping his eyes closed. "It's green."

"Really? I'd have guessed red or...maybe a golden yellow, because," she gestured at his outfit that was of a drab autumn motif. "I mean, even your armor at Skyhold was all golds, and crimsons and..."

He chuckled at that, the muscles across his chest flexing in response below her cheek. "I, well, suppose I wore the templar armor for so long the colors seemed natural to me."

"And crimson hides the blood stains better," Lana said pragmatically. She had more than a few robes with the same look, all deep reds and tans so she'd appear presentable around nobles while covered in the smears of her work.

"Too true," Cullen curled his arms around her, as if he wanted to engulf her inside his chest. After pecking a kiss against her forehead, he sighed, "I haven't worn anything green since I was a boy."

"There's time now," she sighed. From the warmth spilling off of his soothing body, Lana's eyelids decided to anchor themselves shut. But she wasn't tired, no. There was no reason to sleep, not for a few hours. Not at all.

"I...had not thought of that," he tipped his head back against the cushion of the divan, only the susurrus of breath whispering between them. "What of you? What's your favorite color?"

"Mmm, hm?" Lana tried to lift up higher, but her shoulders could barely command her arms, both of them lead against Cullen.

"Do you need to sleep?" he shifted, "I can take you to the bedroom...and whatever imposing decor awaits inside."

"Nope," Lana shook her head against his chest. She raised it a bit to convince him she was wide awake, but her eyelids were in no mood to lift. "I'm not tired at all. Only lost in the warmth of you, here," she paused once, a prick of tears billowing behind those closed lids, "with me."

Cullen sighed, clearly not convinced of her claims to not be exhausted, but he didn't pick her up and cart her to the bedroom. Instead, he shifted her in his lap so he had a better grip on her. "Well, if you're not tired, then what's your favorite color?"

"You're going to find this funny," Lana said, the strain in her voice lifting as it lilted into a soft laugh, "but it's blue. More an aqua teal, like the sparkling northern seas than the deep indigo of the Wardens, but..."

"Blue," he smiled, his chin resting comfortably in the thickest tuft of her damaged hair. "I can see that."

"Oh?"

"You were often in sapphire colored robes while in the circle."

"Right," she chewed through the fog wrapping around her brain, more of her body trying to convince it to sleep. "The tower. We'd rarely get much say in our robes, but I found if I helped out in the stockroom with the pair of mages who did most of the enchanting and sewing I could make a few suggestions."

Cullen laughed, "Sneaky, but prudent."

"And you," she tried to will her fingers to reach up and touch him, to do anything but rest limply against his sides, but exhaustion took the power from her. "You never wore anything green in the tower."

"No, I did not," he chuckled again, his fingers rubbing circles against her back. She didn't want to sleep, to face the fade and what could be lurking there for her, waiting to pounce and...and maybe not let her wake up. But wrapped up safe in Cullen's arms, with the temerity of the chantry's luxury surrounding them, slumber glided across her skin like water from a standing pool. Cullen seemed to sense the change as her head grew too heavy to lift. His gentle circling paused and his fingers locked behind her back, holding her tight to him in the event she fell asleep.

Lana heard a soft rushing on the edge of hearing, like surf pounding against the sand. "That's a shame," she mumbled her last words, before sleep snatched her back to the place she struggled for two years to leave.

## Chapter Two

**Choices**

**  
**

"Leliana, this is foolish," Lana sighed, her hands extended at the shoulders while an elven woman kept stretching a string across her back and huffing with each measurement. She got an exceptionally long sigh after the seamstress wrapped the string around Lana's waist and brought the waning size to her face.

Her friend cast off her Divine robes for the far more practical look of an average, forgettable cook waltzing through the back rooms of the Grand Cathedral. It wouldn't fool anyone with half a sense as Leliana always wore this ethereal glow around her, but she seemed more at ease without the needs of the chantry bowing her brow. Leliana sat upon the famed divan that Lana wound up sleeping on for most of the night. When she woke, she found herself locked in Cullen's limp arms, his head fully tossed back as a gurgling snore worked its way up through his throat and out the nostrils. Lana regretted forcing him to remain there, doubly so when he rose and had to dig out a crick in his neck and spine, but she was grateful that he stayed with her. Maybe one day she could finally face sleep without fear stirring in her heart.

After a few hours of the early morning lost reading and a hearty breakfast dropped outside the door by quick and silent footsteps, she found herself at the mercy of Leliana while propped up on a footstool, spinning when commanded. Bolts of fabrics rested beside Leliana on the sofa, which she kept running her fingers over before pronouncing which was the better option. Her eyes darted up to Lana and she sighed, "Lanny, you can't tell me you intend to spend the rest of your life in ill fitting men's clothing."

"Well, no," she sighed, then reached down quickly to catch the slipping waistband on her borrowed trousers. Even with a belt, it refused to remain up. "But I don't need all this fancy measuring and fitting and...just give me a robe. I can slip that on, knot up the belt, and be on my way."

Leliana stood up and caught the seamstress' tight hand, "Could you give us a moment, please?"

"I suppose," her orlesian accent was thick, almost to the point Lana couldn't understand it and she relied on Leliana to relay the gist. Bobbing her hair filled with pins, she slipped out of the apartments and gently shut the door.

Once she was certain they were alone, Leliana picked up a bolt of fabric and held it out to Lana's fingers. "Lanny, I know you only arrived, and I do not want to heap more worries upon you."

"Come now," Lana sighed at her friend even while mentally admitting the golden fabric was smooth as water, "worries are part of my diet. You of all people know that."

"Sadly true," Leliana folded her arms across her chest and tipped her head down, "before the...siege at Adamant, you made overtures about leaving the Grey Wardens."

"I," Lana's head bowed to her chest, "yes, I did."

"And you intend to keep with that plan?"

Lana grimaced; even if it was the best decision for her she still felt like a failure for turning her back on them. She did owe the wardens her life, even if she gave it back in return. "Yes. Given what the fade did to...my state, I rather doubt they'd want me back."

Reaching a hand out to grip tight to Lana's hand, Leliana smiled sweetly, her always cherry red lips curled up in a comforting smile. "You have every right to wish for freedom from them."

"I..." Lana tipped her head back and forth, unable to fight back the regret, "suppose. But if they're still struggling to rebuild after two years, then something must have--"

Leliana laughed her crisp, peal-like laughter, the one from before the Temple of Sacred Ashes exploded and darkened her world. For awhile, Lana feared she'd never hear that one again. "You never change, do you? Even still you struggle to keep from racing to help." Lana shrugged. In the end, it was all she really knew. It wasn't what she wanted out of life, but it was what people needed and expected from her.

"My question, concern, is if you are not returning to the Grey Wardens then where do you intend to go?"

Her heart constricted as, always, Leliana drove up through the ribs and right at the heart of the matter. For her whole life she'd been told where to go and what to do. At six she belonged to the circle, at nineteen to the Wardens, and now... It felt both exhilarating and terrifying to think she belonged to herself.

"I don't know, haven't thought as far as..." Lana began, before Leliana interrupted her.

"Things are better for mages, but if someone as well known, as well regarded, as powerful as the Hero of Ferelden walked the streets without answering to anyone I fear what lengths people would jump to."

She said it diplomatically, but Lana could hear all the words her friend didn't speak. "Leils, is there a problem with the mage college?"

"There are always doubters and people who despise change. In truth, I am finding more opposition to my attempts at including elves in the chantry hierarchy. And these are only in minor positions as well. I doubt southern thedas would survive an elven Mother." She patted Lana's hands as if she was the Divine comforting one of her flock instead of the little redhead Bard always trying to gossip about Lana's love life.

"If there's a problem, then..."

"You intend to help with it? To serve with the mage college or in some other capacity?" Leliana interrupted again, her crystal eyes sharpening from Lana's guilty grimace. She was about to offer up her arm without thinking of the consequences.

"I...I have to think about it. About all of it." Out of the myriad of options before her, all Lana knew that what she wanted was Cullen, but they hadn't had the time... No, they hadn't taken the time to discuss that future yet. Maker, what if he intended to return to the Inquisition? What would the Inquisitor make of her now? Would it drive their relationship back underground for the sake of peace? Or... She shut her eyes tight at all the _ors_ sequestered in her heart.

Leliana patted Lana once more before returning to the divan, "In the mean time, I'd think it prudent if no one is made aware of who you are or what you are capable of. To the rest of thedas, the Hero of Ferelden is dead."

"People aren't going to wonder why some random, unknown woman is suddenly living in the Divine's apartments?"

"You are with the Commander of the Inquisition, that should be enough," Leliana said serenely, but there was a smirk at the end. After catching Lana in flagrante delicto with Cullen, the Spymaster only wondered once about their relationship and ever since that talk seemed to treat it like little more than an amusing anecdote. _Oh that Lana, she can't stop falling for blonde templars._ Now there was a question merged in with Leliana's comment. Not one coming from a Spymaster who understood the rigors of war, but a Divine that wanted to protect her dear friend's heart and soul.

"I am with him," Lana said, bobbing her head.

"Good. Now, I believe we should bring back in the seamstress to finish with your outfit selection. Have you given any thought to ruffs? They're proving rather popular," Leliana switched gears completely while cracking open the door and waving the elf back inside.

Lana weighed both bolts in her hand, uncertain what she was supposed to do with any of it. If she was set loose in a market with a full purse, she knew enough to pick up a warm coat, or sturdy boots, and she had a true knack for armor selections, but making something from whole cloth? It was the endless choices all over again. "I've sometimes thought about a, uh, dress?"

"Oh course, a Lady would wish to look her finest," the seamstress yanked out her book and began to flip through silhouettes so quickly Lana's eyes bulged.

"No, nothing so fancy," she all but panicked at one with scaffolding worked into the skirt wide enough it'd clog up the point bridge, "but a simple one with, um, maybe a bit of lace here..." Lana pointed along her chest and the elf nodded.

"Naturally, you'd like to emphasize your Maker given assets." She jotted more things down in a language Lana couldn't read. It couldn't be Orlesian, she'd learned that one after a few years in the Circle. This was a strange mix of symbols and short hand, perhaps something that costumers and sewers passed between each other. More than likely it was a way to jot down notes about temperamental customers without them catching on.

The seamstress' massive blue and brown eyes snapped up from her book, and she tipped her pinned bun at the bolts, "What fabrics would you like it in? There are numerous options available depending upon the season and..."

"That one," Lana said quickly, the woman barely finishing speaking.

That earned her an eyebrow raise and a gentle nod. Either it was a terrible choice, or a surprisingly good one. "How long will it take to finish?" Leliana asked.

"A dress cut whole cloth? I'd say two weeks."

"And there's no way you could hurry it along for the sake of the Divine?" she pried, throwing around the weight of her name for Lana's sake, which only made the mage blush.

"That is using the Divine timescale. But..." her fingers prodded at the tunic dangling off Lana's frame, "I've got a few other clothes I can alter to fit you. None as fine as what we've got planned, but they'll be better than this...whatever you're wearing."

"Excellent," Leliana clapped her hands once. "Now," her fingers prodded at Lana's burned, serrated, and dried out tresses, "the next step is doing something about your hair. I have one of the best barbers in Orlais attending soon. Have you given any thought to it?"

Lana patted her own hair, aware of the damage she did to it, but uncertain what, if anything, could save it. She wasn't one of the lucky people with the striking bone structure who could support a shaved head, as she learned at a young age in the tower before another senior enchanter from Rivain transferred in and took pity on her. But the fade left little behind to work with and it'd take a miracle to fix it without chopping it all off and waiting years for it all to regrow.

"Don't worry," Leliana smiled, her hands wrapping around Lana's shoulders, "he'll think of something. I'm certain." Bobbing her head, Lana sighed. In preparation of getting to work on the demanding schedule, the seamstress began to gather up her bolts of fabric, the book tucked under her arm.

"Um," Lana coughed, an idea percolating in her brain, but she wasn't certain if it was her place to say anything. "I was wondering if I couldn't have a tunic made as well."

"Nothing wrong with tunics, we have a few patterns that would..."

"Actually, it'd be for a man," she gritted her teeth, aware of Leliana's curious stare digging through her blush.

"Do you have his dimensions?"

"Ah, it's the same as this tunic I'm wearing," now the blush was in full blast as the seamstress eyed her up. She was aware of the implications, the bedraggled wanderer wearing only men's clothing, begging for anything to change into. It was one thing to assume she wore whatever was gifted to her by kindly strangers, but to ask for another in the same size, well...

"I can get the numbers off of it, then. Let me guess, the same simple design. No ruffs, or lace about the sleeves or collar."

Leliana snorted at the idea, then covered her mouth with her hand, "None of that, no. It would be unwise for him, a very entertaining image though."

Rocking back and forth on her feet, Lana smiled at the same blasphemous thought as the Divine had. Maker, he'd scowl himself to death in such a thing. After stretching out the tunic and measuring only that, the seamstress yanked open her book. "Very well, and is there anything else you'd like for it?"

"Could you make it in green?"

* * *

Whistling through his teeth, Cullen tried to call Honor away from the trio of women clustered around his dog. The fearsome and dangerously smart mabari looked up at his command, then flopped back down as if she was incapable of rising away from all the gloved fingers digging into her fur. When her back leg began to paddle at the air he knew he was done for.

"What's her name?" one of the women cooed from behind a mask.

Cullen folded his arms and muttered under his breath, "Pain in the ass." He hadn't wanted to leave Lana alone, but Honor needed exercise and he feared how many canticles he'd have to recite if she chewed up any antique furniture or pissed on any priceless chantry historical rugs. Probably enough to go through the whole chant three times over. When Honor's whining switched from 'I want attention' to 'This is getting serious now' he knew he'd have to do something. Then Leliana arrived, somewhat solving the problem. She assured him that she'd keep Lana company until he returned, and that they had much to discuss.

Something in her tone gave him pause, and with every minute ticking by, Cullen's skin itched to return to Lana's side. He remembered the Spymaster's threat to him before she even became Divine. Maker only knew what power she'd flex if she didn't approve of him now. "Honor," Cullen shouted at his dog, "that's enough. We need to get back."

"Oh, she's so adorable," the woman in the red mask squeaked.

"Almost as adorable as her owner," another said before her eyes crawled over every inch of Cullen.

He had his hand around Honor's collar when she spoke and he couldn't stop his mouth from dropping open. Still wearing what he slept in, by the void, wearing what they traveled in for months because Lana got his second change of clothes, he looked more like the wandering sailors working the docks than anyone respectable. He hadn't had time for a proper wash in...it was best to not think upon.

"Mona," the one in red chastised, slapping her gloved hand into the second, "he's dressed like a common street vagrant."

"There's nothing wrong with getting down in the dirt every now and then," she snickered as if he wasn't right there listening.

"Until you find yourself bedridden with some filthy disease," the other continued, her tongue tutting harder over his appearance.

Cullen felt the same shameful blush burning up his neck as he had for years whenever a woman picked apart his appearance as if he was some lopsided cake displayed in a window. It'd slowed as of late, people too scared of the templars to cross the line in Kirkwall, and most showing some respect to the Commander to speak the words away from his hearing. But here in Val Royeaux where appearance was the only metric that mattered, it all came beating back against him. Snarling, Cullen pulled Honor away from the vipers in dresses and pointed her in the direction of the Grand Cathedral.

"March," he ordered, and Honor's lagging tongue snapped back in, her back straightening to attention. Despite the rest of the citizens filling the streets with fascinating smells and sights, the mabari kept her sight straight ahead now.

"Maker's breath, I wish I was home," Cullen groaned. He'd spent little time in Val Royeaux at the behest of the Inquisition, always managing to pass it off to someone else unless it truly required him, like the Blackwall situation. Otherwise, he let Josephine or Leliana handle it. People wore smiles painted upon their masks, but underneath it was all scowls and jaded eyes. It was exhausting just stepping one foot into the streets with a sea of porcelain eyes judging him.

Pinching his shoulders tight, Cullen subconsciously slipped into Commander mode. He was only dimly aware of its existence from when he'd shake it off at night and find his neck tight and his back sore, but the rest of the Inquisition snapped to attention the moment he'd glower from on high. It seemed to be having the same effect in Val Royeaux as well, the denizens sliding further away from the dirty and tousled man who spent a night sleeping upright on the couch and was in no mood for anything. He made it down another three blocks, inching ever closer to the Grand Cathedral in the center of the city. Washing himself in his growing list of pains and complains, Cullen grew more belligerent in every step, when his eyes scattered across a market stall.

Tufts of ornamental flowers bloomed off stems trimmed and bundled together by ribbon, but it was a small pot with silver and green leaves that caught his attention. In their long ride across the Anderfels to civilization, Lana pointed out that exact plant off the sides of a ditch. She said it carried much of the same medicinal qualities as elfroot, but would bloom a bundle of bright blue flowers every spring. A smile broke up his etched on scowl, the frown lines falling away as he thought upon the night spent with her in his arms. Sure, he woke to an aching back and neck, which she apologized profusely for, and then tried to massage away. But it was worth it to hold her close, to feel her heart thrumming strong against his as he watched her eyelids flutter in a dream. Sometimes in her dreams, she'd frown, her fingers clawing at thin air. Cullen would grip one with his thumb rubbing against the back of her hand, and he'd tell her it was all right. She was safe. She had him. She'd always have him.

Right then and there he decided to buy up the not-elfroot plant. It was awkward to cart around the pot in his arms, dirt scattering as he shuffled it around, but Cullen couldn't wipe a smile off his face as he marched it past all the surprised looks of Val Royeaux. What did he care what any of them thought? They didn't matter; the only opinion who did was waiting for him.

It felt beyond strange for him to enter the Grand Cathedral and then turn not to the vast sanctuary but take the eastern walkway where the living quarters of the Mothers were. While not officially disallowed, men were frowned upon in the living areas, but Leliana waved it away. He was the Commander of the Inquisition, which served the chantry. He had every right to be here. It seemed a hollow excuse seeing as how he...

Cullen paused in the winding stairs up the back entrance to the Divine's apartments. While she was gifted with a good twenty rooms, Leliana had little trouble is offering up a small guest section of three to them. They were lovely to rest in, to recuperate, but Cullen knew he couldn't spend his days there. He needed something to do with his time and skills, a cause to devote himself to. He always had, but was that cause still the Inquisition? Scrunching up his nose, he realized he had yet to send a letter to the Inquisitor informing the man of his Commander's whereabouts. That'd have to be rectified soon, plans put in place, and more than likely it'd take time for him to become re-acclimated to the changes from the transfer. Three months was a lifetime to soldiers in the wake of so much upheaval. He'd have to put in most hours of the day for weeks to become the Commander again. Rise, work, and sleep. For years un-counting that was his life, but now? Suddenly, he wanted so much more, but he had no idea how to achieve any of it.

Pausing outside their door, Cullen shifted the plant to his other arm and wondered if he should knock or simply enter. It was their quarters, but Leliana and Lana could be having a private conversation and...letting discretion win, Cullen knocked on the door as he pushed on it. No one shouted for him to stop, so he continued in. "Hello? We've returned," he said as Honor bounded past his legs. She tensed up beside the divan in preparation of leaping upon it, but he shook his head, "Don't you dare."

Rolling her head back, the tongue slipped out in a pant to assure her master that she had no intentions to get anywhere near the fancy furniture. Cullen snickered at her bald faced subterfuge and let his hand drift over her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Ah, Commander," the Divine appeared from the bathroom. No, he was supposed to call her Leliana when she wasn't in her robes. She'd insisted with that crystal glare that made him wonder why she spent so much of her life in Skyhold under a hood. Leliana could shape the fabric of thedas with a solitary glower.

"Did you have any problems?" he asked, trying to see around to find Lana. Perhaps she was resting in the bedroom neither of them had yet to see.

"Of course not, it's been a productive morning and...you have a plant in your arms," she gestured at the pot cradled in the crook of his elbow.

"Yes, it..." Cullen's thought drained away as Lana stepped behind Leliana. Sweet Maker, she was beautiful. A wondering smile slid up her luscious lips, almost revealing those rarely shared dimples on either side. Her doe eyes hung below lowered lids, but they darted up to him with a question buried deep inside. How did he last two years without seeing her perfect face beaming at him? Blessed Andraste, he swore he'd do anything for her.

"What do you think of it?" Lana asked, her graceful fingers patting her head, but Cullen didn't follow them. He was too distracted by the charming blush curling up her cheeks. After so many weeks of them laying gaunt against her emaciated face, it warmed his heart to see color and a plumpness return.

"A-Of what?" Cullen stuttered, trying to pinch himself awake.

Lana smiled, her eyes narrowing with confusion, "My hair. I know it's short, far too short, but it was the best that could be done with..."

Finally, he caught on to what her fingers were flicking against. She was trying to yank out her own curls, as if she could straighten them to draw the length out. Cut tight to her head, her ebony hair was combed with a dramatic side part. Still struggling to fluff it up, her yanking hands paused and she folded them in front of her stomach, the question palpable in the air.

Cullen slid across the room, his smile rising as he picked up one of her hands with his free one. "Lana, you're beautiful no matter what," he whispered.

"I don't know, I mean..."

"Even if your hair's short, or long, or straight, or bald-"

"Or grey," she sighed, repeating back the same words he said to her. "There's plenty of that mixed in."

He graced the back of his fingers across her cheek, the nails dipping down into her scar, before he could cup the back of her head. "I can't stop looking at you," he admitted, bringing his forehead to hers.

"Nor I you," Lana said, rising on her tiptoes as if she strained to kiss him when a soft cough broke from their forgotten watcher. Blushing brighter, she slipped back down to the floor and cast a soft apology in Leliana's direction. After a moment, Lana blinked and then gestured at his cargo, "You've brought a plant back?"

"That was what I was wondering about," Leliana said, her body slack despite the crossed arms, but there was an unreadable smirk across her lips. Cullen was uncertain if he'd made the right or wrong choice about Lana's hair, and either seemed as if it would end in a spike trap.

"I spotted it in the market, and, well..." he handed it over to Lana who accepted the plant with more confusion in her face. "You pointed it out when we were in the Anderfells, with the bright blue flowers."

"Oh," her eyes brightened in recognition and Cullen smiled. "You think it's foxglow."

"It's not?" his smile crashed into consternation as he prodded at the silver leaves.

Lana giggled, "No, it's close, I can understand the confusion. Both have the same silver veins running through their leaves. This is adder's hiss, which can induce horrible hallucinations and vomiting in someone if they eat it. Where did you find it?"

"A flower stand on the walk up," Cullen felt a stir of anger rising through him from his failure. He wanted to get something nice, and instead he brought her poison.

"Interesting," Lana glanced towards the Divine.

"Do you remember which one is dealing in potential poisoning? I'll have my...clerics look into it," Leliana spoke up, her shrewd eyes slipping over him.

Cullen was about to tell her, hopeful at least something would come of his blunder, when Lana interrupted, "I doubt it's anything nefarious. It's a pretty planet, people like that it's shiny. Besides..."

She placed the plant down upon the table, then pointed at a saucer upon the end table behind Cullen. When he picked it up, he was surprised to find it still slightly warm. After harvesting a single leaf off his poison plant, Lana dropped it into the cup and stirred it with a spoon. "You can't accidentally or even purposefully poison anyone with adder's hiss because..." as she finished stirring, she yanked out the spoon to reveal tendrils of bright silver leeching off the leaves and disseminating through the tea. It glittered like stars. "It's a dead giveaway almost instantly. I've heard of some remote people in the mountains drinking it as part of a ritual to honor their ancestors, but I wouldn't risk it."

Unable to wipe away the excitement in her eyes from sharing a new fact, Lana placed the cup down on the table and turned back to them. "It's rather interesting that its natural silver shine can be transmuted so easily. I'm not certain if..." her words trailed off and she paused. "Sorry," she mumbled to herself, and then in an aside over her shoulder whipped off, "No Jowan, I have no memories for you."

Cullen and Leliana both stared at her as Lana paused in messing with the plant's leaves. Her lips opened and she twitched her nose while a blush burned over her cheeks. "I didn't mean, I, it was a habit in the fade, when...and the spirits to combat, I..." She turned in on herself, her arms wrapping around her chest in a one sided hug. Despite feeling worthless from bringing in adder's hiss, Cullen slid an arm around Lana and pulled her close to him. She didn't release her grip upon herself, only leaned against his chest while he brushed his lips against the top of her head.

"Silver tea. That would explain why I so rarely hear reports of adder's hiss poisoning," Leliana commented after a time, not drawing any attention to Lana's outburst and only focusing on the effect the potential poison would have on anyone immediately at risk. "I'm sorry to say, I need to return to the chantry before anything of importance occurs. Lanny, think upon what we spoke of."

"I..." she bobbed her head and the dread washed away. A quirky smile turned up Lana's lips. "I'm not a child, you don't need to remind me to finish my spells before dinner."

"Forgive me, I fear the cowl has turned me into Wynne," Leliana laughed. Tipping her head, she said a crisp, "Commander," before exiting the apartments and leaving them alone.

The shame returned instantly around Lana once the door shut, but Cullen only held her tighter. She released her tight grip on herself and ran her fingers over his arm coated in the filth of the road. "Lana," he whispered into her sheered hair, "you were in there a long time. It's understandable that...parts remain with you."

"I know," she bobbed her listless head and drank down a sigh. "What about you?" The turn of conversation caught Cullen so unawares, his grip slackened and she turned in his arms to look up into his eyes.

"What of me?"

"The lyrium withdrawal and...don't roll your eyes before insisting it's nothing. It is something," her fingers dug into his cheek, keeping him focused on her compassionate eyes.

He did his best to not think about the thirst by focusing on her. She needed him to help her heal, to guide her back to the real world after two years in the fade. If he gave her his all then, then he didn't need to hear the lyrium calling through his veins. "I..." Cullen knew insisting he was fine would only get him in more trouble, "I'm more on edge as of late, though there's a good chance that's simply Orlais itself."

Lana snickered at that, and she folded up into him, her cheek burying into his chest. _Maker, that was what he needed._ Wrapping his arms around her, he drew strength from her embrace. While Lana curled up to him, he felt safe enough to admit the truth. "The thirst is there, stronger than what I've faced in years. And I've noticed more trembling in my hands."

"So, not the time to ask you to repair a miniature clock?"

"Only if you wish it smashed into millions of tiny pieces," he joked, earning him a soft laugh. With eyes shut tight, Cullen pressed his lips to her forehead, giving thanks that he could hear her laugh again, that he could do something to give birth to it.

"You shouldn't push yourself," Lana said, "healing takes time and..."

"Are you going to repeat everything I said to you?" he asked, rising up higher to try and catch her eye, but she was buried too deep into him.

"Let me think, I believe there was something about fighting through the pain and..." she giggled as his fingers swept down her sides finding the sweet spot, "and that...Maker, fine-fine. I give!" She waved her hands from his tickling and he stopped, falling into the joy swept across her face. With both hands, Lana grabbed onto the back of his head and pulled him down for a kiss. What started as a sweet peck heated beyond measure as Lana parted her succulent lips and Cullen's tongue slipped in. A moan rattled in the back of her throat, her fingers digging into his curls and pulling him ever deeper into her. Slowly, his hands rose from the curl of her waist upwards, when Lana slipped away from him, a curious quirk to her smile.

He steadied himself from the rush of blood while she placed her head back upon his chest as if nothing happened. It seemed as if they were always surrounded by others, first the king and now the Divine. Whenever there was any alone time, either Lana, himself, or the both of them were exhausted beyond measure. On occasion, Cullen wondered to himself when or if they'd return to beyond a few kisses, but he felt like a cad whenever the idea stirred. She'd been through he couldn't even imagine, the least she deserved was time.

"Tell me," Lana spoke, her voice husky, "why'd you really get the plant? You're not a flowers person."

"Are you?" he asked, feeling uncertain once again.

She chuckled, her nose nudging into her sternum, "No, not particularly."

Trying to bury the shame of his utter failure, Cullen admitted the truth to her, "I was in a foul mood during the walk, from the Orlesians, more or less. And while 'grumping' as you put it, I spotted what I thought were the familiar silver leaves of the plant you pointed out and it lightened my spirits."

"You saw it and thought of me," she said, her cheeks spreading wide while she buried her smile against his filthy tunic.

"I..." he snorted, "Maker, that sounds even more trite when said aloud."

"No," Lana lifted her weary head to gaze up at him. Instinctively, he cradled her cheek in his hand. "I love it. It's a very beautiful plant, and I haven't tried to keep anything alive in awhile." Her eyes slipped closed, those brush thick lashes fanning out over her cheeks. "Thank you, I'll have to keep it up away from Honor."

"Um," he glanced around the room aware of the near goatlike climbing skills his dog possessed, "perhaps if we extend it off the ceiling in the middle of the room."

"She'd be unlikely to eat it if it's hanging from a hook near the window, unless she has access to climbing gear."

"Maker," he shook his head, a full smile properly replacing his bad mood, "I fear she could con some out of a merchant."

"Awe," Lana turned in his grasp to eye up Honor whose stub was wagging from her name being mentioned, "do you have your own secret caches stashed about the city already?" Her hand danced along Honor's ears, digging into the spot behind the left that caused the mabari's tongue to dangle out.

After watching his dog succumb to the machinations of his...Lana, Cullen asked, "What did you and Leliana get up to?"

He got a slow eye roll as she returned to him, "I think Leliana is trying to establish me here for a year or more. Today it was looking presentable with a haircut and ordering clothing."

"Well, we could both use a wash at least," Cullen smiled, but internally a panic grew. Would Lana want to remain in Val Royeaux close to her best friend? Not for a short time of healing but for that mentioned year or more? Could he survive Orlais as long as she wanted?

"Mmm," Lana's hands ran down the scoop of his shoulders, caressing the divots and rise of his arms while a hazy look fell over her eyes. He had no idea what she was thinking as she seemed to be measuring him up with her fingers. Suddenly, her eyes focused and she stared up at him, "Oh, we have yet to check out the bedroom."

"You didn't look?"

"Without you? Never. I fear I'll need backup by the way Leliana failed to describe it." She stepped back slowly, her feet barely lifting off the ground which meant her muscles were tensing up again. Lana only made it through the long trip by flooding herself with magic. While he knew little of the nitty gritty of casting, Cullen could taste a near constant mana in the air around her skin and spotted her often flexing her aching fingers from dipping too much into the veil.

Holding a hand out to him, Lana lifted one shoulder, "Shall we see what terrors await us?"

Cullen took her hand and wrapped it in both of his. "Do you think we'll require Honor?"

Sliding along the floor at a glacial pace, Lana didn't let on to her pain. A mischievous smile was all that graced her features as she placed a hand against the doorknob, the perfectly ordinary looking doorknob. "Honor," she called to their mabari, causing her to rise off the floor, "stand ready." The dog wagged her tail and then froze, waiting for input. Lana lifted her eyes to Cullen and crossed her fingers, "Here we go."

As the door slid open, the light of the sitting room could only glance upon two of the four posts supporting the bed and a crimson rug resting upon the floor. Lana released his hand and he tasted the fade building into the world as she brought a fire to life in the hearth. After blinking away the yellow burn against his eyes Cullen turned to glance at the room and he felt his knees give out.

"Holy Maker," he cursed, covering his mouth with his hand both terrified to look and look away at the same time.

"There's nothing holy about _that_ ," Lana pointed at the bed post that, thanks to the fire bringing out the highlights of the carved wood, he realized was not a twisted bundle of vines as he'd previously thought. "Or that," she pointed at the second post across from it. "Now that's just impossible," she scoffed at the back posts which Cullen realized were joined by another pair of exuberant participants carved into the cross joints.

"At least the mirror doesn't look too...Oh," her voice fell as she scooted close to the grand vanity set along the side wall. Carefully, she picked up the hinged mirror and scooted it up and down. "Is it just me or do the body parts have faces?" she asked flippantly, somehow not unnerved by every facet of sexuality carved and painted surrounding them. Cullen had to be burning to ash from the blush blazing under his skin but Lana seemed to only be slightly curious and mostly amused.

"Ooh, look at the carpet," she twisted her head around, following the outer circle. "It's like an ode to cunnilingus in fiber form. Can you imagine what the meetings of Grand Clerics were like in Innocente's time?"

"I fear I would have to walk into Andraste's holy fire if I did," Cullen answered truthfully.

Lana snickered at his response as if it was a joke. Spinning once in a circle, she plopped down onto the bed, placed her hands on her knees and announced, "I like it."

Cullen's jaw dislocated and hit the floor coated in etchings of various body parts doing things body parts did. "You..." he pinched his eyes up then opened them wide, hoping that would somehow erase the multitude of carnal delight available to people contained in only four walls. "You like it?" _Maker, what did he get himself into?_ A panic gripped onto his stomach and refused to let go at the terror that this was Lana's idea of preferred decorating.

"Yup," she smiled, placing her hands behind her as she leaned back, "it's so horrifyingly atrocious I'll be able to stay awake easily in here."

"Oh sweet Maker," Cullen collapsed in on himself, grateful that she felt the same as him. Then he rose up in response to the end of her sentence, "Lana..."

"I know, I know, but..." she lifted an eyebrow, her lips rising in a sneer, "do you think you could sleep in here?"

"I'm terrified to touch anything at the moment," he admitted. Cullen kept his hands cupped around his elbows just to make certain they didn't come in contact with any of the carvings or other surfaces.

Giggling, Lana patted the bed beside her. He screwed up his courage and shut his eyes in order to risk sitting down. Slowly, he lowered his back half towards the blanket stretched upon the mattress, hoping he could hover above it without touching anything. Just as he was about to adjust his knees, Lana wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him onto the bed. In shock, Cullen tumbled downward, first ass and then the rest of him until his back was fully coddled by the mattress. He blinked, staring up at the ceiling that bore a surprisingly beautiful painting of Andraste's life done in pastel oils.

Then Lana's face hovered above his and she smiled wide. "It's comfortable, isn't it?"

Cullen nodded and he rose up to a sitting position, "Say what you want about the...peculiarities of the Divines, but they certainly enjoy their comfort."

"And I thought Leliana would be out of place among them," Lana snorted, "shows what I know."

"I really do not wish to hear why," Cullen said, pinching his nose. It'd been a trying day and somehow it managed to keep getting more surreal with every opened door. He began to push his fingers into his closed eyelids, when he felt a hand curl around the back of his neck. Agile fingers dug into the knots, trying to loosen away the headache. It wasn't until he took a deep breath that he felt the gentle kiss of magic floating under his skin. She was subtle with it, only offering a quick sip of her balm when he'd fall under great strain.

As the pain lessened, Cullen reached over and grabbed onto her hand. Lana's eyes darted up, the edge of concern cresting through her beautiful face, but he didn't admonish her or try to cast away her helping hands. Instead, he smiled and whispered, "Thank you."

"I love you," she sputtered out. "I, uh, wanted to say it before when Leliana was here but, she can be a bit overprotective."

"You do not say," Cullen sighed, wishing he had his own backup out here beyond the dog who adored everyone she met.

Lana ran her fingers down his thigh, her thumb playing with the hole above his knee. "I meant it," her eyes snapped up at him, conviction swirling through her elegant browns, "I love you. And, I want what we have to work, to really work and be something."

_By all that was good in thedas, he loved her._ It wore at his nerves traveling with the King, of that there was no doubt, and while he had his reservations about finding Lana and ever holding her again, he knew with every fiber of his soul that she had his heart. She always would. As his hand cupped her cheek, Lana pressed her own against it, holding him tighter to her skin.

"I'm leaving the Inquisition."

"What?" Lana started, rising up.

"I..." He hadn't meant to say the words aloud, they slipped free while he watched her give him her own heart. He'd been thinking them often of late in the back of his mind, the question dogging his every step. Even before setting out to find her he wondered if he would return to Skyhold. Now, with Lana beside him, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else but wrapped in her arms.

Dipping his head down, Cullen's forehead skimmed against hers, "I gave the Inquisition my arm for three years. It was to be my redemption and, perhaps it's bold of me, but I think I've finally earned it."

"Cullen," her cool touch followed his cheek and down the scruff while she closed her eyes, "I don't want to, to come between you and... It was your cause."

"And now it's over," he stared into her eyes that looked uncertain, but for who?

"If I weren't here, if...if we'd never been," she waved between them, then her eyes darted up to the bedpost carving and she pointed at that instead. "Would you want to leave the Inquisition?"

He pulled her wandering hands into his and rested them both in her lap. "Lana, you are here. I want you here, more than anything I've ever... I gave the Inquisition three years of my life, I think it's your turn now. I love you."

Her perturbed frown blossomed into a heart warming smile and she swallowed, "All right then. I suppose the next question is how does one leave the Inquisition?"

Cullen wrapped his arm around her shoulders and carefully pulled both of them back upon the bed until they lay side by side, his hands cradling her. "That will require a lot of letters."

* * *

Only a flicker of light managed off the hearth, which made reading the words in her book a challenge. But Lana wasn't about to lift it higher for fear of waking the man sleeping beside her. It'd been a long day as she watched him draw up lists upon lists of what'd be required to extricate himself from the Inquisition. She tried to offer suggestions, but while he was always elbows deep into running the entire army, the most she ever had to worry about were fifty or so wardens. The seneschal handled every other minor problem at the Vigil and across the Arling. While a few of the little affairs could be managed by letters sent to Skyhold, Cullen calculated that he'd need two, perhaps three weeks to fully transfer power over.

Throughout the day, he jotted down outlines to his lieutenants and the others in power across thedas he kept in communique with, while Lana prodded into a book she kept failing to read. She was grateful, beyond grateful to think that he'd want to stay by her side, but a fact dangled over her head like a scythe about to slice away the chaff. Leliana was right, the Hero of Ferelden had to stay dead. It was Lana's only hope to remain free of anyone that would look to her for either support or revenge. Which meant she could never return to Skyhold. While she trusted the Inquisitor to keep the secret, there were far too many people who recognized her, knew her as the Hero and were there when she fell. Her secret would die the moment she stepped foot upon the mountain.

Lana was certain that she'd never be able to return, her biggest concern was how she'd explain it to Cullen. Three weeks apart was little in the scheme of things, and yet...

Her finger hovered over the page, tracing a sentence on transmutation of runes that she failed to read. After both of them savored another hearty meal and bathed separately, Cullen suggested she take the bed while he sleep on the divan. It was, after all, far more comfy and didn't have such a particular decor theme haunting him. She was more than willing to let his chivalry cover over for the abject terror of the room, but as he slid out to the door and Lana faced a night of walking in the fade, her heart thundered in her chest. It'd beaten so fast, she grew dizzy and gasped for air. Her hand dug into the duvet for strength, when Cullen's wrapped around hers. Without saying a word about her panic attack, he slid under the covers and held her until she fell asleep.

Maker, she needed to get better. He couldn't keep doing that, night in and night out playing her comforting blanket and defender. It'd wear him raw. Lana lasted a few hours in the fade before either her body revolted at the idea or her mind did and she fully woke. Beside her, Cullen slumbered, his head tossed back against the pillow mercifully not shaped like any male anatomy. She watched his curls spilling off the side as he rolled around, struggling to find a comfy spot. Lana knew the feeling well. After two years in the fade, laying on the mattress was like falling into a cloud. A part of her yearned to stretch out upon the floor, the real floor that wouldn't transform into grass or ancient ruins when she wasn't looking. But she didn't want to leave him.

Without any other options, Lana snatched up one of the books piled upon the nightstand and began to read. It wasn't the most enlightening of books, the theories having been disproven years ago, but it was interesting at times to follow the old paths of spells and what they later branched off into. On occasion, a new discovery could be made from the old bones. Her fingers darted down the spine, doing exactly what the librarians ordered her not to as she dug into it. What was she going to do with her life? No wardens, no mages, no orders...it was both exhilarating and terrifying to face an unending abyss.

A snort drew her attention and she turned to find Cullen thrown upon his back. She expected to catch him snoring, but a sneer knotted up his features and his hands began to paw at the air. At first only growls and groans erupted from him, but they became words as the nightmare dug in deeper.

"You will not delve into...no, please no. Don't touch it! I will not allow you to...Begone! Please," his cries faded to a whimper and his fingers dug into the mattress as if he was clinging to someone's shoulders, "please let me be."

Lana picked up one of his hands, the nails biting into her skin but she didn't yelp at it, only locked her own fingers around his. Caressing her hand down his cheek, she whispered, "It's okay, Cullen. You're safe. You're here with me. I promise. I'll keep watch over you."

The sneer deepened and she felt him falling further into the lyrium withdrawals. He'd often smack his lips to compensate for the dry mouth festering on his tongue. Lana tried to keep a carafe of water around, but despite Cullen refilling his glass often something told her it didn't help. She moved to grab it up  off the night stand but Cullen reached out, his clawing fingers digging into her. "Don't leave me," he whimpered in his sleep. Freezing in place, Lana tipped her head back to catch a slither of tears in her eyes from the pleading in his voice.

With their hands locked in place, Lana eased down back into bed. She curled her body around his, her head resting upon his shoulder. Perhaps it was the warmth or the pressure, but Cullen calmed, his tense muscles slacking. Even the sneer faded back to the sweet man she knew. "I have you," she whispered into his ear, "and I'll never leave. I promise."

## Chapter Three

**Letters**

To: The Beautiful Woman Stuck Traveling with Commander Sullen

C/O Divine Victoria, who's probably already read this anyway, so why bother sealing it?

Lanny! I hope you made it to Val Royeaux and filled Leliana in on the details or I'm going to be getting a flock of ravens and the potential for an Exalted March showing up on my doorstep because of this letter. Not that it's beyond the realm of surprises from our bard given the big hat considering what happened in Seheron and then... I hope the Divine in all her mercy is aware that invading Ferelden isn't wise because we've got big slobbery dog that'll ruin all your fancy furniture. Just putting that out there.

How are you? Please tell me you've already eaten your way through the never ending banquets of the Grand Cathedral and have now raided Celene's cheese room. I hear it's guarded by a Gouda Golem, very dangerous and messy unless you come armed with a slab of crackers.

After my return, I only got berated for fifteen hours by Arl Eamon, Teagan, Bann Cyril, and then Eamon again for good measure. All things considered, I'd say I came out ahead in that. I thought it'd last for a few days. It wasn't as if I missed much of anything. Let's see, there's talk of food shortage because there's always talk of food shortage. Don't bother to clear out the brambles crowding around the roads? That's how we get bandits. It's so damn simple you'd think someone here would remember to do it. And there's been a bit of fallout from the Exalted Council, a few Banns think we're in some position to go declare war on the Qunari (right, shall we throw sticks at them and ask nicely if they give up? It'd work about as well). As if that's not enough, people are not happy about the Inquisition getting busted down to chantry guardians. On one side are those who have hearts in their eyes for the old Inky and on the other are people pissed that the chantry's gained that much power. Can't say I blame them given their handling of the mage rebellions and how they spectacularly failed their templars, but all I get is headaches on both sides as people argue without offering any solutions.

So, that's been my week so far. What about you? Let me guess, you've dumped the templar, fully healed, convinced Leliana to abandon the chantry to run off with you, and together you're now famed assassins in Antiva. Any of that close? Oh right, I almost forgot, on top of the tongue lashing from Eamon I got one from our most illustrious Queen Bea (she hates it when I call her that). Now that one damn near blew my muddy socks off. I no more than crawl through the door reeking of horse and she flounces over looking like she was trying to smuggle a helmet under her dress, jabs a finger in my face, and demands to know where I've been.

I was so impressed with her fortitude, I broke out into laughter and hugged her. Didn't realize the Queen could blush like that, then again I've been operating on the assumption she's actually some kind of animated wet blanket for a few years. We've been talking beyond the usual "Hi," "Hello," "Please stop doing that." Baby stuff is okay, as much as it can be. Ah yeah, consider this the official announcement to Val Royeaux that there's gonna be a little sire for a tiny throne. We can do that, right? Make a miniature version of the throne for the kid to sit on? I'll ask Wade about it, I'm sure he can whip something up out of dragon's teeth.

You wanna know something funny? I actually met the real father of whatever's knocking about in Bea's stomach. Total accident, I had no idea who it was. Random meet and greet, shaking hands with a total stranger, and the poor guy was quivering in his boots, melting into the floor in a panic. I remembered his strange reaction after learning the truth because it made no sense, I'd bathed that day. Okay, that's not the best part. You're never gonna guess what he is...

I'll pretend you threw out some ideas. He's a brother in the chantry. Or was a brother. Turns out when you knock up a Queen it's a good time to turn in your tonsure and take up a cushy job as royal baby baker. Maker, how did that one happen? Sweet, boring Beatrice down on her knees in the confession booth with the Brother while a few Mothers politely tried to not listen in? That's not the chantry I remember, but I wish it was. Bea wasn't excited about the idea of us meeting after I learned the full of it. No idea why, the guy's not bad, as exciting as grey paint splattered over stone walls, but he seems genuine and they get on without talk of poison and someone faking their own death. In the great game of king and queen checkers it's probably the best outcome.

Tell me you're okay. That you're happy, please. I know, look at that Alistair being selfish again. Someone warn the criers, it's never been seen before. I worry about leaving you alone. Fine, I know you're not alone-alone, but I remember what it's like being trapped in a bed for weeks without anything to do but try to throw darts through a window. And you don't have a cast to drive you mad and busy with itching. If your templar's being all stoic warrior on you, stiff upper lip and what not, you can complain to me. Or at me. I've had enough of that I'm pretty much immune.

I made certain that any letters from you will be sent directly to me, no clerks reading over my shoulder and pronouncing the big words for me. There hasn't been any word yet of a miracle of Andraste returning the Hero of Ferelden back to us, so I'm guessing you're still not ready yet to give your big debut. Don't worry about me, I can keep a secret.

Sort of keep a secret.

If it'll in anyway hurt you, I'll never tell. Ever. Cross my heart and hope for pie.

This is probably long enough for a first message. I have a good four or five page letter filled with all my deepest thoughts and darkest hopes but I don't want to bore you with the details. Here's a hint, rain; both cleansing and sorrowful. Really makes you think, I know.

Heal, smile, even - Maker help me - love that stick in the mud, if you must. Be happy, and for the love of Andraste, send me an update on that Dowager before I break down and hunt out a copy of the book for myself.

His Irrelevancy,

_King Alistair of You Know Where_

To Ali,

C/O Her Most Entrusted Letter Carrier of Divine Victoria

By the Maker, how did you get a letter off so quickly? We'd only been in Val Royeaux for a week before it appeared. Don't tell me you have access to your own Eluvian because the last thing Ferelden needs is another parade of demons leaping across it. Life has taken some adjusting. You'll be happy to know I had nearly an entire pie all by myself. It was a bit of an accident on my part as I'd only meant for a slice when that taint hunger kicked in and before I knew it oops, all gone. Walking is difficult and I can, at best, carry perhaps five pounds. Most of my time is spent sliding from one section of the apartment to another grumbling about the cold.

I should tell you about the apartments. Leliana has us in one of the guest wings of the Grand Cathedral, a fact that I can tell wears upon Cullen even if he won't admit it. Nearly every speck of the place is gilded or bejeweled and what isn't is made out of marble or silk. It feels as if I fell inside of a ballgown and can't escape. A few curious Mothers have tried to prod in to see what's going on inside here behind locked doors, but Leliana keeps shooing them away. The chantry's clerics are growing weary with how much time the Divine spends with me, all but breaking down the door after her scheduled hours are finished to whisk her away.

I never thought life would feel strange outside of the fade, but I keep catching myself at an impasse. Often, I'll speak to the spirits as if they're remaining beside me, curt dismissals that were subconscious before. I feel foolish whenever one slips past my lips, aware that they're not here, but I'm still wrapped up in the past. My mind is all wound up like used wire poorly re-spooled. Sleeping is difficult, and a few nights I've forgone the bed to lay upon the floor. Once I even left wards, which Cullen woke to find scattered across the apartment. I didn't even remember doing it, my mind always falling back to that place if I don't keep a constant vigil. I nearly wrote down that I should not complain, but you did ask for the full of it. You reap what you sow, I suppose.

After speaking with Leliana, I've decided that the Hero of Ferelden should remain dead. I'm not in any shape to run head first back into the politics of wardens much less the mage dilemma that's been cooled but could boil over at any moment. And if either group received word of my resurgence well, it'd be right back to the grindstone and damn the consequences. There are few I will trust with this secret. You -- obviously -- Leliana, Cullen, Hawke's been made aware to try and negate some of her guilt. I don't believe anyone else knows for now, but for the sake of discretion keeping the list small is preferable to... Why am I trying to talk you into this? If you haven't told Eamon and the rest by now you're not going to.

I'm not used to this freedom, waking every morning without an itinerary or goal. I'd been in the hands of the circle since I was six, every hour of my day planned out through apprenticehood. It wasn't until after the harrowing I'd have been free to set my schedule and, well, we all know how that one went. If you had no one to answer to, no one questioning your every decision, no weight of the world or Ferelden hanging upon you, what would you do?

I suppose I should send this off before you blanket me in letters demanding a follow up. Enclosed is the next plot advance in the story. I've tried to summarize it as best I could, but you really should think about picking the book up. My fumbling can't do the descriptive prose justice.

No One Of Any Importance,

_Lana A-_

To: The Secretive Creature Living in the Grand Cathedral's Bell Tower

C/O This Raven That Managed to Shit All Over My Breakfast Plate & Is Lucky We Didn't Fry It Up

Read through the synopsis. Shocked that she'd risk her title for someone who'd do that to a pig, but that's authors for you. If they can't stretch the plot thin with action cul-de-sacs, needless characters repeating stuff that happened chapters back, and breadcrumbs they'll stab a few dozen people, set a village on fire, and call it realism. Waiting patiently for the next set.

Things are happening here to keep me busy, nothing for you to worry about, only headache inducing for me. Huzzah, what not and so forth. I'll write you a longer letter next time. Super promise pinkie swear.

To answer your last question, first I'd have sex, eat a dessert in every single bakery across Val Royeaux, take a long nap, then sex again. Hope that helps.

None of the Help, All of the Mess,

_Ali_

## Chapter Four

**Unspoken Fear**

**  
**

Fire burst from a woman's fingers, tendrils of flames sparking over the heads of people who -- instead of cowering or retaliating -- clapped appreciatively. Smiling, the woman dressed in a glittery red and orange dress with provocative cuts in all the right places, took a bow. Lana shifted over to Leliana and sniffed, "Am I to be impressed? I was doing that when I was ten. Not usually on purpose mind, but..."

Leliana brought her hands together harder to try and make up for Lana's lack of clapping. "The dancers here rarely use a mage and have to rely upon more practical effects. I watched someone saw a man in half."

"You don't need a mage to do that," Lana folded her arms, still unimpressed.

"The man remained unharmed," Leliana's crystal eyes sparkled under her drawn hood. While the incognito Divine pulled out her old spy gear, for the first time Lana wore the dress she selected hot off the seamstress' loom. It was beyond simple in a soft sky blue, with an A-line skirt and a bodice left loose for her hopeful weight regain. She insisted the pockets be deepened by another inch. Even if she was hiding her being a mage she still liked to carry things around. The only hint of a softer side to the one wearing it was trim skirting over the daring sweetheart cut. White lace rested against her sienna skin, just enough to hinder the view of her ample assets.

"What's the point of sawing someone in half if they aren't hurt?" she said, but her jibbing tone slipped away as she fumbled for the wine glass Leliana kept refilling. They started with a biting red, astringent to match their platter of cold meats, then moved on to a slightly sweeter red, then a white, and now they were mixing every remaining bottle together to see if they could discover something new.

"This is why you'd never make it as a bard," Leliana said. She slipped a delicate hand over her chin while watching a young woman step up to the stage armed only with a lute. It seemed doubtful the singer planned to set anyone on fire. "You don't understand the importance of spectacle."

"I can shoot ice and lightning from my hands. How is that not spectacle?" Lana responded, perhaps a bit too loudly as a few eyes swiveled back towards them.

Despite the winter night, she only wore a thin cloak for cover which was currently wound about her chair. The drink covered over any chill she felt, its alcoholic spell enveloping her in a warm hug. Admittedly, when Leliana first suggested a jaunt out of the Cathedral to get away from the same four walls, Lana assumed they'd head somewhere indoors. But as she gazed around at the crackling fires beating against the press of night while stars speckled through the sky, she began to understand her friend's choice. And the wine helped with that as well.

"Perhaps we should pause for a moment," Leliana's calculating eyes no doubt noticed Lana's glissando in pitch, "imbibe a few more crackers instead." Leliana waved at a garçon who panicked from her attention and scurried over. He seemed to be the only one at the establishment aware of who lurked below the hood. All the other patrons only cast a curious glance over their attire and lack of masks before turning back to the entertainment.

Lana regretfully slid her glass away before accepting a few crackers and sending them down to check on the rest of her dinner. It'd grown quiet lately in her stomach and she was getting concerned. Leliana had extended the offer to join them to Cullen, but he said that he had much yet to do and thanked her for thinking of him. At first Lana wished he'd come, but after an hour out of the apartments she was grateful for his choice. They both needed space and by the Maker did she miss getting into trouble with her old friend. The kind of trouble her stoic templar would grumble himself to death over.

Bobbing her head, Lana tried to follow the beat, when she spun fully around in her chair and gawped at the singer. While the girl couldn't be more than fifteen at most, her voice was strong and bursting through her chest instead of the nose. It wasn't the power that drew Lana but the words. "Did she just mention Cullen?"

"Ah, yes, there are a few songs in popular rotation about the Inquisition and those who served in it."

"'Stout and bright?'" Lana repeated before giggling, "He must hate that."

Leliana placed her hands over top her own glass and smirked, "I rather doubt that's the song that would bother him." Lana narrowed her eyes but Leliana only delicately tipped her glass into her mouth, her eyes closed as she savored her drink.

"Oh no, you can't release that bronto and not follow up on it. What song?"

"It's," she swirled her glass, "a rather delicate number. Relies upon the minor key, which seems strange for a...I suppose it's not entirely a love song."

"Wait, a love song? About Cullen?" She knew he had more than his fair share of attention at the ball, but to think someone was so smitten she took the time to pen a song... Or he'd broken the heart of an admirer to the point of rending a song free; the question was did that happen with or without his knowledge.

Leliana swallowed another sip and shook her head at the concern clawing up Lana's face. "It's very metaphorical, more than likely he isn't even aware it's about him. I'll send you the lyrics sometime."

Nodding her head, she planned to hold Leliana to that promise. Taking a drink of the mead on offer, then curling her nose as she remembered she hated mead, Lana sighed, "I hated all the songs about me. Okay, not that upbeat one that was all about crossing a bridge for some reason."

"That was a metaphor for death and the blight itself ravaging the world."

"Really?" Lana pinched her forehead in her hands, trying to dig up the lyrics she'd only heard a few times. For some reason bards tended to stop singing about the Hero of Ferelden the moment she stepped into a room. She'd only heard the ones penned about her second hand or from within the Vigil as she skulked around the corner. "But it was all happy and bouncy, with everyone dancing?"

"Joy in the face of disaster, a common theme in folk songs. The bridge was the blight and death waited at the end."

"Ah. I always wondered why I cut the ropes on this mythical bridge. I thought it was a commentary on how much collateral damage I caused."

Leliana snickered so hard at that, a spittle of red wine splattered against the table. After wiping off her mouth she nodded her head, "You were excellent at that, no doubt."

The Blight, her great time to shine and rise to glory, like other heroes out of myths and legends. Lana gazed down at the cane given to her by Leliana who swore it never belonged to any other Divines. She'd never be that person who killed an archdemon ever again. The others would shake their heads at her assessment when walking grew to being too much, but Lana knew in her gut that this was something she wasn't coming back from whole cloth. She wondered when the reality would finally settle in that this was her new lot and what kind of damage it would do. Perhaps she'd luck out and the darkness would pass her by for once. Maker, that'd be nice.

Coughing, Leliana poured another round of '1 part Sherry to 3 parts Merlot and whatever's left of the Gin' into Lana's glass. "Do you remember what we did right after the archdemon fell? You walked off that tower with the sun setting behind you like an angelic aura, the dragon's blood glistening in flaming fire, and everyone broke into applause."

"Right, pause, smile, wave, and then we grabbed the first bottle we could find and scampered off to let Alistair deal with the rest," Lana laughed, trying out the new mix. Her tastebuds curled inward, doing their damnedest to avoid what she washed down them, but her brain could only offer up an 'It's all right.' Yep, way too much drink for the day.

Leliana joined in the remembrance laughter before clinking her glass with Lana's. "Both of us coated in ichor, so exhausted we could barely move and so ecstatic we couldn't sleep."

"Drunk off our asses clinging to the roof of some shop that managed to miss nearly all the attack watching the sun set together." She started out smiling but a frown invaded Lana's memory. It'd seemed a simple victory at the time. They'd won. The monster was destroyed, the world saved. They deserved it. She had no way of knowing the storms lurking on the horizon.

Seeming to share the same thought, Leliana stared into her glass but didn't drink any. Instead, she inched closer, "We spoke of many things that night. Foolish, simple things and others...not as such. Lanny, I asked you something, something I hoped you'd been truthful about, but..."

Sobriety raced through Lana's veins at the look pinching together Leliana's porcelain forehead. She sat up higher, dragging her chair closer to the table and her friend. "I can't, what was it?"

"You were smarting, you wouldn't admit it to anyone in the face of the blight, I know, but I was worried for you," Leliana's pale hand grabbed hers and the answer flooded back to Lana. Cursing under her breath, she turned her head away, unable to look at Leliana. "I asked if you loved Alistair, and you said you didn't. That you were over him."

"Leliana, I'm...I thought I was, convinced myself that I could shut it off as easily as he did," Lana snorted as she realized that in fact she could, which was to say not at all for either of them. "But, you're right, I hadn't moved on past the anger, and the hurt, and, yes, the love for awhile. A few years at least."

"What of Seheron then?"

"I knew it," Lana leaned back, yanking her hand free, "I knew eventually, somehow you'd get around to chastising me for that. Shit, it's probably why the fade didn't kill me. The Maker moved a mountain so Leliana could look me in the eye, shake her head and sigh 'why'd you take up with him again?'"

Leliana thrummed her fingers on the table a few times before glancing up, "Are you finished?"

"No, but you know the rest, so why keep going."

"Lanny, it's a damn good question, one you need to ask yourself given mitigating circumstances..."

"' _Mitigating circumstances_?' You can say his name. I know it, you know it. Why in the void didn't you call me out on this back at Skyhold?" she asked while folding her arms tight as she felt the wintery air slipping through her alcoholic cocoon.

"Because you were in pain," her stark words struck at Lana, her grumbling hands falling slack. "You found comfort, it was understandable in the trying times, and it could easily be replaced by something else later should the need arise. But now..."

Pain was an understatement. She ran from it across all of thedas, through the deeproads itself and right into Cullen's arms. Never pausing, never grieving for all that she'd lost because she feared she'd never come back from it. But trapped in the fade, with a regret spirit clinging to her like a leech, grieving was all she had. It felt as if for the first year, when she wasn't slaying demons or slaughtering spiders for food, she was crying a million held back tears, the dam finally breaking free.

"Lanny," Leliana pulled her attention from out of her navel, "do you, and please be honest, do you love Alistair? No, don't scoff, don't roll your eyes. You've had to have thought about this."

"Yes, I have thought about it. Weighed it out and...no, I don't, not romantically. I, I'm not certain if I really did when I joined him to find his father. We were lonely, both of us needing something to cling to, someone to make the darkness go away for awhile. He's, he's always been a good friend." Lana paused and snickered at that thought, "A surprisingly good friend and a so wrong lover."

"And when he helped to rescue you from the fade, you felt nothing for him?"

"What?" she scoffed at that, rolling her eyes. "Leliana, give me some credit. I'm not a protagonist in one of those folk songs. It takes a bit more than rousing me from my two year long slumber to weasel back into my heart."

"So, your relationship with Cullen is..."

"I, I love him," Lana winced at the confession. It was the first time she'd told anyone other than him, but Leliana didn't lift her eyebrows in shock, she didn't even pause in reaching for her drink.

At Lana's stare, she did throw out a cursory, "I was aware," before taking a long swig. "In fact, it seemed rather obvious at Skyhold."

"I, but...I only arrived at that conclusion while, a few months ago in the fade after I'd had my brain shredded apart by demons and...you knew? The whole damn time?"

Leliana flinched at her mentioning demons, but she chuckled at Lana now and patted her hand affectionately, "You tend to wear your heart in your face and when someone has it, it's as if the Maker's shone a light just upon you."

"Oh," she had no response to that, but Lana felt an urge to slap a mask over herself to try and hide something so obvious to everyone else but herself.

"What are the Commander's thoughts on Alistair?"

"He'll grumble a lot, maybe snort if he's in a mood, but holds his tongue from any of the good curse words. A 'Maker, I...' or 'That man's a total...' That's about it."

Leliana lifted an eyebrow and shook her head, her hood slipping lower, "I meant about you keeping a friendship with the king."

"What, you think Cullen's the type to go around making demands about who I can and cannot befriend? He hasn't said a word against it. And before you raise your judgmental finger at me, yes, he knows I don't love Alistair and that it's dead, done, never again. We did all travel together for a few weeks which was long, and exhausting."

"Too many men in one place can have that effect," Leliana said, her sage words deserving of another drink.

"I get it, okay. It's all complicated and my history isn't easy on anyone, but Cullen's not anyone. He's..." she folded her hands as if in prayer and pressed them to her lips. He'd hold her all night if she needed it, trek through a storm to get her a single supply she wanted, and looked at her as if he'd never seen another woman before. Blinking from the thought, Lana returned to reality and said instead, "special. He's special."

Leliana lifted her glass in a toast and Lana obliged her. "To the _special_ commander," Leliana smirked before taking a long drink.

Lana glared at her, "You're the worst," before she broke into a soft laugh of her own at the sneer that special would have gotten from him.

"So," Leliana picked up the last bottle and dolled it out, "tell me all about your trip with him into the deeproads, and I want details. Exact details."

 After Leliana suggested they try nailing someone's small clothes to the chantry board, Lana knew it was time to turn in. They'd switched to watered down wine in the interim, while their topics of conversation mercifully broke away from her love life to less interesting subjects such as the current Grand Clerics giving the beloved Divine a headache. Whenever Leliana's eyes glazed over and her impish smile returned, Lana would steer her right back into political matters. It seemed about the only way she could hope to save face and keep her tongue from answering Leliana's far too personal questions.

The Divine helped her friend up the winding stairs that Lana was coming to despise the few times she risked venturing down them. Baring her weight without question, Leliana took most of it while her cane handled the rest. Out of sight of the other patrons and citizens of Val Royeaux, Lana curled magic around her legs to try and strengthen them but in either her inebriated state or the rising exhaustion it barely took. At least the drink wiped some of the pain away.

"Why are there so many blighted stairs in this place?" Lana cursed.

"To be closer to the Maker," Leliana answered with such conviction Lana paused and turned to her.

"You can't be serious."

"Of course not," Leliana laughed. "One Divine needed to prove she was better than a previous, so she'd build a grander floor above the last. Repeat that enough times and it's a wonder the Grand Cathedral doesn't butt up against the edge of the sky." Lana snickered at the simplicity of it. Even when answering a higher calling some matters of human nature never changed. She spotted the door to her apartment up ahead, and began to shift her weight to the cane.

"Your Most Holy!"

Both Leliana and Lana groaned at the toady voice lilting from behind them. Releasing her grip fully on Lana, Leliana turned to face whoever it was while Lana balanced her weight. Over her shoulder she caught sight of a young face buried beneath a chantry hood and she was surprised to find it was male. Leliana seemed neither impressed nor shocked at the turn of events, only folded her arms and waited.

"It is good to see your return after some time away," the man gasped for breath as if he spotted the pair of them from clear across the cathedral and ran the full way up the stairs to catch them. "We were growing concerned that perhaps guards should have been sent..."

"I can handle myself," Leliana interrupted. "This is Val Royeaux not the reckless Kokari wilds." Shaking out her red hair from under the hood, Leliana ran her fingers through it and sighed, "If you will give me a moment I would like to..."

"There is a matter that requires your attention," the man interrupted, then tacked on a, "Your Perfection."

"A matter, at this late hour?" she groaned again, before turning to Lana.

Unable to slide the smile off her face, Lana shrugged, "Sounds as if you best be getting to it."

"What of...?"

"I think I can manage the five feet to my door on my own," Lana leaned her uncooperative body forward and gripped onto her friend's hand, "Thank you for the dinner. It was a good time."

Leliana's smile brightened and she bowed her head slightly, "It was, and I shall be certain to think of a repeat." The Divine turned to her toady to wave him on but not before he shot a judgmental look Lana's way. While Leliana and the underling crossed back down the stairs, confusion wrapped around Lana's brain at the near on glare she received. Why would anyone care if... _oh._ She snickered behind her hands as she limped towards the door. Jealousy was bound to occur, especially with all the attention the Divine seemed to be heaping upon a no one out of the cold, but, Maker, that was hilarious to consider.

She pushed open the door to find the lights across the foyer dimmed nearly beyond sight. Only a gentle flicker of firelight undulated from the hearth beyond. The rest of the apartment was bathed in a comforting indigo wash.  It struck her as unlikely that Cullen would be out; he could while away the early hours of the morning wandering the streets for Honor's sake but she found it hard to believe he'd step foot away from his desk once the sun set. Lana slid into the darkened room softly and spotted Honor asleep on the divan she wasn't supposed to be on. With the natural dog sense to always know when someone moves in a room, her eyes opened and she lifted her head up -- prepared to acquiesce to the rules of the house -- but Lana waved her hand. She didn't have the heart to chase the dog away. Honor's stub rapped against the cushions thrice before her head plummeted down and she fell back to sleep.

If the dog was here, so was Cullen. Perhaps asleep? He'd been rather flustered and irritated during the day as he chased down a few different messengers all baring varying instructions that kept getting mired in bureaucratic confusion. Sleep would probably do him good.

Lana slid her cloak off her shoulders and draped it upon the breakfast table. She knew there was a hook somewhere, but in the dim light any attempts would wind up with it splayed on the floor and no hope for her to pick it back up. Placing down her cane as softly as she could, she inched towards the bedroom. Her hand spread across the door, and she moved to push it open, when a guttural groan emerged from the back room serving as their standing office. "Cul..." Lana began before falling silent. If it was him, she had nothing to worry. If it wasn't, why give the trespasser ample warning?

Threading apart the veil, Lana wrapped her body in a barrier for protection as she eased down the narrow hall. It'd been too long since she'd cast such a spell, at least outside of her mind's trap inside the fade. The mana hissed from her fumbling attempts and burned across her fingers like acid. She had been casting too much lately, tomorrow would have to be a break from it all. Tonight, well, there may be an intruder to freeze solid.

Lana flattened against the wall when another groan echoed from the small office. Lifting up an ice spell around her fist, she twisted silently into the office and her body froze. Cullen sat in the chair behind the desk, his eyes screwed up tight and those golden curls tossed back, while his hand jerked up and down in his lap. By the barely existent light, Lana couldn't see much of anything, but her imagination raced to fill in the rest -- his strong fingers wrapped around his cock, sliding up and down slowly at first while he moaned from the connate pleasure rippling through him. She wrapped her hand over her mouth to keep from making a sound. One part of her brain screamed at her to get out but the rest was driven by a deadly combination of lust and curiosity. This was a far more enticing scene than she'd have thought imaginable.

He groaned again, a few intelligible words slipping past, and even with her mouth crammed around her fist, Lana answered it in kind. Cullen's eyes snapped open, his body locking up as his head snapped right to the woman staring at him in the doorway. "Maker's breath, I..." he curled over, his forehead almost smacking into the desk, to try and cover himself with his hands and chest. "Lana, I didn't hear, and I was, oh Maker."

"No, no," she waved her hands in the air so rapidly a nail slicked across her cheek by mistake, "it's my fault. I'd never, sorry, and..." The burn churned up her legs, down her arms, bloomed upon her cheeks, and then all of it landed right in her gut. _Andraste's ass, how could she do that?_ Embarrassment flooded her brain and took over control of her body. Instinctively, she tried to spin on her heels and move out of the room, but that was a massive mistake. Her foot failed to spin with the rest of her, sending pain roaring up her hip and down her thigh as if someone grabbed her entire leg and yanked it out of the joint. Groaning from the agony and her own idiotic move, Lana sank to the floor, the cane clattering out of her hands.

"Lana," Cullen hitched up his pants with one hand and tried to grab onto her elbow with the other. But there was no stopping her now, and she rolled so her ass would hit the floor instead of her hip. "Are you okay? Where does it hurt?"

"Hip, leg, misjudged the turn and...Maker's breath, that's bad, that's really bad," she hissed through clenched teeth, trying to dig her hands into her hip to alleviate the pain. Cullen watched for a moment before he bent down and scooped her up into his arms. Hoisting her tight, with both hands cupped under her thigh to lift the offended leg up, he carried her out into the sitting room.

"Honor, off!" he shouted at the dog, who slunk down without looking at him. Grumbling about how the mabari kept casting off his commands to stay off the furniture, Cullen placed Lana down on the divan, her legs stretched out across the cushions. "What do you need from me?"

She bit down on her cheek to fight past the pain and dove through the veil to impart some relief along her screaming joints. Looking like a red spider squashed flat, she could visually see the pain radiating out through the fade. Picking up his hand, she placed it at the center of the invisible mass, "Here, rub this."

Nodding, Cullen sunk to his knees beside the divan and dug his fingers into her hip. Through the thin dress, he kneaded and stretched while Lana wrapped as much of the healing she dare risk into the node and Cullen's fingers spread it across her leg. After a time, the pain began to abate, and Lana threw her head back, gasping for air as if she'd been drowning. He didn't stop his massage until she ran her hand over his and gripped to it.

Without the immediate problem of her trying to snap her own leg off, the embarrassment of before stampeded back into the room warping the very air itself. She could feel the power of his blush burning off his fingers, the radiant heat of it warming her chilled hand. "I'm so sorry, I never should have been...doing that, where you could have--"

"Nonsense," Lana interrupted, trying to rise up from her plummet to the couch. "It was, okay, a bit awkward to walk in on, but..." She ran her fingers across his cheek and tried to get him to look up, but Cullen bored a hole through the floor instead. "It's natural," her fingers circled around his scruff, hoping his blush would break, but Cullen's neck shrunk even lower in on himself. She could almost see the blame floating through his head. Placing her lips closer to him, she whispered, "Honey eyes."

His old nickname from the tower, the one she inadvertently gave him, was enough to draw Cullen to her. Regret wove tight through his eyes and she brushed her fingers back through his hair to try and comb it into place. He shuddered at her touch and gripped onto her wrist to pin her hand in place, "You never should have to, be forced to..."

"Maker's breath, Cullen, you really think that's the first time I've ever stumbled upon that?"

He grimaced, his eyes shut tight as he tried to shake off the shame enveloping him. "From in the circle?"

Lana sighed, "On occasion, but the wardens was worse. Not surprising when you've got a bunch of people facing certain death at every turn. Senses tend to get heightened and...I'd rather they blow off steam than be snapping in anger throughout the deep roads." She tipped her head and whispered in conspiracy, "Living in tents together, it was easy to stumble upon something you didn't want to think about, so I'd often hum loudly under my breath. It kept me from having to face any embarrassing conversations later, especially with the dwarf."

A soft prick of a smile darted around the edges of Cullen's mouth, but it wouldn't take as he kept attempting to melt into the floor. "It's not right to subject anyone to...um, things of that nature without--"

Andraste's grace, her heart ached watching him stumble so awkwardly, the blush more reminiscent of a sunburn for how it coated his skin. Lana scooted forward and pressed her lips against his cheek, feeling his flush bright upon her own skin. "I'm not scandalized, not by any means. I assume you've had your share of surprises as well over the years."

He rolled his eyes back at a memory and sneered, "Soldiers, templars, soldiers plus templars, it's a wonder we managed to stop a bronto much less Corypheus the way...uh, it's not important." Cullen shook it off as he pulled Lana's hand off his cheek and cupped hers inside of his. "I, it can be difficult, for me with you in my arms often, and -- not that I would ever -- and... Maker, I don't know what to say."

"Oh, please stop being so cute," she cried. "I don't know if my heart can take anymore."

"Cute?" he twisted his head, all sense adrift.

"My honey eyes," her fingers twisted in his grasp and carefully caressed his palms, "I understand. To tell the truth, having you so near, your tempting fingers," she spun them up so she could look upon his hands, "massaging me...I've, um, indulged myself a time or two."

"In the past?" he was trying to play it off, but she saw the rise of an ego driven smirk mixed in there, not that he didn't deserve one.

"Ah, yes," Lana blinked, aware of what got her through the fade. Maker, how was it growing so hot in the cold apartments in the midst of winter? She shifted in her seat, and bit down on her lip, "And once I was out of the fade, a couple times."

"You...?" Cullen's brow folded, the wrinkles in his forehead deepening to ruts, "How? When?"

She shrugged, "You find time, I find time too."

"Wait a moment. I'm...if you've been, uh, um..." he waved his hand in a circle, his throat bobbing as he struggled to raise the word.

"Aroused?" she threw out.

"Yes, that, then why haven't we...? I-I don't, I mean I'd never want to presume but, you've mentioned on occasion and we still..." his words trailed off as if the blush crawled up his throat and strangled his tongue. Only confusion was readable across his face. Lana tried to throw on a patina of certainty in her words as her mind screamed at her for her failures, for not anticipating this burning question between them.

"I, it's not that I don't want to, I..." Lana's head hung down and she breathed through her nose, doing her damnedest to shore up her mouth for fear of what could escape it. She felt Cullen's hands land upon her shoulders, trying to soothe them and her untethered mind.

"Lana, if you don't want to, you--"

"No," her head snapped up, "No, you deserve an explanation. Believe me, there are times I am tempted, very tempted but..." she screwed her nose up to bury down the tears and as a distraction pointed at her legs. "It's been so long since anyone, uh, and my body's, well, I mean. I can't even turn without falling to the ground. What if...? What if I can't last long, or, I start to hurt in the middle of...?"

"Then we stop," Cullen said, certainty driving away his confusion.

Lana scoffed, "That simple? Even if you're about to--"

"Yes, even if...Maker's breath, Lana, you shouldn't have to harm your body for my sake. I can take care of myself, as you are well aware of now," he grumbled the last part to himself but it got a laugh from her and she reached out to wrap her arms around him.

Pulling his head tight to hers, Lana felt the tears come, but they were grateful ones and not shameful at her failures. She came saddled with so many, and yet he kept putting up with each one for reasons she could scarcely understand. As Cullen slid out of the hug, he cupped his hands around her face and stared deep into her eyes, "I never want to hurt you, ever."

"I love you," she whispered, her lips pursing into a kiss which he was happy to fulfill.

"I love you," he said, running his fingers through her short hair. As his hands fell away, Lana grabbed one and pressed the palm of it to her lips. He smelled just how she remembered in her exile in the fade, and her days in Amaranthine after the deeproads; musky in a homespun, sun-laced field of wheat way. The scent and heat of his skin awakened what began when she walked in on him.

Her eyes drifted up to his and Cullen seemed to sense the change in her, as he had to adjust his stance on his knees. "What if," Lana began, aware that her voice dipped lower in her need, "we take it slow? We sort of skipped all that early parts the first time..."

A rare full smile lit up across his cheeks as he inched closer to the divan, "I suppose we did. There wasn't a lot of time for romance as I recall."

"Darkspawn ruin everything," Lana laughed, drawing one from him as well.

Cullen's amber eyes darted down for a moment across her body before he looked up at her, "I'll go as slow as you want, gladly. You lead and I'll follow."

She leaned over towards him. Even on the couch and Cullen on his knees before her, because of her short height she was at most an inch above him. Running her palm across his cheek and back to cup his neck, she guided him closer and whispered, "Kiss me."

Beautiful honey eyes slipped closed as he pressed his lips to hers, chastely dipping into the kiss, but Lana hungered for so much more. The kind of kiss she'd been denied for years. Her other hand joined the first behind his neck as she parted her lips. With a soft touch, her tongue tasted him, barely running up his lips before darting back inside. She wasn't certain if he'd understand, but Cullen matched her in kind, his own mouth opening so they could meld together as if they'd never kissed before.

More than her denied lust woke as Cullen's lips and tongue danced with hers. A sense of safety, of belonging, settled inside her soul. When his arms wrapped around her back she felt as if she was surrounded by impenetrable defenses. And when his lips softened against hers, the sweet heat told her she was loved. She didn't realize how on edge she was every time she kissed him until it all cracked away. So scared before of having to break off his advances, worried that he'd turn cold if she told him of her concerns about pushing herself too far. Maker, she was an idiot.

"Cullen," Lana's lips slipped a breath away, her words whispered along his cheek. His eyes opened and he smiled at her, waiting. She extended her neck, and said, "Kiss my birthmark."

With both cheeks stretched in joy, Cullen kissed her first on the lips, the tips of his teeth threading across her bottom one. Lana felt a moan rising in her heart, when he broke away and began kissing down her neck. More than heat stirred between her legs when his lips reached the tips of her birthmark. One hand smoothed down her skin, absently tracing the pink pattern, while the other circled around her waist.

Sighing under his breath, he watched his fingers caressing her skin before plunging his lips to it. "Oh Maker," Lana squirmed, lifting higher off the couch as each petal soft kiss pressed against her skin. She didn't know what drove him to love that mark of hers so much, but his obsession pushed her own. More than wanting, she needed to feel him kiss every inch of it. Gently, she pulled back on the lace covering her décolletage giving him access to the hidden edges of it.

A groan, even more alluring than the one she heard from behind the desk, rattled Cullen's throat as he dove deeper down, happily lost in kissing her skin. Despite the obvious distractions only a short distance below his chin, he kept his hands off her chest, never wanting to cross her boundaries. But when his lips dipped right at the final edge of her birthmark right at the top, she needed his hands upon her breasts. Lana tried to speak, but her words were smothered by her slack tongue and unreachable by her buzzing brain.

Lifting her hands, she picked up the one around her waist. Cullen's lips paused and he slid back as if to let her go. Instead, she grabbed onto his other hand and placed them both upon her breasts. His eyes widened, watching his palms overfill with her bounty, but then he glanced up uncertainly. Lana nodded, and tried to slide closer.

Needing no more suggestions, Cullen's hands swirled over top both breasts, the callus on his right palm in just the right spot to stimulate her nipple. She'd thought Leliana's suggestion to skip the corset in favor of some band of cloth idiotic at the time, but now she was grateful beyond measure. Through the thin fabric of her dress and the band she could feel his every twist and turn as if he was trying to polish a priceless artifact. Both of her nipples prodded free, and while she ached to feel his lips and teeth against them, she put it down to save later. Right now, this was amazing in and of itself.

Cullen seemed to agree as he rose up on his knees and pressed his lips to hers; when his tongue darted across her lips he gave a squeeze to her breasts. As Lana moaned in pleasure, he dove in deep, rolling with her tongue as if...as if the past two years never happened. Her fingers dug through his hair, pinning him to her, needing him, wanting him.

Gasping, Cullen slipped back and took in a deep breath which caused his body to shudder. "Maker, this is..."

"I know," she tried to smirk but she felt wiped clean, there was no coy come hither left in her, only joy at feeling him against her skin.

He placed his forehead against hers and whispered, "I've missed you."

She froze as his lips touched hers. In the back of her mind, a memory the spirit or demon drove out of her rose from its depths, where another man in another place said the same thing just before they...before she ruined everything between them. Cullen sensed the change and he rose away from her, his hands falling off her chest. "Lana, are you...?"

Throwing up a smile quickly, she batted at her cheek as if there was a stray hair there, "It's good, it's very good, I...sorry. It's been a long day, a long couple of days, and..."

"We can stop anytime," he said. "That was the point."

"Right, right, the point..." she couldn't stop staring at her fingers, watching them work in and out and through each other. She used to marvel at the tendons flexing below her skin but now it unnerved her how much of the inner workings of her hand were visible with all that weight lost.

Cullen sat back on his haunches and rubbed a hand through his hair, "What's bothering you? Something's gone wrong."

"No," she shook her head, her false smile slipping away from her every grasp. She tried to paint it on again as she looked at him, but his eyes narrowed in response. "I...I keep thinking, do you really want to leave the Inquisition?"

"What?" Cullen dug his hands into his eyes, "Why are you asking that now? Why are you even wondering?"

"It, it was your home for a long time, and, I...I don't want to be the one to come between you and..."

The hands fell from his eyes and she could feel the glower radiating off him without looking up. "You were going to say duty, weren't you?" Cullen sucked in a breath and squared his shoulders. She risked a glance in his direction and watched as his lips worked through a series of sneers, but it wasn't until he shut his eyes that he spoke. "Lana, I'm not him."

"What, him who?"

"You know very well who," Cullen thundered, his hand smacking into the other, the slap reverberating in the quiet apartment.

"For the Maker's sake, I know you're not him," she argued back, at a loss for what brought this out.

"Really?" In his anger, he rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth, "Because I'm not so sure anymore. I'm more than well aware how alike we look, and...by the void, I know what we share in common. Even our damn--" Cullen stopped and growled in his throat. "Is that what I am to you? A replacement for what you can't have?"

"What? No, never," Lana struggled to get her legs off the couch, but pain flared up her hip. "You're not, you've never been, no..." She tried to catch his hand, but Cullen was too agitated to stop and it slipped past.

"Then why do you keep acting as if I'll make the same choices he does? As if I'll make the same mistakes? Can you even see us as different people?"

"I don't..." she swallowed her words, feeling the rise of tears brimming in her eyes. She had no idea why Cullen's decision to abandon the Inquisition cut her to the quick. It should make her happy to have the potential of him to herself, but all she felt when she thought upon it was a dread growing in her stomach. Shaking her head, Lana looked up at him, "I know you're two different people. You've always been..."

Cullen sneered, his fingers gripping tight to each other, "Ten years, he and you for so long, even as close together and... what he did for you, without question? And I, no." Freezing in place, Cullen gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into his head. "No, no." He whipped his head back and forth, stomping away from Lana. "I have to get out of here, to think."

She couldn't stop a sob racking her throat, a solitary one that ushered in a cascade of tears. "Cullen, I..."

For a moment, he paused at the door and his eyes drifted over her stuck on the sofa. Scowling at the ground, he cracked open the door's handle and spat out, "I'm not him." Slamming the door, a deadly silence followed in his wake.

Lana yearned to chase after him, to rise to her feet and try to explain, but even shifting her legs only brought more agony up her body. She bit down on the pain and tried anyway, a scream building at the back of her eyes. A single foot planted on the ground, then the other, but when she went to stand, her muscles melted like snow and Lana crashed to the ground. Her bruised hip and shoulder took most of it, digging into the cold stone floors. The tears wouldn't stop, dripping off her cheeks and splattering against the stone she couldn't rise off of.

Inconsolable, Lana whispered to the empty air, "I know you're not him. I know it. You're not him. I...I don't want you to be."

## Chapter Five

**Damn**

**  
**

_Damn it all!_

He was barely aware of his surroundings, only caught the occasional gasp of a chantry Mother or Sister waving her brittle hands at the man radiating rage as he stomped past their doors in the early morning hours. In another mood, Cullen would have grimaced at startling them and slunk away. Now, all he did was glare with the full force of command and they gasped at his audacity before sliding back to their own rooms in the Cathedral.

Damn that man, the smug bastard who knew...he knew the whole damn time that if he merely played his cards right and bided his time he'd win. She'd return, of course she would, she had once before and...and the bastard didn't change at all. Cullen wrapped a hand against his forearm and dug in with the nails. He wasn't good enough. Sure, he rose to the ranks of Commander within the respected Inquisition but what did that compare to a King? And while he was perhaps an early crush, that man -- that Maker damned man -- was her first love. How could he compete with any of that? Alistair had a nation and Cullen had...had...

He lashed out, his fist smacking against the stone wall with such force clumps of dust rattled off the tapestries hanging above it. There should be pain, but his body was numb, his limbs ice and heart sludge in the snow. He thought he had her, finally. Nothing else between them, but...

Roaring from the depths of his throat came the thirst, always clawing on the edges, prepared to overtake him at a moment's notice. His skin itched as if the muscles and sinew below were trying to pop out and free him from the agony barely coating the surface. If he stopped for a moment, the ringing in his head and need in his veins awoke the slumbering dragon buried in his gut and anger overtook him. An anger he struggled to keep at bay. It was never this bad the first time he broke free, but maybe Kirkwall kept him distracted. He needed his duty to...

Andraste's grace, he was as bad as Alistair.

The pain of pinching radiated off his arm, and Cullen pulled his hand away to find pinpricks of blood welling up across the verdant stretch of his shirt. He'd managed to cut himself through the fabric and hadn't even noticed. Cursing at the mess, he unbuttoned the cuff and rolled the sleeve up before it stained permanently on her... She gave it to him, smiled with a soft question as he opened it. She begged him to tell her if it was all right as he tried it on and to make it the truth. It was perfect; no frills, no pointless buttons, soft to the touch but sturdy for constant use and as green as the fields of the Hinterlands in late spring.

_You made her cry._

He smacked the back of his head against the wall, wishing he could drown back the anger percolating inside him. No matter how much he willed them back the visions and memories of the past months always returned. Alistair, dead certain that they'd find Lana, that they'd save her, while Cullen fumbled in the dark. How the king risked everything he had for this woman who wanted nothing to do with him. And yet, they were talking again, attempting another friendship because...because Alistair knew Lana better than Cullen could ever hope to. Cullen could almost convince himself that he was being too hard on himself, weighing his own waning convictions against an unfair advantage. But even as he held her body, her sleeping head pressed against his chest as her warm breath warmed trickled across his skin, he wondered to himself if he'd known the truth about the phylactery from the start would he have pursued her? When darkness crept through him, the thirst yanking every certainty from his brain, he felt in his heart the answer: no.

_You swore you'd never hurt her._

She deserved better than that, better than someone who had no faith in her, in himself, in anything. Crumbling to his knees, Cullen realized he wasn't mad at Lana for wishing he had the conviction of Alistair, but at himself for not. Pinching his eyes tight, he saw a flash of their time trapped in the fade. Lana, not his but the king's version, swollen with child and so happy, all her hard edges buffed away by being surrounded in family. _Maker,_ Cullen gasped as the idea stabbed against his heart. Could he ever make the real Lana as happy as that one?

_You promised you'd never hurt her. You made her cry._

"Shit," he cried out, his solitary curse echoing down the abandoned hall. A dozen chantry Mothers prodded their heads out of their doors, about to admonish him. But all their tsking silenced at the broken man wandering past, his head hanging flush with his chest as he stumbled back to his room.

By the time he reached their door, all the rage washed clean from his body leaving only a depthless despair in its place. He didn't feel like he deserved anything, not even to shrink back alone to the Inquisition. He was failure personified, his touch withering all he dared bother. No fresh lights burned in the dark rooms, and he cast a cursory glance over at the divan but didn't spot Lana. She must have gone to the bedroom. Cullen tried to pinch himself to decide if he should impress upon her or let her be when a gasp broke from the floor.

Sliding deeper into the room, his world darkened at her body prostrated on the floor in front of the couch. "No," he whispered, fear pounding under his flesh, visions of the same horror he felt when he thought her dead blanketing his vision to a searing white. He was about to cry out, when Lana lifted her head. _By the Maker, she was okay._ Honor sat beside her head, her tongue lapping over her cheeks to try and catch tears. The tears he caused.

In a broken voice, she whispered, "I know you're not him."

Cullen smoothed his hand over his eyes to try and wipe away the emotion. In a steady voice he asked, "Lana, what happened? Why are you one the floor?"

"I," she pointed at the divan, sniffles punctuating her pauses, "tried to come after you, but..." Now she struggled to rise up to her elbows and a bone rattling groan burst from her, "my legs didn't work and...and I fell."

"Blessed Andraste," Cullen plummeted to his knees beside her and he felt the tears rain down his cheeks, "I'm sorry, I never should have...I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," she whimpered, folding deeper in on herself. Her hand curled up the arm of her dress smudged in dirt from the floor. "It's mine for..." Lana's head snapped up and through her cascade of tears she stared at him, "I swear, Cullen, I don't think of you as Alistair. I...I don't want you to be him. Never, I..."

"Shh..." he plopped down beside her and tried to comfort her while keeping his hands knotted around his legs, "I, I was wrong to question it, to doubt it. Lana, I..." Folding his chin to his chest, Cullen picked apart all the pain that squatted in his heart for the past three months. "Finding you, searching for you, it-it wore upon me, broke me. Some nights I was, did...did he ever tell you why we got into the fist fight?" Lana's mouth slipped closed and she slowly shook her head no.

"We reached a boiling point, when your phylactery...it doesn't matter. Doesn't excuse it. All that does is prove he believed that you were alive and I," Cullen sunk even deeper into himself, "I didn't." He didn't realize he was openly weeping into his knees until Lana's hand graced across one.

"I don't hold that against you," she said, her own stained eyes wide in compassion. The depths of it stung him even deeper.

"But I do. After everything you suffered, two years in...and I couldn't even bother to try and find you myself. It took someone else, him, to drag me out from behind my desk. It's...I'm not..." His words faded to blubbering as Lana wrapped her hands around his chest and she managed to drag herself closer. Settling her head upon his bent knees, she softly caressed his leg as if she was trying to revive his overworked muscles. He watched her silently worry her hand up and down him, the tug of his pants against her calming touch shaking him out of the stupor. With his heart in his throat, Cullen reached a finger out to run across her hair. Lana didn't pause in caressing him, so he added another two until his whole hand held her head.

"I'm not good enough for you," he whispered, grimacing at the stark facts. He knew even when they were both nobodies, only a mage apprentice and a knight-lieutenant in the Circle tower, that she was beyond him. And now? To think even for a moment that he'd deserve a scrap of the Hero of Ferelden's time never mind her whole life, it was ludicrous.

Lana paused in caressing his leg and wrapped both of her arms around his knees in a strange hug. "That's not true." She lifted her eternal eyes to him and shook her head, "Don't, don't treat me like I'm some perfect thing hoisted upon a pedestal. I'm not. For the Maker's sake, I can't even get off the damn couch."

"You are to me," slipped out of his eternal wallow. He yearned to stroke her cheek but he felt dirty, his skin sickly with a filth that'd never come clean.

Snorting, Lana's eyes narrowed. She struggled to rise up and, with the tip of her finger, she prodded into his chest, "Bullshit. What about me and tea? I know that annoys you." Cullen curled downward, his eyes watching her finger push lightly into his sternum as she continued to make her point. "I leave books everywhere, all the time, sometimes ones I don't even remember getting much less reading. Once, I got into a three hour long argument with someone about...Maker, I don't remember, and when I went to look it up I realized we were both wrong."

"You'll often store cakes and biscuits in your pockets for later," Cullen mumbled out, smiling at the memory. Lana's tirade paused and sheepishly she reached towards her hip where no doubt a treat left over from her time with Leliana rested.

"I...how did you know that?"

"When you're beyond annoyed with someone, you flap your arms up and down as if you intend to take flight and grow so flustered you can't speak a word," he chuckled, letting the memory he'd kept walled away return to the light. Cullen preserved so many memories of her far from his conscious mind; after her loss he couldn't bear to think upon them.

"That..." Lana absently ran a finger down her cheek and he spotted a blush rising up through her beautiful skin. "That's uh, yes I do that. Not as often anymore, because there were some wardens who may have put on a play where they, uh..." She swallowed, digging into the back of her neck as she now glared up at the ceiling. Reaching forward, he gripped both of her hands in his, massaging the back of them with his thumb. Lana didn't break from her vigil on the ceiling, her blush brightening even by the dim candle light.

"I'm sorry," Cullen moaned.

"It wasn't the worst play ever," her eyes broke from the ceiling and she shrugged. "Sigruin has a real talent with the flute. Had." Her face fell with that correction and he saw her playing out her faults anew, because of him, because he'd given in to his own misery.

"It's the lyrium, I... I fear I've lost what certainty I had before. It gave me a drive, a conviction and without it I feel adrift and..." his head slopped down, "I panic more, lose myself to-to remorse, regret, I'm so sorry. To hurt you, to, Maker, you fell down because I--"

Lana threw her arms around his neck, straining to reach, and pulled his forehead to hers. She didn't kiss him, only pressed their skin together by that single connection as they breathed each other in. He'd tried a few calming exercises when he first gave up lyrium, count of five in and out until the urges passed. Puckering up his lips and fighting through the damn ego insisting he didn't need it, Cullen pulled in a breath and waited before exhaling. He went again, imaging the air wiping away his pain. It didn't really work, but he liked to pretend it did. After a few more, he lifted his eyes to find Lana matching him breath for breath.

"I keep blaming myself for not assaulting the Fade and rescuing you. Two years. You were trapped in there for two years and all I did was grieve. How can you forgive that?" He'd tried to shake that thought away, but it hounded him every step away from the grey warden prison that held her. If he'd been strong enough, Lana wouldn't have to have suffered in there, she wouldn't be in the state she is now.

Her eyes opened and so close to him he fell transfixed into the golden halos circling her pupils. "No. Maker's breath, Cullen. No. I can never blame you for that. I went into the fade, okay I didn't go _in_ willingly, but I stayed behind. I thought I was sacrificing my life to save others..." Her fingers slid off his neck to cup around his cheeks. Lana swallowed a few times, her lips breathlessly sounding through something before she spoke, "If anything, you should hate me for that. For abandoning you when I didn't have to." By some foul trick of the Maker his grief transferred to her and the strident, certain woman collapsed in on herself. Her chin brushed over her chest, her eyes boring into the floor, but she kept a tight lock on his face as if she didn't want to ever let go.

"It's my fault for all of it. Every damn day, as always. No matter how hard I try, it keeps going wrong," she stuttered and he heard the sobs begin again.

"Lana," he cupped her chin and tried to lift her heavy head. While she obliged him, her eyes skipped past, terrified to look into his.

Her nose flared, sucking down a sob that escaped through her mouth instead, "I'm so scared, terrified that... I know you're not Alistair, that you'll never make the choices he did. That's not the problem. It's me. In all of this, I'm still me. I'm still the same person who... By the void, I don't know what I did wrong, what I keep doing wrong to-to make everyone abandon me."

"Oh, Lana," stricken, he ensnared her in a hug, trying to pull her weeping face to him as if that would somehow wipe away all her pain.

"If I, losing you would be...I can't imagine it. Don't even want to, ever, but, what if I do it again? What if I push you to do something you don't wish and-and you'll want nothing to do with me? You'll leave me."

Maker, that was why she was so worried about the Inquisition. He felt an even greater fool at the obviousness laid out before him. Locking his arms tighter around her, Cullen shook off his tears but it wasn't enough. To stall for time, he pressed a kiss against her forehead and found his lips trembling. All her life, the people she counted on and needed vanished either to death or choice. All his life, he'd kept himself walled away afraid of the same.

"I'm sorry," she croaked in the silence, "I'm so bad at this."

"Not as bad as me," he laughed but felt the sorrow bobbing through it. "Lana, please look at me," Cullen slackened his arms. It took her a moment, but she lifted her eyes to his. He held tight to her hands between them. "I swear to you, to Andraste and the Maker, I'm not leaving the Inquisition because you're forcing me to. I don't feel any regrets at all, and none towards you. By the void, the idea of being free to be with you, to not have to worry about a soldier or aide wandering in when I kiss you is...dizzying and thrilling to contemplate. I will not turn around and leave you, because I can't imagine being without you, not again."

Her lip stopped wobbling and she seemed to be taking in his earnest words. After a time, Lana removed a hand from his to wipe away her tears, then returned it. "I'm an idiot," she sighed, a wisp of a smile flitting around her lips.

It heartened him to see it and Cullen felt his own cloud lighten. "If so, then I am twice an idiot."

"A twidiot?" she said, and a thread of mischief ran through her eyes. Cullen let a laugh echo in his throat even though he didn't entirely feel it, but he wanted to. He moved to wrap his arms around her again, but Lana hissed as he glanced across her shoulder. "That," she groaned, tenderly touching it, "was the part I hit on the floor."

"I should..." Cullen whipped his head around, realizing for the first time that they were sitting on the stone, "it's freezing here, you shouldn't be down on the ground like this. I can get you a blanket or..."

"Cullen," her hand glanced over his and he turned to her, "take me to bed. It's been a long night, and I think we both need sleep. You're looking rather ragged around the edges." She pointed at his red eyes as if she didn't have the exact same.

Bowing his head, he let Lana lock her hands around his neck so he could lift her into his arms to carry to the bedroom. It would probably be considered romantic if he hadn't just overreacted, shouted at her, ran from her, and returned with his tail between his legs. Without looking at any of the imposing decor, Cullen lowered Lana to the bed, her hands falling slack against the mattress. He turned away so she could undress in privacy, but he felt her hand straggle up his back.

"Come lay down, please," she patted his side, her eyes gazing up at him.

Nodding, he slipped around the bed making certain to not touch the posts, and fell below her still patting hand. Exhaustion held at bay by a thousand stampeding emotions rattled up through his legs. Groaning from age taking its toll, Cullen stretched out across the bed, grateful that they didn't have to sleep on the ground any longer. Lana scooted near him, and as she laid her head against his chest, he draped an arm over her, snuggling her closer. _Maker, how could he have endangered this?_

She seemed to be thinking the same as she whispered, "Does, does that count as our first fight?"

"I, um, suppose it does," he felt even stupider for it. In his heart he knew she wanted him, loved him, but that destitute part of him, the one broken free by the lyrium, kept chipping away at the only certainty in his life.

"Well," Lana rolled her chin up so she could look into his eyes. From his vantage point on the pillow he could only see her through the fan of her lashes. "I think that makes us official then. Congratulations Mr. Rutherford, you're saddled with a mage," she chuckled, her fingers stroking the shirt across his chest.

"And you're stuck with a broken down, ex-templar, Ms. Amell," he said.

"Not broken," she interrupted, the deprecating laugh replaced by a seriousness burning in her eyes, "hurt. Hurt can be healed. We can heal." To back up her statement, she dipped into the veil and a blue spark trailed her fingers. A surge of magic caressed down him, the sensation cool and bright vanishing the itching of his skin in its wake. Lana sat up and placed her fingers against her own bruised shoulder. "One for you, and one for me."

"I love you, Lana," he caught her fingers not to stop the magic but to press her close to him, to feel as much of her as he could, "even if I'm terrible at showing it."

She snickered at that assessment before sighing. Her warm cheek burrowed into his chest as she settled down onto him. Holding her, keeping her safe, loving her -- that was what he signed up for. To have her love in return, to protect him, to hold him back -- that was what he lived for. It was going to take time, and the Maker didn't plan to make it easy, but he was going to give it everything inside of him.

Lana's lips mumbled against his chest, her body falling slack as sleep took its claim, "I love you too, Cullen. And I never want this to end."

Laying his head back on the pillow, holding her tight to him as she slipped off to slumber, Cullen mouthed, "Neither do I."

* * *

Warmth overran Lana's weary limbs, her skin almost burning from the flames licking across it. She tried to call to the ice always within her, but something dampened it, the presence yanking the spell off her fingers and holding it beyond her reach. That was impossible. _No, you can't do that to..._ Like slithering out of a bath, the fade dripped away from her consciousness and the real world raced to fill it instead. Before she opened her eyes, she took a deep breath, her lungs inflating with air she kept denying herself while she slept.

As she cracked an eye open, she spotted not one but two blankets rolled around her sweating body. "Maker, not again," she groaned at her night thieving ways. Struggling to wiggle out from under the weight, it dawned on her that it was herself in her dream holding the spell away so she didn't do something stupid. It used to happen often when she was little and fresh into the power that'd wake her whimpering in the corner. The mages called it their imaginary friend. Some had a wisp, others an animal that'd whisper to them to sheathe their spells and lower their hands. _It was all a dream_. Lana's never took any form, certainly nothing as interesting as Margie's three headed dragon with a fuzzy, purple belly. It was a blankness, colder than the depths of the void, that'd chastise her and yank her power away when she was in danger of abusing it.

With time and practice the imaginary friends faded, no longer needed to keep the scared mages company. She thought she was long beyond needing it, until the nightmares began. With remnants of the blight dripping and oozing into her mind, her warning would step in when things got out of hand but sometimes, sometimes Lana would overpower it and then... Then things could get dangerous.

She managed to slither up to a reclining position from out under the quilt she stole off Cullen. Lana expected him to have risen already, he seemed incapable of sleeping in past dawn, but his still clothed body lay curled up beside her. He had one hand dug under his pillow trying to mash it into his face. Worry lines crested across his forehead, but she couldn't tell if they were from some new pain or the constant ones. Willing her arms to obey, Lana slid the quilt over to its rightful owner. He looked cold, curled in on himself, but the addition of the blanket didn't seem to change his state.

Smiling to herself, Lana's fingers traipsed across his forehead, the touch barely there. At first he sneered, something in his dream either annoying or antagonizing him, but when she cupped his cheek it all vanished. The eternally peeved Commander melted away to Cullen fast asleep in the clothes he wore the day, his curls fanning out over the pillow. Why was she so damn scared? Not of him, but of herself, of putting her heart out and once again having it burst to ash. Of doing the wrong thing, making the wrong step, and having to pick herself up again. Could she even manage it one more time or would that be her undoing?

And it'd been going so well until she overthought and panicked. Maker, but she missed his fingers. He'd been near on professional in his touch before, only massaging deep into her muscles and never even letting an errant elbow or hand drift near her chest. To have his hands curve over her skin, his lips pressed upon her mark with the same passion she remembered before... Lana snickered as another piece slotted into place. Two years since they'd been together, and even then their moments together were brief and often hurried. She worried to herself what if he didn't feel the same physical connection of before. What if she didn't? Oh, she knew she ached for him, that became rather obvious the few times she'd catch him in the midst of changing or preparing for a bath. But so much could...no, she was being stupid again. One day at a time, that was the plan.

With her hand cupping his shoulder, Lana slid down the bed to rest beside him. The exact same way she did after waking from a nightmare at the Winter Palace. Andraste's tears, but he was even more handsome now by the flickering fire in the hearth and the sun trying to pour from under the door. Was it any wonder she fell helplessly in love with him? Lana snorted at that thought, hopelessly in love in spite of her own attempts to sabotage it. Somehow he kept clinging on, hoping that she'd wake up and realize what was always there. And he was never pushy about any of it.

Scooting closer to him, her hand ran over the top of his arm and she whispered to his slack face, "I don't deserve you." Cullen snorted, but he didn't wake. After pausing to make certain she didn't disturb him, Lana moved to press her lips against his cheek when she heard the sound of knocking from outside. She glanced down at her legs, still tangled in her blanket and skirt. The pain was deader than last night, but her hip flared in vengeful red. Rising up to the door seemed a monumental task. Unaware of her decision, the knocking continued outside, the soft thud being what broke through Cullen's sleep.

His eyes snapped open, a panic roaring through them, until they traced over at Lana smiling at him and calm blotted his anxiety away. "Morning," he whispered.

"Back at you," she said. Lifting up the edge of his quilt, she snuggled into his waiting arms.

As his lips buried into the top of her head, he whispered, "I'm guessing you stole it again."

"Maybe if we nail it to the bed post?" Lana suggested, her eyes trailing over to what they called "Two Lovers and a Helping Hand." It was nowhere near as bad as the back right one that had tentacles in the name.

Cullen glared at the post he hated slightly less than the other three, then shook his matted hair, when another far more fervid knock beat against the door. He moved to get up, when Lana wrapped her arms around him and clung tight. "Shouldn't we...?"

"I'm not going to be able to get up for awhile so I've decided to stay put."

His body crumbled as soft hands caressed down her arm, "Lana, I'm so sorry for..."

"Shhh," she patted her fingers against his apologizing lips, "I know you certainly never meant to. And besides, I did have a long day with Leliana. It's not surprising I pushed myself beyond the limit."

"Still, I..." his words fell off as the continual pounding broke away.

Lana smirked, "See, I knew they'd give up eventually. Now..." she snuggled her head against the crook of his arm, her hand curling across his chest. Cullen's frown slipped away, but she could still see the regret ringing in his eyes. Lifting her head up, she aimed to kiss that pain away when the door to the bedroom flew open.

"What the...?" Ice rose up Lana's fist before her brain registered that it was Leliana standing in the frame, her hands crossed as she tapped her foot.

Cullen moved to try and leap out of bed, but Lana's body remained on top of him. "Your most Holy, I mean Leliana, um...this is not what, I...?" He sat up and whipped his head around in confusion.

Nothing crossed Leliana's stern face, even as Cullen awkwardly stumbled around every word he could stutter out. "It's not the worst of what I feared to stumble in upon. When you didn't answer my first knock I grew worried that something dreadful happened," she said looking only at Lana.

"So you burst right into the bedroom without a single word?" Lana tried to sit up as well, but her head swam as a headache competed with the pain in her hips.

"It's not like you to sleep so late into the day, and..." Leliana paused, and a hit of embarrassment actually crested across her porcelain cheeks. "Yes, you make an excellent point. I should have called out and yet, there doesn't seem to be much damage. You're both still..." her blushing tone fell off as her eyes canvassed both of them, "dressed in the same attire you wore yesterday."

"I can..." Cullen began, but Lana cut him off.

"It was a long day, long night too if you don't remember. And, Maker's sake, how do you not have a splitting headache after all we drank?" she gasped, acutely aware of the taste of dead crackers in her mouth and bright lights popping against her vision.

"How could I forget that you don't last long when wine's involved?" Leliana chuckled.

"I do just fine with wine, it's when you start adding all the other stuff that everything goes downhill fast," Lana pouted, struggling to rise up higher but her head refused to lift.

Leliana shrugged a shoulder, before slightly bowing, "As you say. Come, there's someone I want you to meet. Both of you. I think she could help solve a few problems."

"Ah..." Lana's weary hands pinched into her thighs buried below the blanket, "I'm afraid I don't think I can get up just now."

"Why?" Leliana's lighthearted tone snapped to ice and she glared at Cullen.

"It was my fault," Lana interrupted, "took a turn too quick, popped out my hip and bam, right to the floor. Bet it'll make a pretty bruise on my shoulder to go along with all the scars," she tried to laugh at the absurdity, but Leliana didn't seem to believe her.

"I see. Then this wouldn't have anything to do with the other report I have of someone screaming blasphemes at the top of his lungs in the middle of the night?"

So that was really why she burst in. Lana cast a sidelong glance at Cullen who looked as if he already intended to whip himself for his failures. But whatever little thing he shouted, it was certain the Mothers increased its ferocity tenfold for the sake of gossip. "Nope, I try to keep all of my screaming to the 'oh, ah' and 'damn' variety. Unless that last one counts," Lana stepped in the middle of Leliana's accusations.

While the Divine didn't look ready yet to release her intended target, she sighed and rolled her head. "Very well, I shall file it away as a mysterious circumstance. But there is someone you should meet." Leliana slid out of the room, leaving Lana and Cullen to share a shrug. He tried to point out how somehow this was his fault, while Lana waved it all away, certain Leliana would either forget it or drill her about it later. Either way, it shouldn't concern him.

When he looked about to leap out of the bed, Leliana returned with an elf behind her. She was stark, all edges and hard lines, with her brunette hair pinned back into a bun that drew her cheeks even tighter against sharp bones. Smiling at the addition, while Lana and Cullen tried to not look at the embarrassing decor, Leliana patted her hands upon the elf's shoulder. "This is Detan, she's here to be your assistant."

"My what?" Cullen started from the elf's piercing eyes sizing up her newest employer. Thank the Maker he was dressed at least, even if his clothes were simple and rumpled from the night.

"Given the gargantuan task before you, Commander, I thought someone to coordinate messengers, schedule appointments, and generally grease the wheels of bureaucracy would be helpful."

"Ah..." he dug his hand into the back of his neck, struggling to tell Leliana that he didn't need any help despite the fact he spent the night sleeping in his clothes. "I don't think..."

"Ser, if you will," Detan stepped towards the bed, her eyes never glancing across the posts' reliefs. She slid around a stack of vellum under her arm and began to lay each into Cullen's hands. "I have already filed the incoming missives from Skyhold, cross-referenced those with the others arriving from across Orlais. There are a few noted ones at the top from Ferelden, one in particular that seems to be from family. Yes, of course," she removed a smaller envelope from the stack and passed it to Lana. "And this from 'unnamed sources' for the 'lady of the cathedral.'"

Lana flipped Alistair's letter around in her hands, her jaw falling open. Damn, Detan was good. Maker knew Cullen could use a break. While he'd grit his teeth and buckle down harder, he didn't need to suffer alone, especially with the pain of lyrium withdrawals floating in his veins. She reached over to run a hand down his arm when her shoulder seized up. Hissing through the agony, Lana tried to massage it, but Cullen's fingers beat her to it, already drawing it out.

Detan watched the move with a curious eye. "If I may be bold to make a suggestion, I've often heard that swimming can assist in regaining strength in limbs that are lacking."

Lana glared at Leliana. There was no way Detan should be aware of what her condition was unless the Divine blabbed because the assistant was meant as much for the hidden Hero of Ferelden as for the Commander. Glancing away, Leliana let her glare fall off, as if she had good reason for her choices.

It was Cullen who snorted, unaware of the slip of information, "Swimming in the midst of winter, sounds a good way to freeze to death."

"I was thinking more making use of one of the spas indoor baths," Detan slotted her hands behind her back. In her spartan grey cassock she bore the striking resemblance of a statue.

"A spa?" Cullen's eyes bulged for a moment and he stopped his massage.

"Do they even make baths big enough for it to help?" Lana scoffed, feeling opposed to the idea for no good reason. She wanted to have some very harsh words with Leliana, but not while they were surrounded.

"You would be surprised," Leliana smiled, "This is Val Royeaux. Luxury is always attainable here."

"Lirlene's Escape boasts five foot deep ones," Detan said. "That should more than suffice."

"Sounds excellent," Leliana said, tipping her head at the assistant. "Do you think you can book an appointment for today?"

"What?" Lana interrupted, "I don't even want to... No, there's no way I can get out of bed today. Not to, no, not at all."

Leliana pursed her lips, "Very well, tomorrow then."

"The Escape is often reserved for months in advance," Detan clipped, her fingers drawing down a clipboard more terrifying than the one the ambassador used at Skyhold. This one had spikes on the end with small scraps of paper pierced through them. "But, I believe with the mention of the Divine's name it could be done." She smiled at that, her thin lips curling in a way that dropped dread into Lana's stomach. _Did she have no say in this?_

"Excellent," Leliana clapped her hands, "get right on that."

_Evidently not._

Detan bowed to her Most Holy, then turned on a quick heel. Everyone held their breath until they heard the main door click shut. "Do not make that face, Lanny," Leliana was the first to advance on her.

"Me? Okay, let's go over what you did today. Walked unannounced into the apartments."

"They are technically mine," Leliana smiled.

"Threw open the door to the bedroom where we could have been doing Maker knows what in here," Lana continued, needing to rant.

"I admit I'd have been surprised if you were summoning demons, but the rest of the options weren't anything within the realm of things I'm unaware of."

Lana growled at the amused smirk wrapping around her friend's face. "And now you throw some stranger into our complicated and private business."

"Detan is a professional. She's proven a valuable ally for me, and I think you will find she can work miracles better than the Maker himself sometimes."

Cullen placed the stack of missives in his lap, "It does seem a bit questionable to add another person to our secret."

"Then do not tell her. She needs not know anything beyond who you are," Leliana gestured at Cullen, "because believe me, all of Orlais knows you're here."

"What? Why?" he sat up at that, a shadow clouding his brow.

"But all she need know of Lanny is that she is with the Commander, in whatever capacity that with is, and needs help from time to time." Leliana dug her hands into her eyes and sighed, "If Josephine were available and not off starting her own fleet in Antiva I would have sent for her. As it is, this is your best option and believe me, you two need it."

Lana sunk back against her pillow, "All right, fine, we'll try Detan for awhile. See how it goes. If she only focuses on Cullen's problems then..."

"Why does all of Orlais care about my whereabouts?" Cullen stuttered, unable to let it go.

Leliana smirked at that, "If you will excuse me, I have a dozen meetings to attend." She threw on her smile, but something warbled below it. Lana wasn't certain if it was exhaustion, concern, or a Spymaster's long buried shrewdness shimmering out from below the invisible mask. "Commander," she dipped her head at him and made a curious move with her fingers.

Lana's eyes narrowed in confusion, but Cullen's widened and he bobbed his head, muttering, "Your Worship," a few times.

Carefully shutting the door, Leliana left them alone in the bedroom, and then the apartments themselves. Lana glanced over the stacks of vellum resting in Cullen's slack hands as he tried to sift through them. Spinning Alistair's letter a few more times, she sighed, "Well, that was something."

"You would tell me the truth if you ever thought your friend had any machinations to...um," Cullen swallowed hard, his eyes skirting towards her.

"She's not going to," Lana began, before remembering what Leliana did to the only man who ever tried to cheat on her, "I'll make certain she doesn't do anything."

Lana's pat on his hands didn't lift his spirits much, but he attempted a smile at her for trying. Ruffling over the pile of work, Cullen groaned, "Maker, I never expected it to be this complicated. Who knew decommissioning an army required so much paperwork?"

He had a neck straining, eye watering amount of work ahead of him sequestered at the desk while scribbling his signature across every letter he could find. If he was in Skyhold, this would take a few days, but by having to travel across country each letter had to be reproduced in triplicate to make certain no lines got misinterpreted. And he was doing it all for her, because she couldn't sleep alone.

Tossing the letter onto the floor, Lana scooped the pile of vellum out of Cullen's hands. He didn't complain, but a curious eye watched her drop them to the ground. "Forget it, all that," she scooped up his arm and draped it over her shoulder. Sliding her head against that tempting chest, Lana sighed, "Let's spend the day together in bed."

"I..."

She could see the arguments percolating in the back of his eyes, so Lana grabbed onto his jaw and pulled him in for a kiss. Tender as a whisper, his lips fell into hers, and she felt all of Cullen's worries melt away. After Lana pulled away, he didn't rise up from the bed, only wrapped his arm tighter around her and slid lower into it.

"You know, we will have to get up eventually," he said, puncturing the dream. Lana waved it away, happy to dismiss reality for a few hours at least. Chuckling at her carefree attitude, Cullen pressed his lips against her cheek and whispered, "What about breakfast?"

"Maker, I could go for some toast with all the jams on it," Lana groaned, her stomach reviving at the thought of food.

He smiled, curling her tighter to him, "I love when you're hungry."

"You're a simple man," Lana laughed at the idea.

"Yes I am," he sighed, the 'simple man' wrapping both of his grateful arms tighter against her and curling his hands around her arms. "But I am uncertain how we get breakfast to appear in this bed, unless...?"

She broke away from him to look up into his eyes and fully watch his attempt at miming spell casting. It was hilarious to watch non-mages feign their interpretation. Most tended to wave their arms around as if they were drowning, but the templar knew enough to keep it to just his fingers flaring out. While it'd never draw a spell out of the fade, it would make for an interesting battlefield signal.

"I'm afraid not, but," Lana raised her head and shouted, "Honor!" Sounds of paws hitting the floor broke from the sitting room and Cullen grumbled about the dog being on the furniture again. With no fuss, Honor barreled her way into the bedroom, her body plummeting back to the floor after her paws batted the door handle open. "Fetch breakfast," Lana commanded.

Honor woofed once, her backside wiggling at having something to do, before she turned around and ran back to the sitting room. "You don't think she'll actually find breakfast, do you?" Cullen asked, watching his dog with a concerned look.

Lana shrugged, "I've seen mabari bring back stranger things. Like used pantaloons."

"Are you serious?" he scoffed before swallowing it at her cold eye.

"There was cake too, a lot of cake."

Snickering at her sullen nod, Cullen slid deeper under the covers, dragging Lana with. Wrapped up in him, she felt more whole than she had in two years. "I love you," he whispered. "Even if I..."

"I love you too. And...we'll figure it out, the complicated parts of this whole thing," she said, her fingers picking at the few chest hair prodding over the neck of his shirt. They were nearly white now. Smiling, Lana laid each hair down. Out of all the options in all of thedas this was the only place she could imagine herself being. "I don't really have to swim in the bath house, do I?"

Cullen rolled his shoulders back, flattening himself further upon the bed, "Unless a dragon burns down half of Val Royeaux, I'm afraid we're both stuck."

"Huh, for once I'm rooting for the dragon."

## Chapter Six

**Spa Day**

**  
**

After ten years as the Hero of Ferelden Lana grew used to certain doors opening for her, even as the patrons kept a wary eye on the mage in their midst. People would sit up higher, conversations drawing to a lull as everyone watched to see what new shit storm would herald her arrival. This was the first time in as long as she could remember that no one bothered to turn a single glance her way; those were all preserved for the exasperated man at her side.

"Commander Cullen," a soft woman cry-whispered as they arrived outside Detan's selected spa. Everything about her was pillowed from her padded lips to her cheeks, down her chest to the fluffy slippers upon her feet. She was as if a cloud sprung to life, assumed the form of a woman, and decided to run a bathing house. Extending a hand to him, Cullen had to release his hold on Lana to accept it. Even then, he barely suppressed an eye roll at the idea. The woman's smile barely shifted as Cullen gripped back around Lana's waist. "And accompaniment, of course. We were delighted to hear of your arrival and have reserved an array of options for your needs from our famed mud and deep mushroom soaks to a facial made with the poison off a quillback's spines - it's good for tightening up any sagging parts," she whispered the last bit at him and Lana had to bury a giggle from the horror crawling up his face.

"No, that's...quillback spines? I...the baths. We're only here for the baths," he stated, his eyes skipping around the luxury on offer. Detan wasn't kidding when she said this was probably the most expensive bath house in all of Orlais. Marble, gold, jewels giving expensive eyes to the statues dribbling clean water into waiting pools - its opulence could serve as a micro-grand cathedral. As Lana's eyes glanced around the faces of a few of the patrons relaxing upon benches, no doubt carved from hand hewed ironbark, she recognized a few faces belonging to the chantry. Perhaps it was the second cathedral after all.

The proprietor who Lana was coming to suspect was the titular Lirlene, gestured the two of them towards a twelve foot tall door. It looked thick enough to stop an army, but she only had to push upon it with a single finger for the great stone to slide open. Lana glanced up at the mechanism, curious to see what kind of weights had to be necessary for such a feat. "Is there a winching system involved with...?"

"Please," Lirlene spoke over her, barely glancing at the little mage. Her eyes were fully upon the dashing Commander who looked like he'd eaten a full lemon before arriving. "We ask that guests wear these comfortable and complimentary slippers while in the spa," she said, gesturing to lines of white shoes missing the back half. They looked as if someone formed them out of wisps of cotton pulled in clumps from virgin fields; all the bundles of cotton smashed together and pressed into shoe form.

"I'm only hear for the bath house section," Cullen spoke up, looking like he had no intentions to take an inch of his clothing off. That should make the swimming part of this trip interesting.

A grimace snapped across Lirlene's face but she smoothed it away instantly, "The bathing pools are part of the spa, and these slippers will keep your toes warm off the marble floors."

"My boots seem to be doing an adequate job of that."

Poor Lirlene had no answer to that, her eyes glazing over as she weighed what had to be an insurmountable rule against the grandeur of the Commander of the Inquisition walking through their doors. Taking pity on her, Lana slid towards a bench and sat down. Placing her cane against the wall, she reached down to pull off her own shoes. Maker, they were a mess, rotted at the heel from her time in the Fade proper, and then the water seeping in while trapped in the hold. Was it any wonder no one in Orlais gave her the time of day? It was a surprise that Leliana's first stop wasn't to drag her to a cobbler, but the last time they talked shoes it hadn't gone well. And it seemed unlikely Lana was going to attempt anything with an increased heel anytime soon.

"Should we take whatever one we want?" Lana asked, her fingers washing over the fluffy options.

Lirlene glanced over once to her and shrugged, "Yes, the options are yours."

Smiling in thanks, Lana picked one of the smaller pair to match her tiny feet. She looked up at the stoic man and jerked her chin to the bench. Cullen gave an imperceptible shake of his head no, which got him a glare. Accepting he wasn't going to win, he finally sat down beside her and began unlacing his own shoes. At that, Lirlene clapped her hands in glee.

"Ah," she paused, rising up, "I forgot your robes. Give me but a moment." Racing off to some other part of the spa, she left the two alone.

Lana closed her eyes and flexed her toes in the slippers. Forget a cloud, this was like walking across water itself, parting with just enough give she almost could convincer herself stepping upon a lake was possible. "Oh," she sighed, patting Cullen's cheek, "are you planning on being grumpy the whole time? Because, I'm all for ducking out of here and heading home. My plant could use a watering and there are a few books left..."

Catching her hand, Cullen pulled her closer to him so he could kiss her excuses away. "You're going swimming, no matter what."

"Wonderful," she grumbled, tossing her head back to stare at the ceiling. Reliefs etched along the ceiling, but she couldn't understand them. The art looked ancient, far more than anything she'd expect to find in Val Royeaux. Curious...

Cullen finished sliding off his boots and reached for a pair of slippers. After he put them on, he groaned and Lana glanced down at his toes dangling off the edge. When he rippled them in consternation, she couldn't bury the laugh in her throat. "I never realized how large your feet are."

"It's not funny," he grumbled, trying to find a balance between either his toes or heels hanging off the edge.

"I don't know," Lana grinned wider, "it's rather entertaining to watch half of Val Royeaux fawn over the strapping Ferelden man in their midst."

"Ha," he snorted once, but she spotted a hint of a blush rising off his cheeks. "This is all another part of their Game."

"Right," Lana nodded her head, "the one called 'Let's see what's in the Commander's trousers.' I know that one well."

"What?" he whipped his head at her, and glared, "No, that...what are you speaking of?"

"Ah," Lana paused in telling him the full of what she'd learned from Leliana. It seemed the Commander himself was only given the bare minimum of the rather heated interest in him across Orlais. The fact he rose above it all with a cool shrug only drew their attention hotter, like a moth of a flame. It seemed nearly every available (and some not so available) women in Orlais intended to be the one to tame the brooding Commander. Lana thought Leliana only told it to her as a lark, until she caught the edge in her eyes as if she feared for her friend should anyone learn of Cullen's relationship with the quiet mage. But that all seemed beyond the pale to put upon Cullen's shoulders at the moment. "Oh, you know how people are...like apprentices," Lana tipped her head, trying to play off the game as something they'd have done back in the tower.

Cullen grimaced again, but he nodded, his eyes closing, "Far too well. I came across one of those lists once with...measurements."

At that Lana's eyebrows shot up. She'd never heard of an apprentice being so bold. "What did you do with it?"

"Burned it and swore to never mention it to anyone it could have affected," he said. Smiling at his answer, Lana moved her hand up his arm, her fingers digging into the taut muscle as she struggled to reach up and kiss him.

"Here we are," Lirlene shouted, appearing in the doorway. Sliding away fast, Lana glared down at her shoes while Cullen turned his on the woman baring two robes in her hands. "Slip these on and I'll direct you to the bathing pool."

Cullen picked it up, a sneer rising along his lip, when he glanced over at Lana. She mouthed 'we could still leave.' Shaking his head, he began to slide the robe's arm over top his when Lirlene spoke up.

"Ah, people traditionally wear only the robe before entering into the spa."

"You wish me to..." anger in the face of continual obstinance rose inside of him. Lana reached over and snagged his hand before he began to berate the poor woman. Cullen's eyes shut and he breathed deep for a moment. After the cloud passed, he glanced over at Lirlene and said the solitary, curt, "No."

She looked about to argue, but there was no budging the voice that decreed it. It was an order as if from the Maker himself. Nodding her head in agreement, she shifted away as Cullen finished cinching the robe up over his clothing. He passed the other to Lana who matched him in kind. "Very well," Lirlene sighed, and began to lead them into the spa proper.

As they stepped out, Lana took the time to rise up on her toes and whisper in Cullen's ear, "I told you half of Val Royeaux's trying to see you naked."

After walking past a room full of people buried up to their necks in mud and seeming to enjoy it, another where they had snake venom flicked at their faces, and an imposing door with steam bursting out of the seams as if at the very edge of thedas itself, Lirlene paused them before the bathing pool. A few deck chairs circled around a room sized recess into the ground. Tiled in even more marble, the mosaic upon the pool's walls looked like surf pounding into sand. Lana draped an arm around Cullen so she could rise up on her toes to see that at the bottom of the deep blue pool was a trio of mermaids in mosaic. Their tails looked razor sharp from the angles of the cut marble.

"This is the bathing pool, nearly thirty feet long with water heated by runes enchanted from the talented Fromari hands themselves, it is in fact the largest hot bath in all of thedas," Lirlene practically glowed with the pride she had for it. "Ah, Reynard," she gestured at a thin man standing beside the pool's fountain.

He wiped his hands off with a towel slung over his naked shoulders and paused before them. Bowing deep at the waist, his eyes darted over his boss before turning to Cullen and then lingering upon Lana. It was no more than an extra beat, but she swallowed at the way he stared at her, the grey eyes traveling over her body. "These must be the important guests for the day," Reynard spoke, his accent flourished with an extra emphasis.

Bowing his head to Cullen, he said, "Ser," then in turning to Lana a smile cracked his sun kissed face, "Mademoiselle." She kept her hands clutched tight to her cane so he didn't get any funny ideas to try and kiss them.

"Reynard, is everything up to specifications?" Lirlene interrupted the wolf stare.

"Yes, Ma'am," he snapped to attention, the move drawing Lana's attention to the lack of substantial clothing upon him. Apparently the spa attendants preferred to do most of their work in little more than their smalls if they could help it. She gazed upwards at the tiles coating the ceiling to cut down on the awkwardness.

Beaming his smile at the not looking Lana first, he toned it down a beat, and spoke professionally to Cullen, "The water is at a proper 32 degrees, though if you would like it cooler for swimming or warmer for...other purposes, you need only tap that rune slot there to alter it."

"I see," Cullen muttered. She could practically hear the vein in his neck trying to pop out as he held himself in check. The idea brought a small chuckle to her.

"Towels are provided upon the linen cart, I see you already have robes, and within the shelves there are bathing suits for mademoiselle," those grey eyes zeroed in on her now, another two teeth appearing in his smile as if he wanted her to know he possessed a set of canines. "Or..." he turned away from Lana to Cullen, but the commander interrupted him.

"Yes, I already know there are no sizes to fit me and came prepared."

"Ah..." Reynard's cocksure smile faltered and he glanced to his boss for a moment before sweeping it all away, "as you say. If you require anything at all, I can be reached with a wave of your delicate fingers," he spoke the last part to Lana who knew her cheeks were hotter than the pool.

Clapping her hands, Lirlene beamed at Cullen, "Please, enjoy your stay with us." She turned to leave the room with Reynard hot on her heels.

"You're both leaving?" Cullen's eyes darted about the room, both of them noticing the lack of anyone else inside.

Lirlene paused, more uncertainty rising to her face, "Of course. You requested a private session and we strive to provide here."

"Ah, right, private. Thank you," he said, then twisted the edge of his lips up in a halfhearted smile. It was enough to bring a full one back to Lirlene's round cheeks. Patting her flushed face, she all but skipped out of the room. Bowing his head deep, Reynard slipped out of the room but not before his eyes traveled over Lana's hidden curves once more.

As the door shut tight, Cullen let loose a growl in his voice, "The man strived to be as unsubtle as a druffalo in heat."

Chuckling at his discomfort, Lana ran her finger up his arm, "I suspect that was all for appearances."

"The appearance of being labeled a jackass, I'd believe."

"Maker," she sighed. Sliding towards the pool, Lana kicked off one of her slippers and reached a tender toe towards the water. She kept a tight grip on her cane in case the reach proved too much. "You've clearly never spent any time around noble women of a _certain_ persuasion." As her toe crested through the water, a comforting warmth washed over Lana. Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as she feared.

"A certain persuasion?" Cullen pouted. He stomped to the nearest deck chair and tossed the robe onto it.

"Flattery can get one far when you're living on the middle rung," Lana said, turning back to him.

He sneered at the idea, then reached for the hem of his shirt and yanked it clean off. Lana had to stop her jaw from smashing through the gold and jewel encrusted floor. Sure, she'd seen him shirtless a few times since crawling out of the fade, but it was always in passing, a quick glance from the corner of her eye. Cullen raised an eyebrow from her stricken face while Lana tried to mentally absorb every inch of his still toned and surprisingly tanned skin. The last time she saw it, he was nearly white as a sheet, but a bit of the sun shifted him to the color of old vellum.

"What is it?" he asked, concerned as if she was trying to check him for odd moles and spotted one.

"I, uh," Lana tried to turn her head away, but her eyes traipsed down his stomach and a pop of defined abs from the few months walking thedas. What really did her in was his hips peeking over the top of the trousers, his damn v even more prominent than she remembered. Slightly aware of her body leaping up in joy, Lana turned back to the pool and focused on the mermaids. At least they all had the decency to cover their nudity in scales.

After she managed to lift her voice back from its gobsmacked stammer, Lana said, "It's not as if the proprietor of this establishment wasn't lavishing attention upon you."

"That..." he sounded argumentative, but when Lana turned back, Cullen wiped a hand through his hair and he sighed, "is fair." She smiled at that and shrugged. After watching her for a moment, Cullen snapped his finger, "Do you require a suit? I could get one down from the..."

"No, no," Lana limped over to the chair. After sitting she undid the buttons down the front of her dress, each white one stiff against her fingers. "Leliana prepared me for this, it's nothing fancy but should suffice..." She had to stand again to work the dress off her hips. It wasn't much by any means, a dark blue band that cut off at the middle of her ribs with straps barely an inch thick. It was a wonder they could hold up her breasts, but some magic seemed to be at work to hoist her perkier than she remembered even in her twenties. The bottom part of the suit was just her smalls in the same dark blue color.

Lana reached down to snatch up her dress, but her legs seized up. Glancing upward at Cullen, she began to ask, "Would you mind...?" Her words trailed off at the way he seemed lost in her, no doubt taking in the new scars etched upon her stomach, or the sunken muscles of her legs. It wasn't the pervasive need Reynard tried to project, but a gobsmacked approval radiating off his face. "Cullen?"

"What? I..." he pinched his nose to bring himself back, "Right, dress, I can help with that." Dropping to the floor, he snatched it up and rather neatly folded it before adding it to the chair pile. At her look, he smiled, "Don't act surprised. I had chores to perform as well."

Lana glanced back at the water waiting for her in the pool. She'd been dreading it ever since the elf made the suggestion, a deep in her bones kind of dread. All of last night her dreams filled with water either overrunning itself out of a tub, lapping up through the stones in Vigil's Keep, or spurting from her fingers and never stopping. It grew so bad, she at best got a few hours of sleep, her mind relentlessly waking her as if she was drowning.

"I don't know if..." She started turning back to Cullen and all sense flew from her brain. He slid off his trousers to reveal the tiniest pair of white smalls she'd seen in years cupping his oh so tempting bulge. Sweet holy Maker, his thighs popped from him bending over to pick up the kicked off pants and Lana felt a squeak rolling in the back of her throat. If he turned around giving her a view of his tight buns, she knew she was going to die right there on her feet.

Cullen didn't look over at her struggling to breathe or make sense in the world, he calmly folded his trousers up and added them to the pile. He knew, he had to know that she was stricken dumb from the sight of his glorious flesh and was relishing in it. Well, he did deserve it and Maker knew Lana had no intentions of stopping. Her fingers crawled up his arm, following the line of blonde hair up to his bicep, which she felt harden to steel below her fingers. Trying to not "Ep" right then and there, she rose up on her toes and placed her lips against his cheek. Moving swiftly, Cullen turned his head and met her for a kiss. She hadn't felt this much skin against her own naked flesh in two years. When his hand cupped her cheek, his lips parting to find her tongue, the idea of leaping on top of him in the deck chair overloaded her mind.

As if aware of her libido's plans, Cullen broke the kiss and chuckled, "You can't tempt me that easily. You need to swim."

Lana's head fell back and she groaned, "How do we even know if it will work?"

"That's why we try, and if it doesn't nothing lost, right?"

"So help me if you start in with the pep talks..." Lana threatened, waving a finger near him.

Chuckling, he cupped it and then took her hand in his. "I promise, you'll get none from me." She nodded at that, accepting his word, then cast a sidelong glare at the water. "Why are you so bothered by it? Did you never learn...?"

"I can swim," she interrupted, aware of what he was thinking. "I had to spend a lot of time on ships for travel, I figured I should learn in case, you know..." she mimed a giant squall squashing a boat.

"Okay," he backed down from his assumption, "then why don't you want to?"

Screwing up her nose, she sneered at the silent water waiting for her, "What if I...can't?" Turning back to him, Lana felt an urge to bury her face in his chest and never come back, "What if I try and my arms won't work and my legs fail and I...I can't, I never can again? What if I'm too broken?"

"Lana," he wrapped his hands around her, his fingers combing through her short hair. "I...have faith in you."

"Faith can't cure me," she shot back, then grimaced at her dour words. He believed, but she wasn't so certain anymore. No, she was never certain at any point in her life in either Andraste or the Maker.

Cullen didn't rear back, nor did he stop caressing her hair, "Not faith alone, but if we put in the work, take the time to heal, then it might get better."

"And if it doesn't?" she asked the words that'd been sitting in her heart since she failed to step out of the chamber under her own power.

"Then we think of a new plan to get you around," he cupped his hands against her cheeks and pulled her away from his chest to look into his eyes. A soft smile turned up his lips, "Perhaps Honor could pull you in a cart. I'm certain she'd adore it."

Lana snorted at the idea, and dropped her head lower so her forehead skimmed against his chest, "Okay, you're right. Might as well try it and see." As her eyes stared down at the slip of white fabric straining from his bulge, a question rose in her mind. "Cullen, where did you get those smalls from?"

"Ah, well," he rubbed the back of his neck and almost stumbled away in embarrassment, "I have a few pairs in case of emergency reasons."

"And you knew to bring them, wait, why did you say they wouldn't have any bathing suits in your size...? Holy Maker," Lana's hands flew up to her mouth from shock causing Cullen's eyes to widen in dread, "You've been to a spa before."

"It..."

"You, you-you, Commander of the Inquisition, once templar, grouchy about anything Orlesian, came to a spa in Val Royeaux," she shook her head, trying to whip sense into it.

"It's not what..." he waved his hands around in a circle almost whacking himself in his perturbation, "I had to attend one once, only once, at the behest of the Inquisitor. For Inquisition purposes."

"Uh huh."

He glowered down at her, his sneer snapped into place, "Would I willingly whittle away my hours here unless it was for the good of thedas?"

"I don't know," she said unable to bury her smirk at his discomfort for being caught, "there could be a softer side you've kept buried deep under your armor all these years."

"Maker's breath," he sighed, tenting his fingers over his forehead like a helm, "I am never going to hear the end of this."

"It's rather cute, if that helps," Lana tried to cheer him up. "I'd never been asked to a spa before, even as the Hero of Ferelden. People tend to get jumpy about a mage being so close to them, add in the warden mystique and, well..."

Cullen grumbled, but his sneer faded to a general scowl, "I did not wish to...there were a few extenuating circumstances that... Will there ever come a time when I stop embarrassing myself in front of you?"

"Sweet Andraste, I hope not," she cried, "you get the most adorable blush when you're all flustered."

"And you are...trying to distract me so you don't have to swim. It will not work, Lady Amell."

"Fine," she folded her arms together, accepting that his damn iron will wasn't about to rust from a few embarrassing moments. Turning to face the water, Lana limped towards the pool's edge. When she reached it, she spoke impishly, "Did the slippers fit during your first spa visit?"

"There were none, now get in the water." He was all business now, the adorable bumbling erased by the Commander. She should probably feel flush from the powerful presence in his voice, but fear dampened down any spring in her libido. Lowering herself to the ground, Lana let her legs up to the knees rest in the water. She had to admit, the warmth circling them felt invigorating.

"What now, boss?" she asked, turning to find him pick up her cane and place it safely against the wall.

"So it doesn't get wet," he explained and she nodded. Cullen stepped closer, his hand glancing across her shoulder. He paused at the water's edge and without any trepidation leapt in. Lana shrieked at the splash breaking over her face and down her chest, which quickly transformed into a laugh. The water circled around the middle of Cullen's chest, seeming to bisect him into one half tantalizing dry templar, and one part enticing wet. He bent over backwards to dip his hair into the pool, and then snapped upward, whipping the excess through the marble baths.

"All right," he parted his hands, "your turn."

"I..."

"I'll catch you so it's not too jarring," he assured her while stepping closer.

"If you're sure..." Lana closed her eyes and tried to strangle the part of her screaming that she was about to ruin everything. Pushing off her hands, her body slid off the stone ground right into the waiting pool. Water slithered up her body, far past her chest and heading towards her neck, when Cullen's hands locked under her armpits. Holding her tight, she kicked her feet a few inches above the floor. With a wicked smile, she said, "As the sapper said to his wife, 'Well, I'm in. Now what?'"

"Maker's breath, where did you hear that one?"

"Varric," she said, getting a full groan from him. Lana giggled at the ferocity of his disapproval of the dwarf, aware that there had to have been some kind of mutual respect even if Cullen never wanted to be trapped in the same room as the new Viscount. "I think you can drop me," Lana said, her toes still wiggling through the water.

"Ah, right," the blush that was never far away curled up both his cheeks and that taut, exposed stomach. Before Lana could get any ideas to try and trail that strip of blonde hair further down his body, Cullen lowered her towards the bottom of the pool. She gritted her teeth in anticipation of the same pain that always jarred up her legs whenever she rose to her feet, but only a glimmer of it whimpered through her calves. Testing her weight out, she extended her legs a bit, and struggled to keep her head above the surface.

Lana tipped her head back, the level darting dangerously close to her chin which received a gentle laugh from Cullen. "I forget how short you are, sometimes."

"Oh yes, it's so funny," she grumbled, "perhaps we should try exploring through tight quarter caves next."

She expected him to grumble but Cullen's fingers caressed down her submerged shoulders, "If it'd help you, I'll crawl upon my stomach."

"That, uh," Lana dropped lower into the water, only her nose skimming the surface as she tried to cool off the blush burning from the sincerity wafting off him. The fact he meant every word slightly terrified and thrilled her. After collecting herself, she bobbed up and asked, "What do I do now?"

"Walk, I suppose?" he kept his hands near her for fear that she might suddenly pitch forward and drown herself, but Lana didn't need them. Despite being nearly fully underwater, there was a surprising lightness to her bones, as if some of the weight of the world was pulled free. Shuffling at first, Lana moved towards the end of the pool, her arms digging through the warm water circling her wake. Cullen followed close beside for a few laps, those honey eyes trailing her move and she suspected occasionally wandering down the ample cleavage exposed by her swimming band. Not that she could blame him, she had to keep her focus straight ahead or she'd risk walking right into a wall from the acres of delectable skin he had on display.

After managing three laps back and forth, Cullen spoke up, "What if you try swimming now?"

That earned him a glare, "What if you try climbing the walls?" While there was a strange cushioning for her in the water, she could feel the threat waiting for her on the horizon. If she wasn't careful, if she stepped too far or too fast it could all come crashing down.

Cullen held his hands up, "I am only suggesting you try."

Maker, she had to fall for an eternal problem solver. It was heartwarming how much he threw himself into helping her, but Andraste's flames, did he have to put so much effort into it at the same time? She needed to find him a hobby, maybe something to do with Honor? Did Orlesians require instruction in the matters of combat from a man and his mabari?

"It might help to stretch the underused muscles. Firm them up and..."

Lana paused in the water and crossed her arms under it, "You've been talking to Leliana haven't you? She kept threatening to bring in this famous healer from I don't remember where, who had all these insane theories to fix me. Leeches, he wanted me to swallow leeches, while they were still alive."

"I," Cullen grimaced at the leech mention, "I'm not saying you should consume parasites, unless it's on the menu and we can't avoid it, but... Lana, it could help."

"So could summoning a demon, but you don't see me throwing that idea out," she stormed, growing more belligerent. She meant it as hyperbole but a strain echoed along Cullen's features, one he did his best to paper over, but she caught it and mentally slapped herself for it. Maker, out of all the people in thedas, he's the last one you want to go mentioning demons to. From the pain burrowing in the back of her brain upon thinking of them, she began to suspect she was the second.

Sliding closer to him, Lana wrapped her arms around his waist. His slick skin melded against hers, and she tugged herself into a hug. "All right, if it'll make you feel better I'll attempt swimming, but...you have to do something for me."

"Anything," he volunteered, but at the mischief glimmering in her eye, his enthusiasm faded, "What is it?"

"Tell me about your first trip to the spa, and don't skimp on the details."

"Lana, I really don't think..." his arm burst from the water, scattering drops over the calm surface, so he could ruffle his wet hair. "It was not that interesting."

"Nope, that's how it works," she slid away from him to find her own pitiful lane. "As long as you're talking, I'll swim. But the moment the story stops, so do I. Do we have a deal?"

"I...uh," Cullen's amber eyes darted around the pool as if he'd find some other excuse waiting in the empty room. "Fine," he crumpled inward, making it obvious that he was not pleased about this occurrence.

Lana smiled at him and waved her hands in the water. She did know how to swim, and knew exactly three ways to go about it. The crawl was right out, bursting the surface with her weary muscles was next to impossible now, never mind while propelling herself onward. And while mabari paddling could get her back and forth, she feared she'd never live it down in front of him. That only left one option. Sliding down, Lana readied herself, then glanced over.

"Well, are you going to talk or do I stand here?"

"Maker's breath, I...very well. This occurred in the earlier days of the Inquisition, before you, uh..."

"Came back into your life," she answered. Good on her word, Lana kicked off of the ground. She kept her head above the water to listen to Cullen's story and because she wasn't the best at the whole holding her breath parts. Suffocating had a habit of drawing forth nightmares for her. With her hands cupped near her chest she drew them out to propel herself down the pool before drawing them back to begin again. The warden who taught her how to breaststroke about had a heart attack every time he had to mention the word, but it served her well.

"Yes, I, that's one way to look at it." He was stalling, doing his best to say nothing while still talking. To show she knew, Lana slowed down, her arms extending as if she intended to float upon the water. Sighing at her, Cullen pinched his nose and continued. "I forget why I was in Val Royeaux, but the Inquisitor was the one who invited me to a meeting. Thinking little of it, we'd been taking them all day to assist in reviving Skyhold, I arrived dressed in my usual armored attire at a spa similar to this one."

"Bet the patrons practically shat themselves..." Lana mused, spinning around and turning back to the other side. "Oh Maker, don't tell me you had your sword with you?"

"Of course I did, I saw no reason not to. Thinking it had to be some mistake, I attempted to extricate myself before every man and woman relaxing in towels in the foyer had time to gawp at me. But that damn mage spotted me."

"You'll have to be a bit more specific, I remember a lot of 'damn mages' in the Inquisition," Lana said. She misjudged the dip of her hands and pulled her chin lower, dragging her mouth below the surface. Water rushed down her throat, and she sputtered, coughing it out as far as she could.

Cullen glanced over, but didn't rush to rescue her. He seemed content to let her swim her way to health, "The Tevinter one, in this case." Lana giggled at the way he didn't say Dorian's name. "He sweeps me up and begins chattering away with all the certainty his countrymen posses. I'm trying to get a question in, but his mouth has become unhinged and he cannot stop the spray of words."

"I found Dorian rather delightful," Lana said, "egocentric of course, but he is a Tevinter magister."

"Yes, he certainly delighted in finding new and interesting ways to get under my skin," Cullen groaned.

"Ah," a moment of realization struck Lana, and Cullen whipped a question at her, but she waved it away. Her suspicion could wait until his story was finished. "Please, continue, unless I'm also done swimming."

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"Nope," she shook her head, surprised to find that generally true. The ache was minor compared to her normal ones, and she felt as if she could keep this going for a good half hour or so more.

Cullen leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, "I'm led to the Inquisitor and some Duke, or Viscount, or, Maker, it doesn't matter. They're both relaxing up to their necks in a bubbling hot spring. I'd heard of them before but had never seen one. It was interesting, unlike using runes here it had some underground lava connections the dwarves dug in."

"How'd they maintain the temperature range so as not to scald anyone?" Lana asked before grimacing. He knew her damn curiosity would trip her up and stall his story.

"I rather doubt they bothered, perhaps an elf would dump a bucket of cold water to combat it if it grew too great. I could always go and ask..."

"Nice try, but story," she interrupted his attempts to drag Reynard back inside. Maker, if he was going to the trouble of drawing that man's attention, his story must be something else.

"Very well," Cullen swallowed. With his chin jutted out and his arms behind his back, he bore a striking resemblance to a statue someone would put guarding the entrance to their hidden lair. Lana wasn't certain if he was even aware he was doing it. "I assumed we could get the matter discussed and over right then and there, and pulled a chair similar to those towards the edge, when one of the attendants appeared."

Cullen paused, and rotated his neck, "He insisted all who entered the hot springs area had to be dressed in the same skin tight bathing attire on those racks. I objected, rather, um..."

"You glowered until the poor kid nearly pissed himself?" Lana said, getting a chuckle.

"He had enough presence to not do that, but there was a marked timidness on his part. No, the problem was the damn mage. Throwing his arms wide, he ran a wet finger to curl his mustache and remarked, 'Why Commander, when in Orlais do as the Orlesians do. It's not as if you'll melt once you hit the water, correct? Or do all Fereldens fear water the same as your hounds? It would explain the smell.'"

She couldn't bury the snort from the way Cullen tried to mimic Dorian's voice before growling. Lana called out, "It is a wonder you didn't haul off and clobber him right then and there."

"I'm growing soft," he grumbled, but there was a small smile in it, "The Inquisitor tried to give me an out, attempting to call Dorian off, but then the Count or whomever insisted that there be no work done until everyone was in his blasted pool."

"What did you do?"

"What could I do? There were a good dozen people staring at me now, the Inquisitor's steely gaze, the Count's boisterous paddling the water, and that damn mage laughing behind his ridiculous mustache." Cullen's story paused and he looked dead on at Lana, "You're right, I should have hauled up Dorian by the back of his robes and tossed him out of there without a second thought."

"I never said that's exactly what you should have done," Lana tried to cover for herself, but if she'd been in his place she's probably have done just that with the help of a little magic.

"So, I look to the attendant turning whiter and whiter with every word, and ask for one of the damn bathing suits to change into. Simple, yes? He barely glances at me before whispering that they no longer had any in my size."

Lana's hand banged into the pool wall, startling her. She became so enraptured in Cullen's story, she didn't realize she'd swam another two lengths. His eyes trailed over her at the splash and his tale faded away. Waving her offending hand at him, she smiled and turned back, resuming her swim. He, in turn, revived his story.

"I did my best to back out of it, pointing out that if there was no suit then I couldn't join them. Which was when the blighted mage spoke up once again. 'Well, there's nothing stopping you from reclining in the nude.' Maker, I think the only reason I didn't rip his mustache off was because I melted into a puddle on the floor. The Inquisitor sputtered and tried to insist that it wasn't necessary, but the Count seemed invested in the idea. 'Nude or not, we're not starting any talks until everyone's in here.'"

Cullen paused to cradle his head in his hands. She wanted to run her fingers over the muscles straining across his arms and...Maker, those thighs. Taut with that curve down the sides that could make for the perfect firm pillow. Was she always a leg person? She couldn't remember caring before but at the rate her libido kept notching up she was liable to start craving his earlobes.

"I had no intentions to get nude, and the Count refused to budge. Which was when the Inquisitor suggested I at least strip to my smalls."

"Oh no," Lana sputtered, her head drifting lower underwater as her hands failed to adjust.

"I don't blame him, it's not as if he would know the truth."

"Maker's breath, I hope not," she gasped, but couldn't shake the smile off from her little needling of him.

Cullen groaned, sliding his shimmering foot back and forth over the mermaid tiles. "Do not start with that, I heard enough of the insinuations from...it doesn't matter. Without knowing about you, plenty of people preferred to assume my tastes ran...well," he shrugged.

"Yeah, I got that a lot too," Lana admitted.

"Really? Even with the king and..." Cullen blinked in surprise, but he managed to get his little sneer in at mentioning Alistair. She was coming to expect it now.

"Apparently if at any time you're not either madly in love with, pursuing, or curing your heart from losing someone you must be deep in denial about your true nature. And gossiping about your commander is the number one favorite pastime for soldiers."

"Do not remind me," he scrunched his whole face up in such a way, it drew Lana's attention. Perhaps she should ask Leliana about some of the rumors that would have circulated about the Commander of the Inquisition. They could prove enlightening. Cullen's eyes opened and he pointed at her, "You've stopped."

"So have you," she said, her weary feet bouncing on the bottom of the pool. "Unless there's more to the story then I suppose I'll get out..."

"Keep swimming, there's more."

She wasn't entirely thrilled about beginning again, a pain digging into the back of her shoulders that she didn't think possible, but by the Maker she had to hear the end of this. As Lana paddled on past, her waning limbs slipping into the hated mabari style, Cullen continued.

"With Maker knows how many people looking at me, I began to strip. I swear I hadn't done anything so humiliating since I was fifteen. The surcoat, armor, bracers, tunics, all of that was easy. Sliding off my boots, no problem, off went the sword belt and that's when I paused. Two choices before me, neither of which I ever wanted to dwell upon..." he paused, and Lana turned to face him, enthralled beyond measure. For all his grumblings about Varric he seemed to have a bit of a storyteller's instincts as well. "And I decided to climb into the pool with my trousers on."

Lana giggled madly, water bubbling out of her mouth from the glee. "Maker, that had to be...What did you do when you got out?"

"Facing a day walking back to our lodgings with soaking wet breeches was preferable to...the other option. But that wasn't the worst part, no, the humiliation refused to end because in my haste to get it over with, I failed to take into account the air trapped between my legs and the fabric."

"Oh no," Lana's limbs slowed and she gently crested to a full stop. With her freed hand she cupped her mouth to try and hide the smile as she tried to ply Cullen only with sympathy. But he caught on to her ruse and only sighed.

"Yes, I essentially had two air bladders attached to my legs while trying to act as professional as possible to secure...I can't even bloody remember what we needed from the man. It was the cream on top of my day and why I came prepared this time." His fingers drifted down the far too narrow strip of fabric around his hips. It drew Lana's eyes and she had to swallow back a groan from the view. While he may have thought to wear his own backups, he sort of forgot about the fact that white fabric washed translucent in water. She jammed her hand into her mouth and bit down on the fleshy palm to keep from squealing at his smalls suckered tight against his so tempting cock.

"What?"

"Nothing," Lana snapped her head up and shook it. Sliding through the water to cut off her view lest she do something her exhausted body may come to regret later, Lana ran her fingers over his arms. Okay, the taut flexing of his forearms wasn't helping her state either. "Nothing at all, I...uh," she felt the blush rising to match her internal one.

Needing something to distract him before it got awkward, Lana spoke her suspicion. "I think I know why Dorian set you up like that."

"Because he gets his thrills from humiliating anyone in his vicinity."

"No, I think he was trying to win his bet with Varric about your underclothes. And he probably paid off the attendant to claim there were no suits that would fit you."

Cullen's eyes slipped closed and he snorted once. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled Lana across the pool into his enticing embrace. She gladly succumb to it, her head resting upon his naked chest. "So, exactly as I said," he chuckled before pressing his lips against her wet hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted," she sighed. There was a burning rising up through her legs and from the edge of one wrist across her chest to the other.

"Would you like to get out?"

"Oh, now I'm free to leave," she mockingly placed a hand on her hip but, in truth, deep in her gut she didn't want to. Curled up in his naked arms, with his naked chest suckered to hers, and his naked thighs doing distracting thigh things she wanted to stay in the pool until all of her skin pruned up. Then her chin dipped down and she started from water bubbling into her mouth.

"I take it that's a yes," he said, already lifting her up in his arms and walking her towards the steps out of the pool.

"In my defense, I barely slept last night," Lana said. Her weary hand reached out to grab onto the guide bar and she placed one foot above her onto the stairs. Andraste, it was like she was trying to crawl out of the fade all over again, the water attempting to drag her back down to its depths. But this time she had Cullen helping to hoist her out. His hands cupped along her waist and as she moved up each of the steps, his fingers drifted lower down her hips. By the time she stepped away, his hands fell slack against the water. Lana made it to the edge on her own and smiled. Glancing over her shoulder, she was about to boast that fact when the blush in her stomach increased tenfold.

Cullen stared up at her the same way he had after their first time in the deeproads. She'd been about the average level of self conscious about her body, aware of the areas that puckered in strange shapes and the detractions. But when he looked at her as if he couldn't imagine glancing at another woman, she felt like the most beautiful woman in thedas. Blessed Andraste, she did not deserve him.

Rising from his stupor, Cullen realized she caught him leering and he stumbled backwards. A hand whipped out of the pool, aiming for his awkward spot behind the neck, which sprayed water at her and then his face. "I, uh, was thinking I might put in a few laps myself before we head home. Are you okay to move to the chair? Do you need me to get you any towels?"

"Nope," she smiled brightly, "I've got two robes I can throw on while I watch you." He gasped once, his own blush rising up as her eyes took the time to savor him. Bobbing his head, Cullen sank deep into the pool and swam properly, his hands rhythmically breaking the surface to propel him onwards. True to her word, Lana threw on both her robe and then his for warmth, as she settled onto the deck chair. Exhausted from the trials and wrapped in the warmth of cuddly cloth, she felt sleep knocking for her, but she couldn't sleep, not now. The Commander of the Inquisition, wearing only tiny see-through small clothes was swimming back and forth below her and she was the only one allowed to witness such a magnificent sight. She wasn't going to miss a single minute.

## Chapter Seven

**Wednesdays**

**  
**

_To L___ _M____

_C/O Blank Blank Blankity Blank Blank_

_(Note from Leliana: Can you ask Hawke to not be so cryptic? I assumed this was from one of my spies in Kirkwall and had an entire team at work to decode it before realizing is was for you. They lost five days trying to crack her doodles in the margins.)_

Long time since I sent you a letter. In fact, I don't know if I've ever sent you a letter. Well, first time for everything, eh? Heard you buggered on off to Val Royeaux. _N_E_S says hi, then some other magicy things about the fade, but mostly hi. I won't put down all he said because I stopped listening. I'm technically back in Kirkwall, though no one's supposed to know about it. So shh... People are still a bit tetchy here after the whole chantry go boom fiasco, but Varric asked for my help and here I am. Had to leave you know who somewhere else in the mean time. Turns out there are a few Warden safe houses around here.

I don't want to worry you Cuz, but he's been getting twitchy lately. Been seeing the _other one_ a lot more, if you catch my meaning. No idea why, it doesn't even rant and rave about injustice like usual. Only hangs around like it's waiting for something to happen. Maybe I'm imagining it and nothing bad's gonna happen for years. Wouldn't that be nice for a change? Everyone sit down and be good for a decade or I'm turning thedas around!

Varric wants to know if you've got any good stories to tell about the fade. I told him to shut up and not ask you because it's not polite. He may still do it if you ever meet up again. Which raises up my next question, what're you doing in Valley of the Royals anyway? Skyhold ain't my favorite of places in thedas, but I figured since you're in heart eyes with its Commander you'd be recovering there. I'd already planned to send my homemade care package there when Varric stomps in and tells me that word on the deep down low is you headed to Orlais. Then he made me throw the care package away because it was buzzing. Look, it ain't my fault that the bees hadn't finished making honey before it was ready.

I know we had that talk, and you said you chose to stay behind for your own reasons that somehow meant I didn't fail you, but you better get better or so help me I will stand over your bed and shout at you until you do. I'm tired of losing family. Give a hearty pat on the back to Cullen for me. Though I'm guessing you two are up to a bit more than that given free range in the Grand Cathedral. Ever done it on the altar? Isabella claims she did once, but I don't believe her. How could you lay down on the thing without impaling yourself on the sword in the middle? I guess if you straddled the bowl of fire but then you're in danger of setting your hair aflame.

It's funny, when I first met that awkward, bumbling templar too terrified to talk to the prostitutes at the Rose, something told me to keep an eye on him. There are people that just keep bobbing back up to into your life no matter how far you travel across thedas, you know. Like the Maker or someone else up there wants you to find 'em, to like 'em. To save 'em. Eh, I should stop drinking this "Elder Jessup's Tonic" makes me sound all philosophical.

I tried to include drawings of some of the last dragons I ran into, but I'm not sure if I captured their epicness enough. They were very epically epic, I can assure you. Varric tells me epicness isn't a word, but what does he know? Authors are the worst proof readers.

_The Bird of the Wall_

_(That's Hawke if you couldn't tell)_

_To Hawke_

_C/O The Viscount of Kirkwall_

Cousin, I don't think you need to rely upon such stealthy subterfuge in your letters. Leliana has a firm grip upon what comes in and out of the chantry, which should surprise none who know her. She also asks that you either label your doodlings or create more elaborate ones to give her codebreakers something to work for.

My healing is progressing well. After a suggestion from our new assistant Detan, I've spent every other day this past week swimming in a spa. Maker, I wish you could attend with me sometimes if only to see the dropped jaws and scattered fans of Orlesians at your imposing presence. It's entertaining enough when I waltz in with a mabari at my hip. Honor's been acting as my concierge and occasional balance when I need it. She also adores the chance to leap belly first into the pool and splash around. For a time, Cullen came as well but he grows more busy with each passing day and rather grouchy when being surrounded by gawking Orlesians. No doubt by now word has reached, if not you, certainly Varric that he's leaving the Inquisition. I am uncertain what that fully means for him, for, I suppose, me. Yes, yes, I can see your knowing smirk in the Orlais all the way from the Marches. We have intentions to remain together through whatever change is coming to our lives, we're only uncertain what that all entails. If you have any ideas I'm all eyes.

I am uneasy to hear about Anders and Justice. We know so little of possession, and less of the fade, that I cannot fathom a guess at what is drawing his current condition out. Perhaps it will pass, or Maker willing, Anders will gain control. Still, I may be able to secure a few connections to the mage college through Leliana. There'd been some talk of research into possession before the rebellions. It related to tranquility, but a starting point is better than non

Lana drew her quill away from the unfinished word. With barely a flick of her wrist, she dipped the sharp end back into the ink bottle and returned. While her mind managed up another sentence, nothing appeared on the page. "Blasted, out again," she cursed to herself. They'd been tearing through the bottles lately, which -- she had to give Detan her kudos -- she managed to keep them well stocked. During Lana's days in the Vigil there were often times the seneschal would beg her to slow down on letters and paperwork because the ink makers couldn't brew it fast enough. They rarely had to worry about vellum because of the damn hides she was always dragging home. It seemed as if all of the wildlife in thedas had it out for the mage.

Rising out of the chair, Lana stepped away from their dining table. She didn't have too many regrets turning the office over to Cullen because it kept him from keeping boxes piled up all across their increasingly smaller apartments. The boxes seemed to appear overnight with Detan directing more and more to every available corner. When Honor had to lay down on a pile to get comfortably, Cullen began stashing them in the office. Snatching up her empty ink bottle, Lana rolled it through her fingers as she walked towards the back office.

While she wasn't about to start running across thedas in pursuit of darkspawn, it felt good to be able to step across the floor without needing any magic shoring up her legs. At best, Lana could manage a dozen steps before she had to sit, but progress should be celebrated - or so Leliana insisted. With the ink bottle extended as if she was bellying up to a bar, Lana stepped into the office.

Cullen stood to the side of the desk, both hands splayed out over the top, while Honor rested under his feet. In fact, she was so near she had her chin laying upon his boot. Her owner didn't seem to notice as he was glaring down at a stack. His fingers reached towards the edge when sounds of broken glass shattered the air followed by a "Damn it!" Honor's head shot up, the rest of her leaping to her feet. It wasn't the fallen bottle knocked off the desk that disturbed her but Cullen's curse.

He leaned over at the shattered glass and let slip a few more blasphemes before digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Are you okay?" Lana asked. He must not have heard her enter as Cullen jumped a moment, his hands instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn't there.

After taking a deep breath at recognizing her, he sneered and bent over to pick up the glass shards. "It is nothing, an accident. What brings you in here?"

"I ran out of ink in trying to write a letter to Hawke," Lana explained as she slid closer. Most of Cullen was eclipsed by the desk as he dropped to a knee to pick up the scattered pieces onto a stack of papers.

"Humph, I heard about her mythic code that none of Leliana's people could crack."

"Turns out it was a picture of a dragon, or so Hawke claimed. Knowing her, there's a good chance it is some unbreakable code that leads to ancient treasure or curses. Perhaps both," Lana paused at the desk to steady herself on it. "I would not put it past my cousin."

"True," Cullen agreed, rising up with the papers laden in glass. "She was beyond understanding even before becoming the Champion. Sometimes I wonder about the rest of your..." Trembling like a newborn kitten in the snow, his hands quaked without control, sending the glass leaping off the papers. "Maker damn it!" he groaned, letting the rest scatter from his still shaking hands.

Cullen planted his elbows on the desk and collapsed his head into his hands. Softly, Lana ran her fingers over the back of his neck waiting for him to explain. Great gulps of air drew into his mouth as she picked at the curls knotted against his nape. Glass glittered in the blue and green sunlight streaming from the stained glass window. Slowly, the shaking in his hands died and he rose up. Yellow tinged his skin a sunken sallow, while his eyes were streaked in red spots on the edges from an obvious strain upon his entire body.

"Do you want to sit down?" Lana suggested, pointing at the chair before realizing it was covered in books. Trying to not purse her lips, she pointed towards the sitting room, "On the divan?"

"I..." he staggered a foot towards her and had to lash out quickly to catch his fall. Before he could say a word against it, Lana wound her hands around his forearm and tapped into the fade. Her tongue tasted of blue as she weaved as much healing energy as she dared into him.

"Lana, you shouldn't waste..."

"It's a good day for me. I don't need it but you do," she insisted, already pulling her finished magic out. While she was skilled enough to nearly revive someone close to death, even her strongest healing spells could only grant Cullen a brief reprieve. Something in the templar's body worked counter to magic itself when she fought against the lyrium or lack there of. "Here," Lana tried to wrap his hand around her shoulder, but regretted it the moment an ounce of his weight fell upon her.

"Uh, I'm all right. I can walk out." Whether from her magical help or pure stubbornness, Cullen rose up and moved towards the divan. For once it wasn't covered in books or scrolls. Only Lana's blanket coated the cushions, which Cullen didn't bother to pick up as he sank into them, hands clutching tight to his wan face.

She followed close behind, as did Honor. Despite having the full energy quota of a young mabari, Honor took it slow around Lana, always giving her time to pause and catch up. Even now with her master ahead, the dog still waited patiently for Lana to sit on the divan before flopping on the ground and exposing her belly. "Silly girl," Lana cooed, digging her foot into the soft tissue and smiling at Honor's joy. She risked a glance over at Cullen and while he was trying to paint on a smile it couldn't overcome the grit to his jaw. Maker, the strain upon him must have been something else.

Sitting up straight, Lana's fingers wrapped around his shoulders and without any fuss, she pulled his head into her lap. Cullen grumbled a few half hearted 'you need not bother's but he willingly succumbed to her arms. With his head stretched across her thighs, he slipped his eyes closed and gasped for air through his mouth. She knew that breathing technique he tried to do to calm himself. It seemed to be beyond his grasp this time, the edges wheezing through his nose with each exhale.

"Really bad this time?" she asked. With her fingers, she pushed away the curls swamped onto his sweaty brow and then began to massage it.

Cullen sneered again before trying to wall it away. She watched the same arguments play out over his features. _'I shouldn't bother you with this. It's nothing. I'll endure.'_ Each one Lana had a retort to and he knew it. With his eyes shut tight, he whispered, "It must be Wednesday."

"I..." that was new. Lana glanced around as if there was a chantry calendar in the apartment. "I believe so?"

"Wednesdays are..." those honey eyes rolled open and she stared down into the depths of his full pain for once trawled to the surface. Lana had to fight down the urge to wrap her chest around him, as if she could somehow protect him from the suffering under his own skin. Cullen swallowed, his throat hoarse from the eternal dry mouth, and he started again, "They are when I relapse the worst. Especially after lunch."

Sliding to his side, Cullen stared out across the apartment while Lana dug into his curls, trying to soothe him by ruffling up his hair. "Every Wednesday the templars would receive their ration of lyrium. Most would drink it once it was given, but I..." a brittle sigh broke up his words, "I would save it until after the noon meal under some misguided belief that having that much control meant I could fully overcome its deleterious effects."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, uncertain what, if anything, to say.

His hand gripped onto her knee and squeezed, "I keep thinking I'm past it, that I don't need to maintain a constant vigil upon myself, but...that's a lie."

"If Alistair hadn't--" she cursed.

"No, I...that didn't help, but even after," he steadied his breath, "three years without and I could still lose control of my hands, find my legs stiff without cause, and-and feel the thirst in my very veins. I am uncertain if I'll ever be free of it."

"Oh, Cullen," she had no idea how to respond beyond wiping her fingers over his forehead and curling his hair back behind his ear.

"Now you know the full of it. How long do you think you can suffer someone who despises rainstorms, and Wednesdays, or will grow discordant for no obvious reason?"

Steadying her own waning body, Lana bent at the waist and placed her lips against his forehead. It burned next to her cool skin and she kissed him twice more before answering, "For as long as I breathe."

A gasp rattled in his throat, and Cullen's hand drifted down her knee to cup against her calf. He wrung his fingers against it as if he needed to massage her, or perhaps perform some duty to make up for his failings. That idea stung her anew and she tried to wrap an arm around his chest, cuddling him tighter.

"I'm frightened," stuttered out of him so whisper quiet she almost thought she imagined it. "When I first made the choice to free myself from lyrium there was..." Cullen swallowed, the edge of his throat cracking even more, "if I failed, whether I returned to the addiction or perished, it didn't matter. No one needed me to succeed, to prove it could be done, to live. Then Corypheus rose and..."

He fell into an imposed silence, his fingers prodding at her knee. "What happened?" she asked, suspecting he needed to say what stuck in his throat.

"There was a point when I, the pressure of failure...knowing that if I wasn't strong enough we could have lost the entire world, all of that drew forth a bad turn." He paused and then snorted a mirthless laugh, "On another Wednesday I believe. Certain I couldn't continue on, I looked to Cassandra to relieve me, or..."

"Cullen?"

Sighing in his gut, he twisted further in her lap until his face hung towards the ground, "I asked the Inquisitor if I should not take lyrium again for the good of the Inquisition."

"What did he say?"

"He refused my request."

"Thank the Maker," Lana sighed. They'd never gotten on in a case of two big fish in a small pond, but an overwhelming gratefulness swept through her for the man. While he was pragmatic to a cold fault, there'd been a kindness in him few saw. Perhaps she should send him a fruit basket in thanks; everyone loves those.

Cullen smiled, the edges of his cheeks visible to her, "Once Corypheus was dealt with and the pressure off, I...I returned to the thought that if I had another bad turn that I couldn't rise from, at least no one was counting on me. No one needed me."

Unable to stem the pain knocking in her stomach, a few tears slid down Lana's cheeks. She wanted to wipe them away before he noticed, but she couldn't pull her hands off of him, needing to hold him.

"And now..." he turned in her lap and looked right up at her. His hand graced her cheek and she leaned into it, "I could lose everything I've ever dreamed of and that frightens me."

Gasping, Lana accepted there was no stopping the tears now. Each drop slid silently off her cheeks to pool where his skin met with hers. "I'm here with you. I...I don't know if that helps--"

"It does," he interrupted, his taciturn smile returning.

Lana crumpled up into her lap, her forehead skimming across his, "I love you, you know."

"You may have mentioned it a time or two," he answered before slipping his eyes closed and repeating, "I love you too. For, Maker, so long. It overwhelms my heart to think upon the breadth of time."

She understood, her own struggles in coming to terms with that fact drawing much from her. When does someone know they're in love? Was it the moment you first realize it, or should it be counted from the first true feeling? If so, then when did that occur for her? She carried him in her heart for far longer than Lana was even aware of.

"Lana," he drew his fingers down her cheek and repositioned himself in her lap. "Why did you select me in Kirkwall? You could have had your pick of templars in Ferelden who'd have been happy to serve the Hero of Ferelden, the one that rescued them from darkspawn and abominations."

"That's true," she admitted, never having thought about any of them. She was in a panic upon learning the truth of White and in her haste her mind offered up only one suggestion. "I-I spotted you, during the Qunari uprising when the Grey Wardens were trying to extricate ourselves without doing more harm and...there was a moment."

"A moment?"

"When I trusted you," she said, the words whispered to her mind from her heart. "When I didn't believe all the rumors and saw what I saw in you before."

"Oh..." he lapsed back into silence, but he kept his fingers curled around her face.

"Why did you agree to help me? It...I rather doubt Meredith approved, or the rest of the chantry."

It took a few minutes before he spoke, only his less ragged breathing punctuating the silence. "Because..." he smiled wistfully, "I was in love with you even then. Even knowing you were a mage, knowing there was no chance you would ever look at me. I loved you and...and needed to know you were safe."

Curling up as far as her abs allowed, Lana pressed her lips against his - soft and yielding to match him, the kiss sweeter than morning dew in buttercups. "I love you," she whispered, her mouth forming the words against his. He repeated the same, kissing with each word as if to stamp it upon her heart.

Her muscles finally gave up in agony, and regrettably Lana rose away from him. Cullen wasn't the only one facing the future of never recovering. "How are your hands?" she asked.

"Better," he flexed them over her thighs, "it's calmed a bit in my blood. The healing power of love?"

Lana snorted at the theory. "I knew more than a few mages who liked to float that idea, often with exaggerated eyebrow waggling and rib nudging. Sadly, there's no data to back up such claims."

"Oh."

"But..." Maker, she felt better having him in her arms, knowing he was holding her tight when her body turned against her and her days grew dark. Why wouldn't it be the same for him? "I love healing you, so, perhaps there's something to it after all. In a roundabout convoluted way, the rather incongruous hypothesis of if A equals B, B equals C, then C must equal A."

A snort echoed off her lap and Lana's musings faded away but she smiled at the soft chuckle shaking his shoulders. "I'm so glad I have you," he sighed, "no matter what it cost."

She ran her fingers down his shoulders and cupped his hands in hers. "Me too," Lana whispered. She hated that he felt he had to take the lyrium, that she could have cost him even a few days because of it, but Cullen needed to know she was grateful for it. That his sacrifice was worth it so he could keep heading towards the finishing line of healing.

"I should get up and..." he moved to rise, but Lana wrapped her hands around him.

"Rest here with me, for a few winks. Please?" she traced along the crow's feet building beside his eye, an entire nest already.

"In your lap? I...all right," he sighed, and carefully Cullen adjusted his head to get comfortable.

"I could grab a pillow, I know my thighs aren't very good for much of anything and..."

He curled his arms around her knees as if trying to tuck her closer to him, "Lana, it's perfect."

While her fingers pushed at his curls, she watched him drift away in her lap, a serenity filling her veins as she could hold him while he slept. Perhaps there was a truth to healing through love after all.

## Chapter Eight

**Family**

**  
**

Cullen was entranced watching Lana stretch as high as she could, her head craned back and arms in the air while flakes of ice crystalized around her fingers. Instead of blasting the shards of ice through an enemy or freezing a darkspawn solid, she lightly rolled her fist and a ball of frozen water plopped into the planter dangling next to the stained glass window. With a wave of her other hand, she did something to the ice ball causing it to melt into the dirt, barely disturbing the silver and green herbage.

"Is that good for the plant? I could have watered it instead," he said, trying to peer into the pot holding the surprisingly lush adder's hiss.

Lana crossed her arms, "No, it's my plant and I'm going to take care of it." Glancing up at it dangling far from her reach, all her focus was on his blundered purchase while his was upon her. Deep in his heart, he feared that it'd be strange to find her no longer dressed in the typical mage robes, but those breezy dresses of hers grew on him. An ease slipped across her when she wore them, as if she was a young woman skipping through a summer meadow instead of hiding away from the growing breadth of winter in the Grand Cathedral.

It didn't hurt that the thinner fabric let him draw more achingly closer to her skin than any of the wool robes ever did. A secret smile turned up his lips and Cullen's mind slipped back to last night and the other kinds of magic her fingers cast.

Lana paused in prodding her stick at the plant to inspect the leaves, "It's spidering out faster than I expected. Going to need a bigger pot soon, and..." her eyes glanced over to him, "and why are you smiling like that?"

"Oh," he shifted back and forth on his feet, feeling self conscious in an instant for no discernible reason. It wasn't as if she didn't deserve to know the truth. "I was, uh, contemplating last night."

Her own bright smile lit up his heart. Limping towards him, she ran her delicate fingers in slow strokes across her chin. "Ah, of course. You're thinking of the time when my mage managed to claim your cleric. It was a master move."

"Not, um, not precisely no," Cullen tipped his head back to try and bury the blush. Winds whipping through Val Royeaux caused the sunlight to glitter across the ceiling, like their own personal stars. While he was distracted, Lana wrapped her arms around him, her frame slotting so easily against his as if she was meant to, as if she'd never left. As if the Maker designed them both to. Calm curled up to replace his embarrassment, as it always did whenever he held her. It was strange at times to think of how physically small she was, barely standing above the height of some thirteen year olds, but she bore such an imposing mark in his mind he often envisioned her as tall as her cousin. Perhaps even greater.

Lana's warm cheek burrowed against his shirt, barely buttoned to try and combat the heat rising from the burst of braziers in the chantry proper below. When her fingers began to draw down the collar, skimming his skin beneath, Cullen whispered in her ear, "In truth, I was thinking of when my Queen took your King."

"That's not precisely how I remember it going," she said, her endless brown eyes rolling open with nothing but joy dotted in them.

Dipping down, Cullen's lips darted close to hers, "I wasn't speaking of the game." He kissed her luscious mouth, his hands locking against the small of her back. As she tilted her head to match him to deepen the kiss, he couldn't stop fluffing at the bow tied behind her, yearning to tug on the end, slip his hands below the slack and caress every inch of her skin. Maker he wanted her, every vein in his body cried out for her, but...he pulled himself back, his hands sliding away from the bow to settle against her hips.

Lana slid down to her toes covered in a pair of socks with pompoms on the outside. Her fingers drifted up his neck to knot in his hair as she sighed, "I wasn't thinking of the chess game either. I'd say your King and Queen euphemism would require more, um, you know, active parts than what we, what I managed to..."

Reaching behind his head, Cullen threaded his fingers through hers and pulled them down to cup between their bodies. "It was good, and you're far more talented with your hands than you give yourself credit for."

She tried to wave his compliment away, but a smile lit up in her eyes. "You can thank magic for that. All that casting requires a great dexterity in your fingers."

"I should send a card to your old senior enchanters," he mused returning back to her for a kiss. Lana turned her delicate fingers in his and then yanked his hands behind her, pulling him in deeper. Aware of his need boiling below the surface, Cullen tried to slip his lower half back, but she had other plans. Gripping tight to his waist in a hug, her tiny body overpowered his. Dragging her fingers around the back of his waistband, she yanked up the ends of his shirt he took the time to tuck in and reached under. When her nails skirted across his flesh, all conscious thought in Cullen's brain melted away. He was dimly aware of the day, and his name, but the rest fled him as she worked higher up his back, caressing and scratching the unreachable parts along his spine.

"Sweet Maker," he gasped, leaning his hips away from her stomach. Lana's hands unfolded from under his shirt but he didn't back too far away, letting her rest her head agains his chest. _Maker,_ he smiled to himself threading though her hair, _this was perfect._ Happiness. Even with the mountains of work ahead of him, the restless nights and even more restless days as he worried about her out of his sight, happiness surrounded Cullen. It felt strange to be able to glance over at her and feel only joy, no buts or howevers trying to blot it away.

Curling a hand behind her head, he cupped the nape of her beautiful neck and began to gently sway. "I'm afraid I have no extensive training to prepare my fingers for much beyond latching onto a sword."

He expected a snort from his accidental innuendo, but Lana lifted her chin so her eyes could find his. "Are you fishing for a compliment because I thought I gave a ringing endorsement last night? I know it isn't everything we've done in the past, but..."

"Lana," he breathed deep, her head rising with his chest bringing her face closer to him, "it's enough for now. And, you're right, it can be fun to keep it simple, take our time and enjoy one another."

"I suppose," her lips turned down and her grip on him slackened without releasing. Cullen curled the back of his fingers down her soft cheek, each of his knuckles following the swoop of her lips as he waited. They were both learning to do that with each other. Taking a deep breath, Lana began, "It's that there are times I want you more than I...more than I've ever wanted anyone before. Then, boom, out of nowhere this debilitating fear rises."

"Is there anything I've done to...?"

"No," she interrupted him, her palms caressing the scruff against his cheeks, "Maker, no, you're wonderful. I can't explain it, I wish I could. I think I'm worried that that if I try my body will fail, I'll twist or break something and then...then it's all ruined. Which is stupid because in the matter of relationships, sex seemed to be the only part I ever got right."

"Lana," he tipped her head up and she gave in to him, "I understand. There was a time when I felt myself unclean for...anything, anyone I suppose. Not that I'm saying you do, nor should you. I only, I mean that...Andraste, I'm making it worse."

Shame and failure in equal measures curled up his stomach, but Lana smiled so sweetly both froze in their tracks before obliterating to dust. Taking his hands, she rose up on her strained toes and whispered, "No, you're making it so much better." With her lips parted, she kissed him sweetly and Cullen returned it with his same inelegant panache. But that seemed to make her love him even more, her tongue gently licking over her pillowy top lip from his unrestrained stubble pricking into it. After a quick smile, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rose up for another one when Detan appeared through the foyer into their sitting room.

"Ah, you are both here," she seemed agitated which threw Cullen off immediately. The elf was unflappable in nearly all matters. What could have gotten to her without a darkspawn attack upon the city?

"What is it?" Cullen asked, aware that his shoulders rose up to attention even with Lana dangling off him. Wrapping his hands around her waist, he tried to take her weight off her abused toes.

"Ser, someone has arrived who claims that she is..." Detan's steel eyes flickered down to her clipboard before darting back up, "she says that she has a relation to you that, um..."

"I'm his blighted sister," a voice cried out from behind the elf. Shoving past Detan with the same force that could get cows in line appeared a blonde woman, exactly 41 years of age, and bearing a near duplicate of his nose.

"Mia?" Cullen shouted, shaking his head to make certain he wasn't imagining this. But she remained, her arms crossed, and a fury radiating off of her that he hadn't seen since he dipped her braid in tree sap.

"Then she is your sister, as so claimed," Detan tried to get back on track.

"Yes, as I damn well told you," Mia, like most of the Rutherford clan, was not easily kowtowed by bureaucrats or titles. Maker only knew how many Grand Clerics and Mothers she thumbed her nose at in pursuit of finding him.

"What?" he struggled down a swallow, then realized he still held Lana pinned in his arms. Releasing her, she sunk to the floor, her own hands falling at her side as she glanced up at him, then back at his sister.

Detan bowed deep, "I shall leave you to get reacquainted then." She scurried out, slamming the apartment door in her wake so they knew she'd left. Maker, they must have been gossiping like mad about this down below. More than likely under the assumption that the woman pretending to be Cullen's sister was some old lover come to erupt fireballs with the new one. From the way Mia was glaring he wasn't certain which scenario was preferable.

Swallowing once, he began again, "What are you...?"

"Doing here?" she interrupted, stomping into the room. Snow scattered in her wake, cresting from the cloak bound tight against her shoulders as well as off the fur lining to her mid-calf boots. "What do you think I'm doing here. First, all we hear is that Orlais and Ferelden are plotting against the Inquisition. Okay, sounds bad but you've been through worst. I'm expecting to get a letter or two from you after the exalted council filling me in on their decision but nothing. Two months go by, then three, four. I finally send one to the Inquisitor himself and get back a very nicely worded 'Piss off' with hints of 'We don't know where he's gone off to either, stop asking.' So at this point, I'm thinking either something terrible's happened to you, or you, in your brilliant mind, have made a horrible decision."

Her burning eyes turned away from her brother to the other woman in the room. With a snort, Mia groaned, "I see now it was the latter."

"Mi," Cullen jabbed a finger at her, "this isn't what you...what even do you think?"

"What do I think?" she scoffed, her arms crossing as she gripped tight to the leather cuffs across her wrists. "It ain't that hard to think here, brother. I admit, I thought you were better than the type to run off with a pretty face but..." Mia gestured at Lana who was trying to cover her flushed face with her hands.

"For the Maker's sake," he growled, stomping over to grab onto her arm, but Mia wasn't one of the soldiers under his command. She yanked her arm out of his grip and then sneered back at him. "Let us discuss this elsewhere," he said, his hands grasping at thin air while he felt Lana melting into an embarrassed pool behind him. He wanted to join her but anger stampeded over it, the level of rage only family could stir.

"Fine," Mia hissed, she glanced once more over at Lana before succumbing to Cullen's shoving her out the door. It wasn't until they got out to the hallway that he realized he had no idea where to stick his sister. Surrounded on all sides by gossiping chantry was not a wise decision to get into a familial shouting match.

"Follow me," he snarled, leading her down the winding staircase, past a retinue of chanters prepared for the changing of the guard, and into a smaller room used for confessions of people with reasons to fear spies. He'd used it on occasion in high security meetings about the Inquisition and when talking about Lana with Leliana so no one else would overhear about the Hero. A few candelabras flickered along the wall, barely casting any light into the looming room. It offered up only a single kneeler for the confessor and a curtain should it be requested. For now it was tugged back, the kneeler slid up - no one intended to use the room.

Still...Cullen locked the door behind them, then turned to fully glower down at his sister. She, of course, returned it back with her special spin on the sneer by wrapping her fingers together and somehow cracking her knuckles by flexing them. Half a life later and the sound still drove into his teeth like a chisel. "Well, you clearly had something you needed to shout at me about," he began.

Mia stuck out her chin, but the knuckle cracking didn't stop, "Do you have any idea how worried we were? All of us waiting to hear about the conclave and then nothing. Nothing! I thought you moved past pulling this vanishing shit."

He sneered at her cursing, but didn't call attention to it, "It was complicated."

"That's what you always say. 'I can't explain because it's complicated.' What? You think all your fancy Inquisition words will fly over my head because I've never curtsied to Empresses and Kings before?"

"Andraste's tears, that's not what I meant at all. Will you stop putting words in my mouth?" he shouted back, beginning to pace back and forth to try and cool the rising temper.

"Branson was about ready to storm Skyhold itself, even called in some of the others in his co-op to assist and what do I find you doing? Not kidnapped in Val Royeaux, not at the mercy of the Divine who won't let you take a break long enough to send a letter off to his worried family. No, you're wrapped up in the arms of a..."

"Do not finish that thought," Cullen growled, aware of what hearing her classification of Lana would do to his opinion of Mia.

She twisted her head, daring him to finish his unsaid threat, but at least she let it die. Spreading her hands, Mia stepped back from that cliff, when she chuckled, drawing his full attention. "I will give you one thing, I am surprised. She's much older than I'd have expected."

"What? You think I'm the type to run off with some twenty year old girl I'd just met?"

"You're a man, it's not beyond the realm of surprises in thedas," Mia struck back with, cockiness shoring up her words.

Cullen dug his palms into his eyes, trying to scrub them so hard that his sister would vanish. When that didn't work, he dropped them and groaned, "You do not understand."

"Oh here we--"

"And if you will give me a moment," he spoke over top of her complaints, "I will explain." Mia sneered but shut her mouth, which was a small enough miracle. "Yes, you are right, I should have sent a letter. I thought I did, but perhaps in the shuffle it was lost. There are a lot of letters moving in and out and for that I'm sorry. Believe me, I had every intention of keeping you informed."

"When was this letter written?" Mia stepped in, "Was it during your mysterious three month vanishing act where even the Inquisition had no knowledge of your whereabouts?"

Groaning at how quickly she drew across the heart of the matter, Cullen tossed his head back. "No, fine, you win that one. Great for you. I was on a mission, a highly secretive one, all right."

"To do what?"

"I can't tell you," he sighed, which earned him an even worse sneer than the time he accidentally dyed all of her scarves a putrid brown. "There are things in my life that I have to keep secret for other's sakes, all right? I'm not trying to 'pull one over' on you. It is my duty to keep them."

Surprising him, Mia uncrossed her arms and nodded her head, "All right." Before he had time to celebrate this miracle, she continued, "So was that where you found that woman? On your secretive trip you can't tell anyone, even the Inquisitor, about?"

"'The Inquisitor?' Maker, Mia, you did not ask him in person."

"You vanished, what was I supposed to do? Let you stay missing for years again?"

He folded in a bit from her chastisement, aware of the hurt his cutting off communication caused. It was awhile before her letters stopped ending with "And you damn well better answer this one." It was certain she'd be adding that postscript yet again. "Yes, the trip was where I found her. Her name is Lana, by the way."

Mia waved her hand through the air as if it didn't matter. "And let me guess, you're madly in love right, after knowing each other for a month or two," her sneering broke and she whipped her head at him. "Maker's sake, do not tell me you two are already married."

"What? No, I..." He started upon the realization that the idea did enter his mind from time to time.

"Thank Andraste for small favors," Mia sighed as if he just assured her he wasn't dying of the blight.

"Why are you acting this way? I thought..." he tried before she cut him off. There certainly was no doubt she was his sister.

"I'm acting this way because you're behaving like a love addled moron. Yes, I said it, a moron. By the void, what do you know of this girl?"

"She's thirty three, you can call her a woman," Cullen cut in.

"Thirty three...?" Mia mused in surprise before shaking her head, "That's not the point."

"What is your point, because I'm a bit hazy on it right now? Stomping in here and acting as if I've doomed half of Ferelden."

She turned the full force of a forty year old woman who was raising three daughters upon him. Cullen almost expected Mia to cluck her tongue at how he'd _disappointed_ them and then wipe away a smudge on his cheek from her patronizing look. "I get it, okay. You're excited, happy, in the thrush of early love and all that. But...Maker's breath, Cullen, you're not exactly," she waved her hand in a circle trying to drum up the word while he glared at her, "romantic. Don't glower at me, you know it's true. How many girls have you courted in your life?"

That drew a surprised flush to his face. He never mentioned his love life in his letters, for obvious reasons. "I..."

"And then you're suddenly famous across thedas, the man who led the Inquisition's army. There are blighted songs being sung about you, and at least once a month we get a certified letter from some fancy duchess or whatever they have out here asking about your parentage and intentions."

"For the love of...they sent them to you?" he groaned, aware of the ones Josephine used to keep the holy fire of Andraste alive.

Mia nodded and her strict, no nonsense face slipped away to be replaced by one of understanding and compassion. Instinctively, Cullen gritted his teeth. She patted him on the arm, "I understand, you're catching up, having...fun."

"Andraste's tears," he sighed.

"But you need to think clearly, give yourself some time to-to weigh the consequences of your decision before you jump feet first in and find your life ruined."

"Are you bloody finished?" he spat out through clenched teeth, "Because Lana is the _last_ person in all of thedas that will ruin my life. And no, she's not some social climbing leech attempting to use me for her own gains. She's...special, with her own standing."

"Special how?" Mia scrunched up her face, "Like a dignitary? A fancy pants soldier? What, is she some long lost Rivani princess?"

"Her family's Marcher," he sighed, "and no, not a princess, or a duchess, or a countess, or..." Cullen's tongue paused as he realized she may still technically be an arlessa. While that part of her was considered dead, the king did know the truth and wasn't he the one who bestowed noble titles? That was probably something they should figure out.

"Oh, now I get it, she's 'special' in the way that offers no proof beyond what she assures you of while spreading her--"

"Will you stop leaping to assumptions for two blighted minutes?!" he shouted, causing Mia to shrink back. Her eyes darted back and forth through the small room and she kept a grip on her arms, but something in his tone must have finally reached her.

"Very well," she spoke in a cautious voice, "she's special."

Regret at raising his voice dug into his stomach and he glanced down at his hands to find them shaking. Perfect timing for that to act up too. "Please," he gripped his hands together to hide the tremors, "Just, meet with her. Talk to her. You'll see what I mean. Whatever idea you have of her couldn't be further from the truth."

Mia's eyes danced up and down his pleading face. She grabbed onto her waning scarf and wrapped it once back around her neck before nodding, "Fine, but if I suspect anything untoward on her part I will take you home even if I have to drag your ass through the snow to do it."

Biting down a groan at her threat, Cullen gestured out of the room. "This is off to a delightful start already, how much worse could it go?"

When they returned to the apartments, he spotted Lana curled up on the divan with Honor's head in her lap. He stumbled at the picture they made, her hand gently caressing his dog before she'd lift it up to turn a page and Honor would nudge her elbow to resume the pets. "So," Cullen spoke, drawing her attention away from her reading, "this is why Honor's so insistent upon getting on the furniture."

"Ah," Lana blushed, her head dipping down, "I'm afraid I am a pushover when it comes to mabari. Especially ones that do that," she sighed, pointing at Honor who had her biggest, saddest eyes on display. "You're lucky I don't feed her cake all the time too."

"All right," Mia finished shaking off her snowy cloak upon the hook over the door and stomped into the room. He caught Lana's wary gaze at her, her body tightening. "Let us get this over with."

Cullen glared at his sister for already beginning on a sour note, before he gestured over at Lana. "This is my sister, Mia," he said, pointing at the unimpressed woman.

"So I gathered. The eldest one, yes?" she said, and for a moment Mia's face dropped in surprise enough Cullen almost laughed at her.

"Right, and you are a _special_ woman Cullen found in his travels to somewhere her won't talk about. Lana, I believe was the name given."

Lana's cautious eyes darted over Cullen before she dipped her head down, "I am, and I am guessing you were not told much more."

"On that you're correct, my brother can be tight lipped about anything."

"Ever try to get him to admit if he enjoys anything in Orlais? It's like bathing a cat," Lana smiled at her light jape, but Mia only frowned deeper.

"Look, I get what you want. You'll put on the sweet, charming, innocent act to try and win over the extended family. I don't much care. I'm just here to try and understand your motivation."

"My motivation?" Lana blinked, her eyes darting over to Cullen and then focusing fully on the one leading this circus.

Mia stepped forward, her knuckles cracking at an alarming rate. "Why are you with my brother? What do you intend to get from it?"

"Ah," Lana slid back deeper onto the couch and folded her hands in her lap. He expected her to insist that she was madly in love with him, or that there were no intentions beyond caring for one another. But of course, Lana wasn't an average woman by any means. She read the scene before her as only someone who'd dealt with kings and empresses could, and jumped ahead to the next part. "Cullen," she spoke directly to him, "I think you should tell her the full of it."

"Wha..." he started, "Are you certain? I thought you didn't want anyone to know beyond the few of us."

She closed her eyes and a hint of a smile lifted up her lips. When they opened, it was a calculating glare drifting through her deep browns, one he rarely saw. Watching Lana he began to get a sense for the Arlessa hidden deep inside. "If she is family, then perhaps she should know."

"Know what?" Mia interrupted, "What is going on?"

Cullen sighed, turning to his sister to try and drop the news gently, when Lana rose off the couch. While most times he couldn't take his eyes off her certain movements and dextrous body, this was a whole new woman rising to her feet. She wore a cloak of distinguish he'd never seen upon her, the kind that scattered nobility back to their castles with a wave of her fingers. Placing a hand to her chest, Lana said in an irrefutable voice, "I am the Hero of Ferelden."

Mia snorted, her eyes darting around as if to check for pranksters hidden in the walls, "That's a good...What are you...?" she struggled to counter Lana's statement but the power of her force overwhelmed anyone. "But the Hero of Ferelden died. We all heard about it. Mourned it. Right?" she turned to look at Cullen and he couldn't wipe away the sorrow washing across his face.

He lifted his eyes enough to catch Lana's and her noble cloak vanished instantly, a deep regret replacing it. An overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms and remind himself that she was alive overcame him, but he shook it off. Not with Mia here still asking questions. "Yes," he whispered hoarse, "that was my mission. I traveled across thedas to pull Lana from the fade. She was trapped there for two years."

Lana's eyes slid down, her lips drooping with them as she shuffled on her weary legs. Ignoring his sister's glares, Cullen stepped forward and cupped Lana's hand in his. Together, he helped her return to the couch. "She's still recovering, which is why I haven't returned to Skyhold. I'm helping her heal here, where it's safe and... Mia, we don't want anyone knowing about this. Can you swear to keep it secret?"

Mia scoffed, her hands slapping against her thighs as she paced, "Keep what secret? You expect me to believe that...? Or the idea that you hadn't planned this lie all to...?" She paused and blinked, then turned back to them, "The Hero of Ferelden was a mage."

"Indeed I am," Lana said.

"A mage and a templar," Mia pointed at Cullen and he dipped his chin down.

"You've sussed out how we met," he said, his fingers still curled around Lana's. For a brief moment her eyes darted up to his and he squeezed her hand tight.

"You..." Mia seemed at a loss for words, an impressive sight, "You can't be the Hero of Ferelden, she's...she's..."

"Taller?" Lana said, folding her hands in her lap as she looked up at Mia who kept sliding back and forth. His sister seemed to either want to bow to her or jab a finger in her face and call her a liar.

"I, that's not," Mia turned to Cullen instead, "You know the Hero of Ferelden?"

"Yes," he smiled, savoring the shock creeping over Mia's face.

"Knew a couple times," Lana smiled, then a flush climbed over her face and her jaw dropped open. Crinkling up her nose, she slapped a hand over it, "That wasn't what I meant! I was thinking of, you know, because we keep re-meeting and...oh Maker, I am not doing well."

While Lana melted into an adorable puddle of blushing, Mia's crossed arms slipped and she watched the imposing woman break down. She looked about to say something to Lana when the door flew open.

"Oh what now?" Cullen groaned, fully expecting half of the Inquisition to waltz through the door all to gawk at his personal life.

"M...m...m...Maker," Mia crumbled at the woman filling the doorway, though most of that filling was done courtesy of her three foot tall hat.

"Hi Leliana," Lana waved nonchalantly, causing Mia's eyes to grow wider as she whipped back from the mage to the Divine.

"I see there's someone new here," Leliana extended her hand still decorated with the rings of Andraste.

"Most Holy, I never expected..." Mia tenderly picked up her fingers and gave them a limp shake as if she was terrified she might accidentally rip off Leliana's delicate arm.

"It's funny how rarely people expect to find me in my own chantry," Leliana chuckled at her.

"This is my sister, Mia," Cullen filled in for her questioning eyes.

"Of course, I'd heard mention that someone of your relation was in the area," she smiled at Mia with only beatification, but Cullen glared at her. She bloody well knew about this and didn't think to inform him or Lana for that matter? He was prepared to call her out on it, when Cullen caught the edge of a buried lie in Leliana's eyes. His anger flared out as realization rose, she was playing the game to give the impression the Divine knew all in her house.

"Your Perfection, it is an honor," Mia continued, unable to release Leliana's hand.

"I am certain I will feel the same, and while I wish I could stay I'm afraid we're due to an appointment." Leliana managed to yank her arm back with enough grace to make it look natural before she glanced up, "Are you ready, Lanny?"

"My cloak's by the door, let me grab my cane," Lana said, her fingers drifting under Honor's generous stomach.

"It's a wonder she doesn't try to eat it half the time," Cullen mused, watching his love fish the cane out and then offer a pat to the dog. "I doubt there's much she loves more than chewing apart every stick in a three mile radius."

"No," Lana smiled, rubbing Honor's head once more before rising, "I daresay she protects it." Getting the cane under her, Lana rose to her unsteady feet. She got one step in when Honor rose as well. "No girl, you stay here. I won't need you today. Guard Cullen okay, I know you're good at that."

Woofing once, Honor planted her butt on the ground all but trapping Lana so she couldn't leave. Sighing, Cullen nudged his dog out of the way and swooped a hand around her waist to guide her forward. It was silly, he knew, she could get on without him, but Lana's fingers gripped into his arm and she rose up to kiss him. For a brief moment her eyes darted over his shoulder, no doubt taking note of both women watching, and she planted a kiss on his cheek instead.

"We might be longer than normal. Leliana mentioned something about a banana, um..."

"Facial. It's supposed to do wonders to tighten up your skin and give you a radiant glow," the Divine said, her hands folded back into the holy robes.

Cullen smiled, his lips drifting near the top of Lana's head, "As if you need any help with that."

Lana chuckled and he spotted a return of her blush. Wiping down her cheeks, she slid past him and reached a hand out to Leliana who took it. Guiding her cane in place, Lana turned to Mia and stuck her hand out, "I'm sorry to have to leave now, but if I miss this appointment I'll be stiff for days. I can answer any questions you have upon my return."

A breath stuck in his throat as Cullen watched his sister, a part of him certain that she'd scoff or turn away. But Mia took her offered hand and shook it, "Of course. Until then."

Smiling at her, Lana wrapped her arm around Leliana, waved goodbye to Cullen once more, and then the two of them headed towards the door. In hushed tones that carried across the marble floor, Lana chastised Leliana, "Maker's breath, why are you in that getup?"

"Because people need to see the Divine moving among them, and I didn't have time to change after services," she added.

"You're so full of it," Lana laughed back. The door closed, cutting off the rest of their conversation and the apartment fell to silence. It didn't drift lazily above their heads the way a calm stillness would, this beat upon both their brows like an enraged woodpecker.

Mia blinked madly in their wake, her fingers digging into the air that used to hold the Divine and the Hero of Ferelden's hands. "That was...you know, I mean, I know you knew the Divine but... Is she really the Hero of Ferelden?"

Sighing, Cullen slid a brotherly hand around her shoulders. "Perhaps we should sit first," he pointed at the breakfast nook and Mia nodded her head. "Would you like something to drink. We have tea, which I think is still warm."

Dumbstruck, Mia collapsed into the chair, her head buried in her hands. "Yeah, sounds good, but...you better make it the way grandma does. I think I'm gonna need it. The Hero of Ferelden," she groaned at herself.

Chuckling, Cullen pulled out the only bottle of hard liquor in the house, an Antivan rum courtesy of Isabela and her interesting crew of slave freeing pirates. After topping off his sister's mug and giving himself a little as well, Cullen sat at the table calmly sipping and watching her roll her head in her hands. She'd on occasion ask if Lana was really the Hero of Ferelden, and after his assertion that she was, Mia returned to groaning.

"It's going to get cold," Cullen pointed out after five minutes of that.

Sneering, his sister picked up her mug and took a deep swig. After wiping off her mouth, she groaned, "And the bloody Divine too. The two of them, off right now."

"Lana and Leliana have been friends since the blight, good friends. It's why we wound up here, among other reasons," Cullen tried to explain. He felt pity for his sister's state, but a part of him reveled in her pain for jumping to such outlandish conclusions.

"How?" Mia shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, "How do you and Lady Amell... Shit, am I supposed to call her that?"

"No, Lana's good. I don't actually know what she intends to do about her family name."

"Because she's still dead as far as everyone else is concerned?" Mia struggled to keep up. At his nod, she collapsed her face onto the table causing Cullen to rise up in shock. He almost reached out to see if she was okay, when a voice moaned from the wood, "Why can't you ever do anything normal in your life?"

He snickered, leaning back in his chair. "I wonder that as well sometimes," his fingers drifted down and found Honor where she always waited as they ate, right under the table hoping for scraps to magically bounce off her nose. "Lana's worth a bit of strangeness though, more than a bit. I'd..." He screwed up his eyes and shook his head, scattering away the sentiment.

Even with his best efforts, Mia caught on fast, her head rising off the table, "How long has this been going on between you two?"

"That's not easy to answer," he said, earning a sneer, but Cullen waved his hands for a mea culpa, "It's the truth. We spoke on occasion in the tower, before she became a warden. But nothing untoward, never. Lana was...I couldn't put her in danger like that and..." Cullen's eyes stared down at his cup and he watched the milk blooming through the sweet browns of the tea, each racing to complete the other.

"You knew each other in the tower, but then re-met during...oh Maker," Mia threw her head back and her shoulders hunched forward. "I knew something was wrong with you, but no, everyone else kept waving it away saying you were under pressure."

"What? What do you mean?" he glanced away from his mug to watch his sister scrub down her face then lift her hands to stare at her calluses.

"And you never said a blighted word, no, not Cullen. Can't let anyone know a thing about his personal life."

"The stance has served me well," he grumbled, uncertain what had Mia agitated now as she punched blame his way.

Pulling her hands away, she sat up fully and focused her eternal stare through him, "Did you love her?"

"What?"

"When she died, or fell into the fade, or whatever happened..." Mia's glower faded and a pity wiped over it, "were you in tremendous pain because you thought the woman you loved, who saved a nation. No, who saved the world! That she died?"

"I..." he whipped his head down to glare into his cup, fighting back the stew of emotions. He never wanted to think about Lana's loss without her present. Whenever he felt the prick against his heart and in the back of his mind, he'd look over at her, hold her hand, and remind himself she was here, safe. Even knowing she was in good hands with Leliana, it hurt too much to think about the past.

Mia reached out, her hands grabbing onto his, "And you didn't tell any of us?"

"How could I? What would I say? _You know how the Hero of Ferelden just sacrificed herself for all of us? I was in love with her._ _Sorry I never mentioned it before, but we were..._ " he yanked his hands away to wrap them around the mug, drawing warmth as if he could pull strength from it, "It was complicated. I didn't want to mention our relationship beginning because...I was afraid of what would happen if it all fell apart. Of the pitying looks and attempts by others to replace her. No one can replace Lana."

Mia's eyes crawled over him, her finger tapping against the handle of her nearly drained mug. "You fell this hard for her in the few months she was with the Inquisition?"

Cullen whipped up and glared at his sister, "For the Maker's sake, Mia. She..." He sighed, his head slopping forward before continuing, "She's The Mage."

"Yeah, I understand that now. Also _The_ Warden. _The_ Hero. _The_ Savior. A lot of Thees in there."

"No, no," he softly turned his head with each denial, trying to get her to understand, "Lana's 'the mage' the one you and Branson regularly picked on me for. The one I kept mentioning in my letters."

"She..." that caught her, his sister sliding her chair across the expensive chantry floors and a whine trailing it. "She, the Hero of Ferelden, was that same little mage you would write endlessly about?" He nodded. "By the void, why didn't you say anything? Tell us that _the mage_ was also the woman who ended the blight?"

"Because," Cullen swallowed, his throat growing scratchier with each word, "I only knew she survived Ostagar when she saved me in the tower from the, from the blood mages and demons." He could feel the raw pain of tears in his eyes but felt no moisture in them. "Lana's the reason I'm alive today, if not for her I, I'd never have survived the tower."

"Maker's breath," Mia sat back, her face washed white from his truths. She swirled her cup before taking another swig. After swallowing it his sister looked over, "You don't do anything by half measures, do you?"

Cullen folded his hands on the table, watching the scar along the meat of his thumb on the back of his hand. What was the old saying? I know it like the back of my hand? He'd reached the point in his life where most of his scars were hazy memories, some he knew well, others pasts were gone, lost to the ether to be replaced by other memories. But that one, the white jagged dash he'd never forget.

It had to have been the end, after at least a week trapped at the whims of the blood mages and their pet demons. He watched as one by one the other templars vanished, either driven mad or killed outright. Somehow Cullen was the only one left in that prison. He tried praying to block the mages penetrating his mind, to find the strength to free himself, and finally, to purge his soul in anticipation of meeting the Maker. They chittered in his brain, taunts of both pain and pleasure, sometimes in the same breath. It fell away to background noise, barely coherent in his exhausted state, when a new voice entered into his head.

Sweet like watermelon wine on a summer's day, this voice didn't shout at him, didn't leer, didn't unravel his thoughts and lay them bare for judgment. It only cried out for him, worried for him. He didn't believe it, couldn't, and in a desperate grab for his sanity, Cullen wrapped his hands up in prayer so fast his jagged and brittle nails drew a deep line along the back of his hand.

She spoke to him, promised she'd save him, while blood trickled off his hand but he didn't notice, didn't care. His entire body felt like one long scar, ripped open wide to expose every inch of Cullen. The scar never healing, always weeping across anyone who dared to draw close to him poisoning them they way it did his blood. And now...

Cullen's eyes drew away from the little scar to his sister, who bullied her way back into his life, for which he was grateful. "Lana's the first woman I've ever loved," he said, earning a 'no kidding' look from Mia, but he wasn't finished. His fingers ran over the scar. He remembered it not from what caused it, but because after she saved him, saved the whole tower, Lana picked him up by his hand, noticed the blood dried across it, and wiped a whisper of her magic against his skin to heal it.

"And," he smiled, "I hope she's the last woman I ever love."

## Chapter Nine

**Reunion**

**  
**

"That could have gone worse."

The Divine's voice floated over the partition between them, a paper thin curtain that gave Lana a view of her reclining silhouette as practiced hands smoothed some mashed fruit concoction over Leliana's body. Lana's limbs felt as if they weighed another fifty pounds each, but a proud exhaustion rolled through her body. She'd lasted twice as long as the first time she swam, even managing to try a little dive here and there. Wrapped in a robe they were keeping back special for the 'friend of the Divine,' Lana watched her pampered toes knock back and forth as she reclined on a padded deck chair.

"Perhaps I am unfamiliar with worse in Divine speak," Lana said, raising her voice to overcome the partition, "but I'd say having his sister walk in unannounced and threaten to drag him back to Ferelden is pretty high up there."

"Nonsense," Leliana scoffed, the silhouette of her hand waving before one of the attendants grabbed it to coat her arm in the mixture. "There were no duels of honor, no one tried to start a war, and no chantry cleric floated the idea of someone faking their death. Maker, I don't know what it is about small town Mothers and faking deaths but that's their answer to every problem."

"You're being facetious," Lana laughed.

Leliana yanked back on the curtain revealing her normally spotless visage coated in a disturbingly lumpy green and brown mixture. As she spoke a fruity scent floated off her rather swampy look. "Three different Mothers across Orlais all came up with the same plan to deal with a pair of barely adults who wanted to run away and get married."

"What did you suggest?"

"Give them a project that they have to accomplish together; anything that takes two days. Either they'll realize they're young and can't imagine spending the rest of their lives together, or it's true love and marry them without all the simulating death potions. Maker, where do they get these outlandish ideas?"

"Says the bard," Lana cut back with, folding her fluffy arms across her stomach. She accidentally scattered a cheese plate someone left out for her, not that there was much left on it to scatter.

"Ha," Leliana leaned back to her chair, but didn't close the curtain, "touché." The attendants pulled out a knife and Lana tensed up, but they only used it to slice apart a hunk of wood and place two wedges over Leliana's eyes. Lana yearned to ask what was the point, but she remembered she was in Val Royeaux; points were beyond Orlesians. Sometimes you did things simply because if you didn't you'd be wrong.

"Have you given much thought to the family situation?" Leliana asked from below her wood and fruit encrusted body. Watching her, Lana began to imagine ants sensing the feast coating her skin and come scurrying over to bite it all off. Absently, she scratched at her legs in her friend's honor.

"I...I don't know. What am I supposed to do? She's his sister."

"Are they close?"

Lana shrugged, "He'd never admit it as such, but he mentions her often and they do write. I think Cullen likes to pretend he's above it all while enjoying the foundation of his siblings."

"So poison's probably out." The attendants both paused, their eyes darting around in concern, so Lana put on her biggest laugh.

"Leliana, do not be so silly," she laughed again, pretending to clutch her stomach from how silly her friend was being. She'd _never_ use poison to kill someone, not the Divine. Leliana on the other hand... "I feel like I'm on unsteady ground here trying to cast a crushing prison on a Emissary before it hits me back. Probably with a mortality curse no less. For being mindless, darkspawn sure love that one."

Her friend chuckled, then waved her hands in a dismissal at the two attendants who didn't seem to have anything better to do. After bowing deep to the respected Divine, they scampered off. Leliana sat up, her wood wheels popping off her eyes. She leaned through the drawn back curtain and Lana tried to match her, "You're going to have to work on your metaphors if you don't want everyone to know you're a grey warden or a mage."

"It was a simile," Lana began, before sighing into her chest. She was right, why not shout out "Hey, remember that time I killed an archdemon and saved all of you from the blight?" at the top of her lungs while she was at it.

"Lanny," a sticky hand reached over to catch hers, "do not worry. He adores you. Believe me, it's blatantly obvious to anyone who spends more than a few minutes with you." Lana shifted at that, feeling more self conscious from the way her friend played off the obvious affection between her and Cullen. "And, assuming he can convince his sister of that, they'll probably accept you, or at least stop threatening to drag him back home. It'll be fine."

"When has anything in my life ever been fine?" she sulked, flopping back onto the chair.

That drew a snort of the Divine, "All right, I'll let you have that one."

"I just, I guess it's..." Lana swung around on her chair to sit sideways in it, her feet planting onto the ground. With her hands digging into her bony knees below the fuzzy robe, she stared at Leliana, "I don't have any family, not...not like that. And, well, Ali didn't either that wasn't a complete waste of time. So, I'm not sure how to act, or what to..." Her thoughts paused and she tapped her chin, "Come to think of it, did any one of us during the Blight have any family? Oghren had his wife who, well..."

"Morrigan," Leliana hissed, dropping the wood back over her eyes.

"I'm not sure if that counts. I think her and her mother got on worse than Oghren and his crazy dead wife. I never thought of that before, we were like a jolly band of orphans."

Leliana snorted at that, "A well armed, crazy, exhausted jolly band of orphans."

"...on our fifth night of leftover lamb stew, trying to pick around the moldy bits," Lana shouted out with a laugh.

"Which was surprising seeing as how we rarely ever had access to any lamb meat," Leliana said, sniffing her more refined nose up at their old cuisine.

"Alistair had his ways."

"Speaking of..." Leliana sat up now as well, her skin creaking as the paste across her body hardened. "I recently received word that there is to be a blessing gifted upon the Therin household."

Lana released a breath, "Is that all? Maker, I was worried you were going to go back into...never mind," she blinked, "What took him so damn long?"

"You knew?"

"You didn't?"

Leliana pursed her cherry red lips, now smeared in actual cherries and some plums. "I was aware of the idea of a potential child, but I thought..."

"Yeah, the old warden curse still stands," Lana said, steadying her shoulders.

"Interesting," Leliana dug her fingers into her chin, causing half of a mashed up fruit stand to flake free. "Do you think he will accept the child?"

"It's family, all Alistair's ever wanted is family. He'll dive head first in, probably put most other kings to shame. I bet you a copper he'll even change nappies."

"No, that's..." Leliana shook her head in disagreement, but paused, her calculating eyes sliding over Lana who probably knew what made Alistair tick more than anyone in thedas. "A curious thought. There are other princes and princesses who are not makes of their fathers. One that's not from his mother but that was a very extenuating circumstance. I'm certain Alistair will do well with it. He has a habit of failing upwards."

Lana snickered at that and reached for her deep blue glass. Water sparkled in it, but a strange kind filled with electric bubbles. She wasn't certain if she liked it yet, even after three glasses.

Leliana watched her drink, before dropping her next question, "And how do you feel about it?"

She managed to swallow, but the bubbles burned white hot trails down her throat in the process. "What?" Lana rasped out, coughing to get the water out of her nose.

"Alistair, with a child, was that not the reason...?"

"For the love of the Maker, do you not have a hobby? Am I your only source of drama or something? Leils, I'm happy for him, really. It's not just the baby stuff that was why we couldn't work, and you damn well know it. There's no way thedas would've stood for that. By the void, I'd receive complaints about the idea courtesy of rampant rumors and nothing else, even when I hadn't been to Denerim in years."

"What of Cullen?" she asked.

"I don't think he cares much one way or the other. He was a bit bothered when Alistair confessed it to him, but other than that..."

Leliana pursed her lips before speaking, "Does he know about you and children?"

"You make it sound as if I boil them whole in a pot and use their bones for spells," Lana grumbled, earning a glare from her friend. "Yes, fine, he knows. All of it. In fact, I told him during that snowstorm where you caught us, uh... He's known for awhile, plenty of time to turn around and run, but he keeps sticking around for Maker only knows why."

Beaming at her, Leliana slipped back to her chair, "I believe I know why, and very well, I shall drop it. You seem to have everything well in hand."

"I wouldn't take that leap unaided, but I'm trying, very hard," she ran her fingers down her chest to tap against the birthmark. Alistair never cared about it much, she was well aware of his preferred assets, but Cullen adored it. And the idea of him loving it, touching it, kissing it, awakened a warmth in Lana's stomach. She smiled to herself and rested back. Maybe she was worrying too much and things would work out. It'd be a nice change.

"Why did you wear the Divine robes here?" Lana asked, turning the scrutinizing gaze back upon her friend. "You changed out of them the moment you arrived, it seemed rather superfluous and it'd have been easier to avoid the worshipping crowds without."

"Because," Leliana smiled, "even without the hat everyone knows the Divine is here relaxing, moving among the people without a concern."

"Concern?" Lana sat up at that. "Leils, are you worried about assassins?"

"Lanny, was there ever a time in your Arlessa career you weren't?" That was a fair point. "Now amplify that by all of southern thedas, add in one side angry about the mages, another about elves, and a third that's always angry and you have a rather spiteful bunch. I'm keeping an eye upon it, I assure you. But, every now and then it does the people good for the Divine to leave her gilded palace, and Maker does it keep me sane."

"Now that I can agree with," Lana admitted, sliding back onto the chair. While she'd take luxury over the frozen hard ground pocked with insects drawing a pint of blood, after awhile the gilded glint rubbed her eyes raw and sometimes she needed to shout against the chantry's enforced whisper.

Her fingers tapped against her cheek, and she mused, "Perhaps I should send a letter to Zevran."

"Do you think that's wise?" Leliana's skin cracked up again as she turned to face Lana.

"All that talk of assassins, I...it seems cruel to leave him out of our little circle. What?"

"I didn't realize you two were in communication," Leliana cast a careful blue eye over Lana who felt it crawling over her face.

She shrugged, "It wasn't constant. And at times would fall fallow as he was off doing whatever Zev did."

"Sex and mayhem would be my summation."

Lana laughed at that, "True. But he's a good pulse on the rest of the assassin underworld. If anyone's moving, then..."

"Old Lanny, you can't stop, can you?"

"Says Divine Victoria who filled her chantry with spies," Lana snickered, earning a shrug from the woman. It shouldn't surprise anyone, but she bet more than a few Mothers would be blown out of their hose if they learned the full reach of the Divine's fingers.

"Hm, I am curious what the Commander would make of our elven lothario."

"Before or after Zev propositions him?" Lana arched her eyebrow earning a laugh from Leliana. "I'm beginning to think your real fun is found in trying to make Cullen feel as off put as possible."

"It was only a thought," she tried to wave it all away as innocent, but Lana knew her too well.

"Anyway, it's not as if I'm the one who bedded Zevran," she shot a few pointed looks at Leliana before folding her arms.

Shrugging once, Leliana's bow lips pursed, "It was surprisingly better than I expected. Most men who drone on and on about their prowess are anything but. Yet, Zev had the, uh, goods to back it up, so to speak."

"He asked me once after Ali...after the archdemon fell, if I didn't want to give it a try."

"Really?" Leliana sat up in surprise. Somehow despite their love lives being a constant source of entertainment over the years, Lana never thought to tell her this fact. "What happened?"

"I believe I told him 'I wasn't drunk enough yet, but to give me six months.' It wasn't my best response in that state, given, well...you know. But damned if that elf, sure enough, didn't pop up six months later with a bottle of Antivan brandy and that hopeful smirk on his face."

"Wait," Leliana twisted around fully in her seat, her fingers tapping against her face, "You two, you didn't actually...?"

"What? No! Maker, Zev's always just been a friend. We shared the bottle, talked shop for the night, and...maybe smeared mud under Alistair's sheets before bed. Least Zev told me it was mud, although..." Lana tried to dig back through years of her life, it'd been so long since she'd seen that cocksure elf. Before the fade, the Inquisition, even before Seheron. She kept failing to find time for her friends until time almost ran out on her. "Don't worry, Zev's your one or two night mistake. Hands off," Lana wagged her fingers and laughed before reaching for her drink.

"No, I suppose he's not really your type. Blonde yes, but something's missing. Now if he learned a few templar tricks..."

"Maker's breath," Lana sputtered, "do not start that again."

While she struggled to regain her composure and Leliana only offered up a gentle smirk, the two attendants returned. Bowing deep to the Divine, they made overtures that she was now free to wash the stomach contents of a fruit bat off and directed her, not to a tub as Lana expected, but a wall. Leliana stood patiently against the slate, only hints of her pale skin poking out below the green and brown mass. She prodded at a bit on her shoulder, and Lana glanced around wondering if small ferrets would be released to gently nibble it away. Sounded like something Orlesians would do.

Just as Lana was about to ask, a slot opened above Leliana and gallons of water plummeted from the ceiling to wash over her body. She didn't shriek or leap away, only stood stock still as the fruit crust washed over the floor. Prepared, one attendant waved a broom in its direction, moving the slosh towards a drain in the floor. Curious, Lana turned her head up towards Leliana and realized that the Divine decided to forgo wearing any small clothes under her fruit body mask. Leliana cared not a whit for her all natural state, but a few heads turned in her direction and couldn't stop staring. One man, his portly belly eclipsing the tight waistband of the cinched up trousers, nearly walked into a table as he couldn't take his eyes off the Divine's ample constituency.

Unaware of the uproar she caused, Leliana grabbed up a sponge and began to slick off the last of the fruit revealing her own porcelain skin glistening like brand new. Happily clean, she reached out for a towel and her crystal eyes wandered over to the man. It took a moment before he realized who was staring him down and an utter dread draped over him. Scurrying away with his head practically skimming the floor from the bow, the man plowed through a few others peeking in at the Divine. Shrugging once, Leliana slipped her arm through the robe offered to her.

"I don't think the rest of thedas knows what to make of a Divine who's not over 65," Lana said, trying to crane her neck to watch the beet red man scuttle towards the front door without looking at anyone.

"Yes," Leliana finished drying off and wrapped up her flame red locks in a blue towel. "It took quite some time to convince the elder staff that I continue to bleed."

"That is the one nice thing about being a warden, not having to deal with that mess once a month."

"It does make joining  the order rather tempting," Leliana chuckled.

One of the attendants accepted her soaked towels gladly. "Does Most Holy require a private room for any matters?" Her eyes only darted to Lana for a moment before fully focusing on the Divine but it was an obvious enough glance. _What in the...? Oh, here too._

"No," Leliana smiled, "I believe we should return to the Cathedral. You have someone to become acquainted with, after all." Her sweet smile didn't fool Lana. Internally she groaned, knowing Leliana expected to hear all the details later with particular emphasis on all the times Lana shoved her foot in her mouth.

"I suppose so," snatching up her cane, Lana managed to get up to her exhausted legs. While steadying herself, Leliana snuck up behind and wrapped an arm around hers.

"Careful, it's rather slick now."

"And fruity," Lana added. The entire spa smelled not of unguents and acids but the bright sparkle of strawberries, cherries, and every melon in thedas. It lifted the hand of winter and transported her back to summer days lounging in meadows watching the butterflies at play.

With Leliana holding tight, the pair slipped towards the entrance and the changing room holding their real clothes. As they passed the two attendants, she overheard one whisper something to the other. Most of it was intelligible, but the words "Divine" and "commander" both came up, followed by a mile long stare Lana's way. Wonderful, more rumors following her wake.

Unaware of the gossiping, Leliana gestured in the direction of the terrified man, "How many canticles do you think he's speaking right now to make up for catching the Divine unclothed?"

"At least a dozen. Perhaps you should instate naked chantry services. After all, we did have to walk through Andraste's flame in such a state," Lana said, trying to sound lighthearted, but she felt even more eyes swinging towards her.

"That's true, but sadly I doubt I could talk the Grand Clerics into it. Not that the chantry doesn't already have a reputation for more lurid...you know."

"Speaking of, you're going to find this hilarious, but..." Lana steadied her legs under her and tried to take some of the weight off her arm. "I've been noticing looks shot my way. Jealous ones when I'm with you when you're Divine. It's funny, but I can't escape the idea that they're all under the delusion we're involved romantically."

"Oh, yes, many people think that," Leliana spoke so starkly Lana's knee froze in place, her foot hanging a moment off the ground.

"They, what? People think that-that you and I are...and you know about it?"

"Lanny," she chuckled, adjusting her grip to try and cushion it better, "how many rumors put you with every available man in Ferelden?"

"Too Maker damn many."

"It was unavoidable, given how much time I'm spending with a relatively unknown person, that people would assume we were more intimate," Leliana explained. She was right, it shouldn't come as such a great surprise all things considered. People loved gossip, no matter where they hailed from, and there was an ease with which the two of them played off each other that could be mistaken for an old romance.

"Also," Leliana's eyes winnowed down to her old shrewdness leaving Lana to wonder why she ever thought the woman was once a simple helpless Sister, "I've been encouraging the rumors."

"You...why?" Lana stuttered.

"Whispering that the Divine has a mistress gives the people comfort. They think they have leverage over me and it also helps them to see me as human. I may be the voice of Andraste, but I also indulge in the same vices from time to time. It keeps people at ease whether they realize it or not."

"Maker's breath," Lana sighed, her head dangling down, "You scare me sometimes."

"Says the woman who killed an archdemon," She turned her blinding smile on Lana as they finally made it to the changing rooms where someone took the time to lay out all their hastily discarded clothing across racks.

Lana reached out for her dress and tugged it close, "I thought we weren't going to talk about all my wardeny stuff anymore."

"Of course, how could I forget?" Leliana clapped her hand to her mouth, but the edges of her smile puckered out the side.

Leaning against the wall for leverage, Lana dropped her dress over her head and began the long task of buttoning it up. She got halfway up her chest, when a thought rattled in her head and a groan erupted through her throat.

Turning from her far more complicated robes, Leliana raised an eyebrow, "You may as well voice it."

"First Alistair, now you, is there anyone from the Blight I'm not going to be tied to in the annals of courtly whispers?"

The Divine knotted the first of five sashes and shrugged, "If you get in contact with Zevran we could have ourselves a proper orgy."

Plucking up her soggy robe, Lana chucked it at the Divine, scattering her fancy hat across the floor. "I hate you," Lana laughed at her best friend.

* * *

She was all smiles and laughs as they rode through the snowy streets of Val Royeaux clinging to a sled drawn by the Divine's personal hart, but as Lana drew closer to the door a dread settled in her stomach she couldn't shake. Leliana nudged her a few times insisting it would be fine, but the words buzzed like mosquitoes in her ear, the blood pounding through her brain from a panic crawling inside. She hadn't had to worry about people judging her before, people she needed to impress because they might slot into her life.

Before preparing to return to her work, Leliana extended a hand. Taking it, Lana threw up a forced smile, "Should we kiss goodbye, darling?"

Leliana chuckled, "It's all right, perhaps better to save it for an audience when the vultures are growing particularly thick."

Dropping her hand, Lana waved once at the Divine's form retreating back down the stairs. She wrung her fingers over the handle of her cane, trying to draw forth the energy from it to crack open the door and face whatever waited before her. Lifting her head back, she moved to grab onto the handle when the door opened of its own accord and Cullen stood in the way. He blinked for a moment, his frown blossoming into a smile as his eyes darted over her.

"You're back," he said, before turning around and sighing at Honor, "It's only Lana. Will you cease that whining? She began barking and dancing at some sound, I assume it was you and Leliana walking up the stairs."

Lana chuckled at the mabari's honed senses. At least they'd have some warning if an angry mob ever tried to storm to their little apartment. Sliding his fingers against her cheek chilled from the winter winds, Cullen cupped both to add his own warmth before guiding himself in for a kiss. The anxiety knotted in her innards flitted away from the press of his lips and Lana returned it happily. She felt serene and at peace, until her eyes darted away from him to find Mia sitting on the divan.

"How did it go?" Cullen asked, stepping backwards to give Lana room to enter.

"Oh, about what you'd expect," she tugged at her cloak, unclasping it with one hand, and turning to try and toss it over the hook. "Fairly certain Leliana gave a poor man a heart attack."

"On purpose or..."

She smiled at that, "It's hard to say with her."

"Indeed, and you missed a lot of her turn as a spymaster."

"You missed her time as the Left Hand. There were more than a few of her letters I had to burn the moment after I read them," Lana reached down to cup her fingers in his hand. Squeezing tight, she drew strength and so much more through him. Maker knew she was going to need it.

Mia rose off the couch and by the steel in her spine and set to her jaw Lana spotted the family resemblance. Softer in the face than her brother, they both bore the commanding presence that could lead nations if pressed upon. Her hair was brassier than Cullen's and braided into sections twisted around her head. She was a few inches shorter in comparison but stood far higher than Lana. Not that that was difficult to achieve for anyone other than dwarves. She even knew a few elves who stood inches or more above her.

"Things, uh, started out a bit awkward," Cullen spoke watching the two women slowly approach each other.

Mia blinked twice and then turned her head, "If you're the Hero of Ferelden..."

"Oh, not this again," Cullen scoffed. His sister glared at him for interrupting.

"If you will let me finish," she groaned at him before turning to Lana, "do you remember the time you interceded in the small village of Honnleath?"

Lana couldn't stop the smile, that memory vibrant, "Of course, when I met Shale."

"Shale?" Cullen asked.

"Ah, she was the statue in the square. Turned out to be a golem. Which reminds me, I should try and find her before she does any real harm to an indigenous bird population."

"It was a she?" Mia asked, her eyes opening wider.

"That is...a rather long story," Lana danced around it all. First meetings didn't seem the time to go into golems, living paragons trapped in the body of one, broodmothers, and the whole Branka mess. Perhaps over Satinalia dinner instead. "Was that all you wanted to ask me?"

"No, no, I...when you slaughtered the darkspawn that infested the town and freed the people, my sister - our sister - was one of them."

"Oh," Lana touched her chest, "I had no idea."

"Wait, what was Delilah doing in town?" Cullen interrupted.

Mia rolled her eyes, "She had a deep fascination with the, Maker I can't remember his name, the drippy one whose face looked more like a sick crow's. You know who I mean."

"No, I have no idea..." Cullen curled up his nose before turning to Lana, "And you rescued them? How had I never heard of this?"

"Perhaps because you never answer your blighted letters?" Mia interrupted, her arms crossing her chest, "I know I told you about Delilah's ordeal, Maker it was all we heard about for weeks. And then after we learned it wasn't just any warden but the great Hero of Ferelden who saved her it became a damn near constant."

"You don't need to thank me," Lana intercepted between the sibling argument. "It was a long time ago."

"Even so, you took the time in the middle of a blight to rescue people you didn't know. Apparently had no reason to know," her shrewd eyes danced over Cullen and Lana wondered just how much of their past the two had talked about while she was out. "Thank you. If Del was here she'd...blather on for twenty minutes and then thank you."

"I..." she'd had this happen before, people approaching her with arms extended wanting to hug their savior. Sometimes people thanked her for things she didn't even do, other less famous fighters having slaughtered the darkspawn, but trying to correct them only upset people more so she had to stay quiet. Lana felt a blush curling up her neck and she rocked back and forth on her heels, "You're welcome, but I was just doing my job."

"Aren't we all?" Mia said. "Oh, and one more thing, when you were in Honnleath, did the King of Ferelden come with?"

"Mia, why are you even...?"

"Quiet, it's important," she hissed.

Lana glanced up at the ceiling to think. She remembered Shale rising to life, the demon cat, and...oh yes, Alistair was there. He'd thrown a slightly smaller fit about the golem joining them than he had over Zev. And it wasn't as if Shale ever hit on her...or him. Smiling, Lana bobbed her head, "Yes, he was there."

"Damn," Mia cursed, snapping Lana's attention to her. In an explanation, Mia turned to her brother, "Delilah's been going on and on about how she saw the King before he ever took the crown, all proud of herself. We thought it was another one of her exaggerations but Maker, we will never hear the end of it now."

"In your defense, I rather doubt he acted very kingly at the time," Lana said.

"If ever," Cullen grumbled under his breath. She reached over to hold only his cheek and smooth away the worry lines, when Lana felt the curious prick of his sister's stare. It didn't seem judgmental, only curious, very curious. Lana's fingers plummeted away and remained locked at her side. The most apparently pressing question answered, silence fell into the room, one which none wanted to pierce for fear of what could fall out.

"Perhaps I should..." Lana began when the apartment door cracked open louder than usual and an almost harried Detan appeared.

"Commander," she bowed her head and he returned it.

"Do not tell me more of my family's appeared," he grumbled, crossing his arms.

"No Ser, but you should come with me. There is a matter that requires your attention now and...I-I," her steel eyes bounced around the room as if hoping someone would offer her salvation. "I don't know what to do about the druffalo!"

"Druffalo? What in the...?" Cullen's head slopped forward, the exhaustion evident. "Are there not any, no, of course not. What would the chantry know of corralling a druffalo?" He clawed at his head, then risked a glance from the panicked elf to his sister and then Lana. "I fear I should attend to this, but..."

"Maker's sake, stop making such a blight out of this. Head on down there and do whatever you have to. We'll be fine," Mia insisted, jabbing out her chin.

Lana wished she felt the same confidence his sister did, but then she was the one holding all the cards. The best Lana had was a joker and a two of cups. Her eyes darted over to Cullen and he seemed to catch the panic rising in them. Reaching out, his fingers crested around hers and gripped tight. He leaned near her and whispered, "I promise it won't be more than a half hour."

She wanted to assure him she'd be fine, that it was all for nothing, but fear knotted her tongue. All Lana could do was nod once and try to not bite her lip. Releasing her hand, Cullen dug through his hair once more before trailing after Detan and asking all the questions he could about this rampaging druffalo. As the door closed, Lana tried to not imagine she was just trapped in a room with an ogre who was lofting a boulder to crush her head. The silence tripled in strength, beating its hollow notes against them both as they tried to make occasional eye contact and then glance away.

Exhaustion from her day rattled up Lana's legs and she realized if she didn't sit soon, someone would have to be picking her up off the floor. "If you don't mind, I need to rest on the sofa," she said while sliding towards it. Honor perked up and leapt out of the way, giving her a clear path to crash onto the cushions. Gliding back with the dog, Mia watched for a moment before placing her backside onto the gilded chair Cullen hauled over their first day in the apartments.

Lana began to dip into the fade, when her fingers paused. The tendrils of magic shook off her hands as she glanced over at the guest who'd probably never seen much casting in her life. Lana was doing a great job at hiding her true nature.

Swiping once at her nose, Mia adjusted in her seat, "I suppose I should say something to you." _Oh Maker._ Lana tried to bury the rise of anxiety burning through her veins. She reached down to blindly pet Honor, getting a handful of slobber for her effort. "I'm sorry, for rushing in here with the accusations I had."

_Wait. What?_ Lana turned over to Mia to find her eyes cast down as she glared at her hands. "We hadn't heard from him in some time and then out of the blue rumors are flying about the Commander of the Inquisition sequestered away in Val Royeaux with a mystery woman."

_Rumors? Mystery woman?_ Maker, was this more of Leliana's doing or did Orlais truly have nothing else to speak of?

"I admit, none of that sounded anything like my brother, and I may have, no, I overreacted. For which I apologize," her eyes darted up to Lana.

Smiling, Lana bobbed her head, "It's accepted, and I can understand your reaction. Given the limited information, it doesn't seem like something Cullen would do. Much less remaining in Val Royeaux not under duress. Andraste, the complaints from his lips every time he returns from having to walk the market..."

"I'm surprised he hasn't gotten into a few fist fights along the way," Mia chuckled softly.

"There's a good possibility he does and will not tell me," Lana said, still upset about how he wouldn't elaborate on his fight with Alistair.

"That sounds like my brother," Mia massaged her head, digging in furrows across her forehead similar to Cullen's. "I admit, this is all a bit..."

"Strange?"

"Surprising. In that my brother is in love, seeming to be madly in love with...well, you. A hero, a grey warden."

"A mage," Lana sighed, always aware of what people thought of their pairing.

"That's perhaps the least surprising part of all," Mia said, which caught Lana's attention, but she didn't elaborate. Mia scrunched up her face and shook her head, "In all his letters home from Skyhold he never once mentioned you, even the one after you die- Fell?"

"Into the fade," she explained, her voice blank.

"All that time and there was nothing, as if he wasn't in mourning," Mia twisted her head at Cullen's choices, then she paused and guilty eyes darted up to Lana.

"I...we both decided to keep our relationship under wraps, at least as long as the threat of Corypheus remained. My being who I was, and his being who he is, if people knew they could jump to certain conclusions and then..."

"They'd think Ferelden or the Wardens were planning on taking over the Inquisition," Mia said.

"Or the mages, or Amaranthine, or...Maker, I'm too many people," she sighed which earned a quick snort from Mia.

"You're really her?" Mia glanced up and down Lana, no doubt sizing up the tiny mage tossed back in pain against the couch, "The great stopper of the blight, savior of thedas?"

Lana bobbed her head, "I'm afraid so. Never what anyone's expecting and there are more than a few Arl's and Bann's that can quote me on that."

Snickering at that, Mia adjusted herself in the hard chair, then crossed her legs. She wore trousers which made her stand out in the chantry see of robes, thick and padded to deal with the full winter of Ferelden. Somehow the true winds Lana expected, the cold bitter enough to freeze your hair to a brittle breaking point, never touched here. At least not yet. She kept waiting for a real storm to land. Looking at Mia, a curious feeling swarmed through Lana's gut and she started realizing it was homesickness. Not for the tower, or even the Vigil, but Ferelden itself. To be surrounded by barking dogs instead of the lap rats they had here, to smell crisp winds even in the height of summer, and to gaze out at the knotted cliffs and waving grasses. She missed it more than she ever thought possible.

"Why Cullen?"

Lana blinked a few times, dragging herself from her flight of fancy. "Beg pardon?"

"I can get why some of the gigglier specimens in Orlais think chasing down a Ferelden Commander would be fun. No doubt they imagine we're all secret Avar barbarians who'll toss them over their shoulders for _conquering_ on bearskin rugs," Mia rolled her eyes at Orlesian stereotypes which were rather accurate. "But you're a Commander yourself, a...shit, you're an Arlessa, aren't you?" Lana nodded and bit her lip. "You could command the attention of people with real titles, land. Why my brother?"

Lana turned her frustrated sigh into a forced smile. She was tired of having to explain what seemed obvious to her, but perhaps family needed to know. "I'm technically as much of a no one as Cullen. My family is...there is no title passed down. I'm a mage, nothing to claim. A Warden, much the same. And..." Maker, why was this so hard? She felt she had to chose her words carefully, to prove she wasn't in it for-for what? A shot at infiltrating the Inquisition? At Cullen's power? Bragging rights?

Dropped her eyes to her lap, Lana watched her fingers thread through each other. With a steady voice, she laid out the truth, the full of it, "I had the worst crush on Cullen when I was an apprentice. Giggled like a braying mule near him, would try and find elaborate ways to talk to him, to, Maker help me, just stand near him. It never went anywhere, not in the tower, not when we were so opposed. I never thought it would go anywhere, then the world upended itself."

She twisted her hand over the solitary ring upon her middle finger, the band enchanted to increase her magic. In truth, the enchantment ran out ages ago. She wore it now because it was familiar and she liked the blue stones embedded deep within. Lana had a habit of holding onto things she loved beyond reason. "We found each other again, years after the blight, after we'd both changed from the war, from command itself I suppose."

"At Skyhold?" Mia asked, and Lana looked over at her for a moment.

"No, it was a few years before that. He was still with the templars and I a warden. I needed him to help with...a warden matter. Cullen didn't need to volunteer but he came, and we, well, reached out to each other. It was foolish, both of us knowing that nothing would ever come of it as we belonged to organizations above and beyond us, but...I don't regret it now and I didn't then."

"I...see," Mia leaned back, her fingers curled around her chin in contemplation. Whatever she was thinking was beyond Lana, who felt herself clinging by strands to make sense of any of this. What she needed was a book on navigating relationships to guide her, though it was doubtful there'd be a chapter called: So Your Dead Lover Is Back From The Grave And She Was Once Intimate With The King.

After a moment, Mia's fingers dropped and she glanced over at her, "I'm afraid that I know little about you, beyond the..."

"Rumors?" Lana sighed, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the glint of her plant happily consuming the sunbeams through the stained glass heart of Andraste. "I know some of them. There's the one that I'm a blood mage. Not true, for obvious reasons. That I'm the power behind the throne in Ferelden. Also not true, it was bad enough trying to keep an Arling in line."

"What of the King?"

Lana's half hearted smile crashed at Mia's innocuous question. She drug her head down and turned to the woman wearing a curious look on her face. _Sweet Maker, did Cullen tell her about Alistair? Would he?_ Lana's brain scrambled to make any sense of the quagmire she walked herself into. "We were together before he took up the crown, but the moment he did it...we stopped being involved." A truth, of sorts. They could save the full of it for breakfast during First Day.

Mia scooted forward a bit, her face unreadable. Tapping her fingers a few more times against her mouth, she rolled her tongue in her mouth before speaking. "What's he like?"

"Alistair?" Lana snorted, "Did you ask your brother his opinion?"

"No," Mia shook her head, "should I?"

"You won't get much of an answer but it's rather entertaining to watch. Ah, Alistair is light hearted. He's a butterfly wafting over the grass, little touches him, but the things that do send him crashing to the dirt."

"I hear he's funny," she seemed enthralled with gossiping about royalty.

"To some people, he is. To others he's as trying as a rash. I am the former, but even to me his jokes could grate from time to time. Sweet, airy, and he cares to a dangerous degree sometimes."

Mia nodded along with each piece of information as if she was writing it all down for a book. As Lana fell to silence, uncertain what to say next, Mia's eyes darted up. "And what of my brother?"

"Cullen's the most determined person I've ever met. He makes me feel stronger, safer, more at ease. Each of his rare smiles blossoms inside of my veins, warming me, sometimes for hours after. And Maker, I could watch him move about all day," Lana mused to herself, thinking of the last time she held him in her arms.

"All right," Mia coughed, "I was wondering what he thought of the King but that was...interesting to hear. Maybe not so much the last part."

"Ah," Lana scrunched up her eyes and then dug her hands across her cheeks to try and hide the embarrassment charring them. "That wasn't meant to, I only...sorry. To, uh, sorry. But you should ask him yourself, if only for the sneer."

Mia sighed, and stuck her fist upon her hip, "That sneer. Would you believe he used to do the same when he was only a child? Three years old, running around bare assed and sneering because he refused to put on trousers."

Chuckling at the picture, Lana could easily see his trademark sneer having been something crafted at birth. "So it's not a Rutherford trait then? It comes so natural, I'd assumed..."

"No, that's all on Cullen. Branson has a little twist to his lips whenever he's perturbed, makes him look like a right ass but he thinks it's sophisticated."

"A sophisticated ass," Lana said.

"Which is the worst kind to have around. And Del's too flighty to ever sneer, or remember why she should be sneering in the first place. Total baby of the family syndrome with her," Mia leaned forward, a hand over her mouth as if whispering a secret. "What about your family?"

"I, uh," Lana waved her fingers around as if that could offer up an explanation, "I don't have any family. I was sent to the tower when I was six, and they chose to not keep in contact."

"Oh..." Mia paused, the member of a large, happy family uncertain how to react to someone from a broken one. Somehow the happy always had troubles understanding the sad, but never the other way around.

"It's not so bad," Lana said, "there are others who had it far worse. Arriving at the tower at 13 or 14, remembering their parents and siblings vividly only to have it all cut away because of..." She almost called it the Maker's curse. It sat in her brain like a black weevil buried deep inside a bag of flour. Even with every step she made, every embrace of who she was proving that mages weren't evil, the weevil remained reminding her that she was less than. A danger. Slapping on a smile, she changed directions, "I remember some of my life before. There was a small farm I grew up on."

"In the Free Marches?" Mia said.

"Yes," Lana was surprised, few knew her origins didn't begin in Ferelden. "West of Kirkwall, rather a bit west. It wasn't much, a few goats here, some sorghum there. What I really remember are the apple trees stretched across the horizon. Dozens of them waiting for children to scurry up in the branches and snatch away their fruit. I..." The memory stung back. She'd returned to that farm once, oddly enough with Alistair in tow. Maker, she didn't even know why. All her life, friends were her family, the people she chose, but after becoming the Hero she thought she needed something more. That was a mistake that tainted the few happy memories she clung to of her origins.

Through the dark mood, a bright thought lifted her lips and she smiled, "I do have one family member, Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall."

"You're related to the Champion," Mia's eyes widened again and she looked over the tiny mage.

"Believe me, we look almost nothing alike. Act almost nothing alike too, but she's...she's the best cousin I could ask for that I didn't." Her eyes darted down to her lap, when Mia reached over and patted her hand.

"Family can be a right pain, but you make what you can with it," she said, nodding her head. Lana smiled at her for that, and she returned it. Then she leaned back and shook her head, "I swear, I could drop that man off a mountain for keeping you from us."

Lana laughed at the idea, "There were good reasons, but hopefully, that won't be an issue any longer."

That caught Mia, and she turned a curious eye on Lana. Before she could ask a question, the door burst open and Cullen ran through the foyer into the sitting room. His hair was slicked back in saliva as if a massive tongue lapped over his head, and mud splattered his clothes, but otherwise he looked none the worse for the wear.

"I'm here, I'm..." his eyes wild, he glanced around the room before spotting the two of them calmly sitting near the hearth chatting. "It's, are you two...?"

"Take care of the druffalo?" Lana asked innocently.

"Ah..."

"Let me guess, fingers up the nostrils then pinch back," Mia said, waving her hand as if it was no big deal.

"Tried that, but it wasn't actually a...you're both, um," Cullen glanced around the room as if he expected to find furniture tossed around and on fire. "You're..."

"Maker's breath," Mia waved her hand dismissively, "go and get cleaned up. You reek of druffalo shit."

"That," Cullen paused and lifted up his shirt to give it a good sniff. After crinkling his nose, he dropped it and slid towards their bathing room but not before casting one more concerned look at Lana. "Are you certain...?"

"Yes, don't worry. We'll still be here when you get out."

"Having a civilized conversation, no less," Mia spat back with. "Would you care for a drink?" she asked Lana, who tried to stagger to her feet to help, but she waved it away, "Don't worry, I know where the cups are."

"I..." uncertain what to do, Cullen walked backwards into their bathroom, his eyes bulging as he watched them. Once the door closed, Mia and Lana both broke into unending giggles.

## Chapter Ten

**Prayer**

**  
**

A hundred voices rose up from the rows of pews below, each chant bolstered by its harmonious sister to create a haunting and beautiful song echoing through the sanctuary. Candles sputtered in little battalions upon the altar, next to it, and more tucked beside the pews. They glowed less like flame and more a multitude of stars pocked against a moonless night. While all the members of the chantry clustered together in the first fifteen rows, their heads bent over in fealty, a lone figure watched from the balcony above. She sat perched in a worn chair, her chin upon the railing as she gazed downward at the procession below.

Leliana was easy to see, of course, having the greatest hat and leading the services. She was supposed to stand by and wait for the song to finish, but Lana could see her chin dropping low and her mouth widening. The bard couldn't give up her song. While it was interesting to watch her old friend guide an entire chantry full of people during vespers, her real attention was on the man bent upon the kneelers.

Cullen stood out, not that it was difficult being surrounded by 80% women. The few brothers in the Grand Cathedral kept to the back, or seemed to skip this service in general. She wondered if that bothered Cullen, to be singled out so easily, but if he felt put off he didn't show it. His hands were pressed together tight, his head bowed as he bobbed along the washing sea of the chant. The only disturbance to his fervor was the woman beside him. Every once in awhile Mia would do something, Lana couldn't tell what at such a distance, and Cullen would twist his head enough to glance over at his sister.

It'd been about a week since her arrival, and after the embarrassing first meeting, Lana and she began to get on. Many more moons would have to pass before it became a friendship, but the foundation was there. It certainly helped how much Mia bore in common with her brother, even if neither would admit it. And, for all his grumblings about his sister sticking her nose where it didn't belong, Cullen seemed genuinely happy to have her around. He even took her on a walking tour of the famous Val Royeaux bazaar, surprising Lana because she didn't think he even knew of its existence.

"You're not down there with them?" a voice drew forth from behind her and Lana broke away from the siblings to find Detan haunting around the edges of the balcony. It was in a state of disrepair, most of the upholstery on the chairs split and faded, rotted wood cracking, metal hinges bent, and old bunting from some long dead Divine wafted off the ceiling. No one intended to use it save the ghost of the Cathedral.

"I..." Lana staggered up to her feet to face the elf. Her mind traipsed around how to explain her absence. "No, I don't consider it my place."

"I see," Detan said. She was dressed as she always was; utilitarian, grey, stark. Lana wondered why she kept herself so plain, but it dawned upon her that the elf was trying to blend in with so many humans. There was a great amount of work put into her appearance to make her vanish within the folds of the chantry, which Lana understood well.

"What of you?" Lana asked. Her hand skirted along the balcony railing, and she glanced down as all the chantry rose for a benediction. She knew the lines from her days as an apprentice but didn't feel them. Certainly not the way Cullen did.

Detan's wary eyes slipped around the edges, "What of me?"

"Elves were officially welcomed into the bosom of the chantry," Lana recited the both blessing and grievance on everyone's lips. Leliana was right, it wasn't the mages freedom that had everyone up in arms but the idea of having to share a pew with a knife ear.

Without a clipboard to hide behind, Detan's fingers tugged at her sleeves, yanking them out of their tight roll. How had Lana never noticed how long they were? Her clothes barely fit without pinning in place as if they were purchased second hand and hemmed to fit her. "I, the Divine has been more than welcoming of my people, but...um," her eyes widened even more in the weak light to the point they looked like reflective pools sunken in her face.

Shaking her head, Lana rescued her, "You don't need to kiss Leliana's ass for me. I can handle criticism of her, and so can she, in certain doses."

Detan nodded, but she looked wary, put off by the shem who could be giving her just enough rope to hang herself. "If'n you'll forgive my wagging tongue, my Lady, but..." she stepped primly down the aisle to stand beside Lana. Her own wary eyes darted over the procession down below, taking in the elaborate grandeur of something denied to elves for centuries. "There's the decree in city squares that something is open to all, and then there's the reality of praying beside dozens of humans. People don't willingly give up their assumed space, it has to be fought for inch by inch, drop by drop, and I'm afraid I don't have the stomach for it." She ran her fingers over the balcony, her pale pink nails smudging up ancient dust, "Not all of us are fighters."

"I understand," Lana said, then she snorted and shook her head, "No, not entirely. But, I can try to. In truth, that's why I'm up here."

"I don't understand, you're human, right? Fully. There was no mention of an elven parent," Detan glanced up and down Lana as if trying to find some hidden elven blood. In truth, there could be. She'd heard of other half elves who passed without anyone noticing, and then there were others who lived forever between worlds.

"Yes, I am human to the best of my knowledge. It is..." she sighed, aware of the trap she talked herself into. "As you said, there is the smiling face on the sign outside the chantry, and the scowling one at the altar. The chantry was...has never been my place of succor. It is not welcoming of people like me, and I doubt that will be changing anytime soon."

"I see," Detan's eyes hunted over Lana, but she didn't glance over at the elf's dissecting gaze. She was focused upon the statue of Andraste, over twenty feet tall and white as snow. It towered above all the worshipers prostrated below. The prophet's hands were turned heavenward as if she was parting the air from all the filthy magic cast upon the people by the Tevinter Magisters.

Magic should serve man and not rule over him.

Seemed simple enough, but what was serving? Was it being stripped from your home, tossed into a circle, and left to rot until you were needed by the whim of a King or army? Was it devoting your life to helping others the way the chantry was supposed to? Could the magic ever be viewed as nothing more than a tool, the same way people looked at a hammer or a saw?

Maker, this was why she stopped setting foot inside chantries. All they did was churn up her own self loathing buried deep below her skin but never gone. The entire foundation was built upon containing people like her, others cursed by the Maker. Then again...

Lana turned over to watch Detan, her watery eyes trailing across the prophetess' face with a humble fervor. Andraste also fought to free the elves, not just from slavery but into society. And look at how well they kept to that founding ideal. Any attempts by Leliana to return to it are shouted down and ignored. There were rumors of chantries being set ablaze by their own Mothers who'd face the flames rather than having to serve elves. Lana didn't blame Detan one bit for avoiding that fight. She doubted she could do the same for mages.

"What are they doing?" Detan asked, shaking Lana from her revere.

"Hm..." Lana glanced down as everyone gathered in a line. "Oh, they're receiving the Mother's blessing. In this case, the Divine's. It's a kind of cleansing of your sins. You step forward with your mind full of whatever's darkened your heart, the Mother waves that lit flame over your head and burns them free." Below them the Grand Clerics began first, each one tipping her head low to make certain the hat didn't catch on fire.

Lana's eyes wandered down the rows and rows of uniform robes, all the same hue and shade as the one before. The chantry thrived on always taking the smooth path and never deviating. In the middle of the white river stood a green rock, Cullen's hands wrapped around each other as he waited patiently.

"Does it work?" Detan asked, even more curious.

Lana knew the worries in his heart, some of them at least. The ones he'd whisper to her about the Inquisition, about his future, but nothing haunted him the way the past did. Those were the sins Cullen never seemed to be able to absolve himself of.

Sighing, Lana whispered, "Depends on if you believe or not."

 * * *

With a break in the storms, it seemed time for Mia to return home to Ferelden proper. She'd enjoyed the vacation away but Maker only knew what her full house got up to while she was gone. Cullen understood, Orlais was only for the stoutest of constitutions, but a part of him was sorry she had to go. He'd had so little time to visit his family even after Corypheus fell. Or, in truth, he made certain he didn't have time. Watching his siblings give chase to their rambunctious children, get into petty arguments with their spouses and in general love home life dug into him. He didn't have that, any of the certainty of a family at home or serenity of peace. Only a hole where his heart had once been.

Glancing over at the woman with one hand upon Honor's head and the other on her cane, he smiled. He had it now. Lana's eyes darted over to him and she smiled a question, no doubt at the way he was worshiping her with his look. Instead of answering her, Cullen slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close to plant a kiss on her head. Her giggle traveled through her ribcage and up his arm, causing Cullen to smile wider in return. Reaching closer, he couldn't feel Lana's ribs prodding out from below the wool surcoat she wore to fend off the cold, which was an improvement from when they first arrived. He didn't understand why it was taking her so long to put back on the weight, but she didn't seem too bothered by it.

Breaking away from the dog, Lana slid her fingers up Cullen's arm and turned in his grasp, her lips searching for his.

"I think that's about...Oh, not again," Mia groaned, causing them to break apart with a pair of matching blushes. "It's a damn good thing I'm leaving now before this gets any more awkward," Mia stormed but he spotted a soft smile warping her lips below the sisterly annoyance.

"Is that all you brought?" Cullen asked gesturing to the lone bag knotted up against the caravan's other goods. Two great horses tramped in the snow champing at the bit to get moving, their breath foaming in the cold. It was a lucky thing so many merchants were moving too and fro across the border. He had to give Alistair that one, Orlais and Ferelden hadn't been this friendly since before the invasion.

Mia rolled her eyes, "What? That's not enough? You think I shoulda drug a chifforobe around or something?"

"No, only...never mind," he shook his head, trying to shake off the prick of embarrassment only his family could cause.

Reaching forward, Mia caught Lana's hand in both of hers and patted it once. Lana smiled and returned it, "It's been a pleasure meeting you."

"You sure about that?" Mia startled at her word, her eyes darting over to her brother.

Lana chuckled, "Believe me, I've had far rockier first impressions from some of my better friends. And, none of them can tell me the more entertaining tales of Cullen's childhood."

"Oh Maker," he groaned. This was why he did his best to always be around both Lana and Mia instead of leaving them alone. "What did you tell her?"

"Nothing too salacious, dear brother. Maybe a few of the more embarrassing yarns about that time you borrowed mother's pans to fashion yourself a set of plate armor and went out to hunt a dragon."

"I...that's not, I was only six!" he tried to not shout right at her.

Lana reached over to pat his cheek, no doubt warming her hand instantly from the flush, "There there, it's quite adorable." Unable to wipe away Cullen's frown, she curled her fingers through his scruff and then turned to Mia, "Whatever happened to the vanquished dragon?"

"We kept that blighted tiny lizard for a good year if I remember right. What did you name it?"

"I am not playing this game," Cullen pouted, wishing his sister would leave already.

Mia leaned closer to Lana and whispered loud enough he could hear, "I'll ask Branson, he'll remember and then write to you."

"Good," Lana smiled, folding her arms back into her cloak against the rising winds.

After patting Lana once on the shoulder, Mia turned back to her grumbling brother, "And you, when are you going to get back to proper civilization?"

"I..." his eyes darted over to Lana who was happily scratching Honor's head without a concern in the world. "There are a few more issues to handle by letter before I am required in Skyhold. I'm hoping to keep my visit there as brief as possible. I don't want to leave Lana alone for long."

"You don't need to worry about me," Lana laughed. "I have Leliana to help, and Honor should we need any bandits disposed of."

Cullen sighed, "I know," he fluffed up his dog's slick coat, which Honor in turn answered the attempt by licking his hand, "but I cannot help it, worrying may be what I am best at."

Her doe eyes dropped wider into compassion as she lightly trailed her finger down his elbow, knotting it against the sheep's wool that bunched up at the joint in his coat. Mia coughed, her eyes darting down the street. "Ah, I did forget something. Think you can help?" she asked, shooting a look at Cullen.

"I believe so," he answered, trailing with her towards what looked like a small stand currently boarded up against the press of winter. As they turned the corner, Mia paused and folded her arms. "I...what do you need help with?"

"Maker's breath," she rolled her eyes and shook her head at the clear ruse she pulled to get him away for a private talk. Cullen bounced back and forth on his toes, feeling even more foolish for falling for its obviousness. "Now, you're going to write, right?"

"Yes," he said, bobbing his head.

"Good, and to all of us, even Del because she's been in a mood as of late after the baby and she loves having letters from the 'Commander of the Inquisition' to flash around."

"Wonderful, that's probably why it seems all of thedas knows I'm here," he grumbled, but intending to follow his sister's orders. He feared the consequences of disobeying.

"I know you won't be finished up by Satinalia, but you should get back home in time for Wintersend. Paint some eggs for your nephew and nieces."

"You mean try to not crush the fragile egg shell," Cullen sighed, aware of how well his attempts went when he was a child.

Mia chuckled, "That's half the fun, and why we've got so damn many of the backups around." She patted once along his shoulder in a friendly manner, then her eyes winnowed down to a death stare, "And, for the love of the Maker, Cullen, do not screw up what you have with her."

"I..."

"It ain't often the Maker sees fit to make someone that...shit, she's the damn Hero of Ferelden and for some reason seems to be smitten with you. I don't know what trick you pulled to manage it, but..."

"By the void, Mia. I know that, okay," he spat, well aware of the lifetime opportunity afforded him.

She blinked at his outburst, and then sighed out of her nose, "If you will let me finish, I was going to say that you make a lifelong habit of diminishing yourself but that girl, sorry, woman, she's your fit. Maybe not perfect, but what is? So don't screw it up by second guessing things, okay? You deserve happiness even if you think you don't."

With his eyes on their boots covered in snow, Cullen laughed at her accurate words, "I will do my very best to remember that."

"Good," she slugged him once in the shoulder, then turned back, "Now give me one last hug before I set out. I can't wait to get out of this blighted country and return to a proper one. If it weren't for your mabari I'd fear I'd gone deaf from the lack of barking here. It's not natural."

Laughing at her always right assessments, Cullen obliged his sister with their family hug. The last time they'd embraced in such a manner he was all of thirteen and about to leap onto a broken down nag to head towards Denerim for templar training. Despite it being twenty some years later, and his mind having hardened against all manner of pain and horror thedas could conjure, he felt like the frightened child saying goodbye to his overbearing and loving sister.

"The world's taken enough from you," Mia whispered to him, "time you took some back." Slugging him once more on the shoulder, she walked crisply to the wagon, patted Honor, gave Lana a gentle hug and then leapt onto the seat. As the caravan rattled away, the wheels and footprints disturbing the grey sludge of the street's snow, Cullen wrapped an arm around Lana and pulled her tight. She melted against him, wrapping herself tighter even if she didn't need the support. The first time he walked away from his family he had nothing but the fire in his soul. Now, a new fire stirred in his heart lit by the hope of the woman wrapped in his arms.

## Chapter Eleven

**Birthday**

**  
**

Watching Lana dig into her pockets, Cullen felt the curious stares of the watch guards beside the internal chantry door. Instead of templars it was some of Orlais' soldiers generously donated by Celene to the chantry during its time of need. Of course it raised the question of who they truly answered to, but it wasn't as if anything of great importance would happen at the door out of the Grand Cathedral.

"Maker's balls," Lana cursed, her hands coming up empty. The swearing drew more glares from Mothers but once they saw who let it slip a few pursed their lips and their admonishments died. _Strange._

"What is it?" Cullen asked, already sweating under the heavy coat and wishing the chantry braziers came with a setting lower than the face of the sun.

"I lost one of my gloves," she sighed, waving the solitary left one in her fingers.

"I can go and find it..." Cullen offered, prepared to head back up the stairs.

But Lana waved her hand, "No, I have this. I suspect I know where it fell out. Honor," she called to the dog waiting patiently at their side. "We've got a glove to find." Mage and mabari limped back towards the living quarters of the chantry, leaving Cullen alone at the doorstop with nothing to show for it.

He nodded once at the guards who gave him a sympathetic wince before turning back to staring into the chantry proper. After a few minutes of absently inspecting the air, Cullen began to wonder if he shouldn't chase after Lana when the guards snapped to attention. Lifting his eyes away from the nails he tried to pick clean, Cullen spotted a great entourage flowing behind the Divine. Guards circled around it like vultures would above a corpse, the grit in their jaws far more impressive than the two left by the door. He began to slide back to give the Divine passage out to Val Royeaux. She was wrapped up in a conversation with three different people, all of them flapping their sleeves to make exuberant points, which she deftly batted away. Seeming to be consumed by politics, Cullen assumed she wouldn't spot him.

"Ah, Commander."

He was known to be wrong.

Gently parting her flock as if they were sheets dangling upon a line, Leliana slid towards the man trying to meld into the wall. "What brings you down here today? Without your dog no less."

"Honor's off with Lana searching for a lost glove. We were going to take a stroll through the markets to try and savor the snow free day."

A smile turned up Divine Victoria's face, "It is a true gift of the Maker to grace us with such a beautiful morning in the midst of a trying winter."

Murmurs of agreement broke from her entourage, a few adding their own grateful prayers to the Maker or Andraste. Leliana barely waited for them to finish before she leaned closer to Cullen. "Is Lanny up to it?"

"She swears she is, but that's why I'm bringing Honor with. In the event it wears on her, we can find a sled and tow her back."

A half a smile curled up Leliana's cheek; she clearly found the idea of Lana being pulled by a one dog open sleigh amusing. Wiping it back down to her magnanimous Divine facade, she bowed her head. "It sounds a joyous time for all."

"I suppose so," Cullen blinked, trying to keep abreast of all the aloof greetings. He'd just managed to reach the point of seeing Leliana hiding under the office while in the apartments. Returning to the remote Divine was unnerving.

He was about to bow his goodbyes to the Divine, when Leliana darted forward and whispered, "I assume you're planning this as a way to celebrate Lanny's birthday."

_What?!_

"Ah...I, um, yes?" limped out of Cullen's mouth.

_It was her birthday? How didn't he know that?_ That should be something he knew. Right? Most certainly. Cullen's brain panicked, but years at the helm of an army taught him to keep his face neutral.

Leliana only offered a quick once over at his response before she slipped back, "Enjoy your day, Commander."

"And, uh, yours..." he called out to the retreating Divine and her conclave of very important chantry clerics.

Once they slipped around a corner, he slapped his forehead in consternation. _Maker's breath, her birthday? What was he going to do?_ She hadn't said a word about it, merely suggested this morning they head out because the snows finally broke. Had she been waiting expectantly the whole morning for him to wish her a happy birthday? _Sweet Andraste, what was he going to do?_

"Found it!" Lana's voice echoed over the solemn faces of both the stone statues as well as the chantry clergy. Waving her claimed glove high in her hand, she limped towards Cullen with what looked only like proud glee on her face. He tried to find a hint of any sorrow at his forgetting, but there seemed to be none there. _Did she expect him to forget or was there hope of a greater surprise later?_

She extended her arm to him and smiled up, "Shall we?"

"Of course, yes," Cullen bobbed his head at her and took her arm in his. Snuggling in tighter than she needed to, Lana moved with his body towards the front door while Honor barreled to the front. Cullen fought to keep a tremor out of his legs as his mind panicked, whispering that he failed at this before he even began. Why must relationships be as difficult as leaping blindfolded across a swamp that's also set on fire? Perhaps it was his imagination, but he could have sworn the two stone faced guards snickered at his predicament as they walked past.

He was screwed.

In what came as no surprise, the market place overflowed with people rushing to fill orders and their pantries thanks to the snows breaking for a quick reprieve. Weather mages weren't known to be exact, but nearly all of them predicted another large storm looming on the horizon and no one wanted to be caught unawares. Because of that, Cullen was in a particularly fouler mood than usual, his anger increasing with each pointed shoe that tread over his foot and gilded elbow digging into his side.

Lana sighed at the press of bodies, her voice barely audible over the all encompassing din of hundreds of Orlesians screaming for what they wanted. Screaming was accurate. No one in Orlais seemed capable of any patience. Everyone crowded around a stand, their manicured fingers heaving royals or gold at the clerk and shouting at the top of their lungs for what they wanted. More than a few stands seemed to have been swallowed up by the horde, most likely to never be seen again.

The only plus to the madness was that in order to avoid being accidentally struck, Lana had to keep close to him, nearly her entire arm wrapped around his back. On occasion her hip brushed past his thigh and Cullen felt a small flush at the memory of his hands digging across her naked flesh as he... No, not the time, and certainly not the place.

That wasn't what he needed to be focusing on anyway. Somehow he needed to come up with a present while the birthday girl stood right beside him. Maker, finishing off Corypheus seemed an easier task. For her part, Lana seemed happy and still gave no impression she was in anyway miffed at his bungle. On occasion, she'd pause and point at something that caught her eye, which gave Cullen hope it'd be a potential option, only to have her snicker at how ostentatious, gaudy, or confusing it was.

"Maker's breath, I haven't been surrounded by this many people since...come to think of it, I'm not certain," she said, sliding the pair of them away from a poor shopkeep succumbing to the crushing wave of customers.

"You never had to attend any parades in your honor?" Cullen asked.

"No, I always managed to find a good excuse to get out of it. 'I killed an archdemon and can do what I want' worked for years."

He snorted at that as they came to rest beside a small jewelry stand. Nothing ornate, the wares seemed to be made up of small baubles and simple wire knotted together to make bracelets. "Aren't you lucky. I wound up walking in a good half dozen I believe. There were a few after the Qunari invasion was repelled to show the chantry's strength, or something of that nature, and even more after Corypheus fell."

"I bet you didn't have to literally walk in the last ones," Lana smiled, her fingers prodding over a pinkie sized blue gem shaped like a tear. He watched her curious to see if that was something special to catch her eye so.

"How do you know that?"

"You were the big heroes, those always get horses to ride on. Keeps you from having to walk through shit."

"I thought you avoided all the parades," he smiled, softly cupping his hand over the small of her back.

Lana sighed, "Very well, there was one and I was too young to know to weasel my way out of that."

"Right after the archdemon died," Cullen spoke more to himself, but Lana glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Yes, I...it was strange to be up there, be lauded after a near on year of ducking attention and worrying about assassins at any moment. I...didn't enjoy it." He remembered well. It was what he thought would be the last time he'd ever see her after she rescued him from the tower. A dull pain rolled up Cullen's stomach and suddenly he needed to touch her. Sliding closer, he drew his fingers over her cheek reminding himself she was here with him. Lana smiled in kind, her fingers wrapped around his.

After breaking away, Lana snagged the shopkeep's attention who asked her a few questions in Orlesian. Lana responded in kind and smiled brightly before, to Cullen's consternation, she placed a few silvers in the man's hand and deposited the small bauble into her deep pockets. So much for that idea.

Trying to hide his obvious regret, Cullen wrapped his hand around her arm and asked as nonchalantly as possible, "What is that gem for?"

"Hm...? Oh, Leliana and I, we have a sort of contest between us. It's a bit silly, but whenever we're in a market place we try and find each other something small but memorable that also follows along the color spectrum. She last got me these purple gloves," Lana waved her fingers warm inside those hard fought gloves, "so I spotted that indigo bead and thought it perfect."

"Ah, it's for...I understand, I think," he shook his head, accepting that Lana was going to be no help in picking out her own present.

Holding her closer, the pair returned to the river of bodies running the length of the first half of the market. The proper bazaar was closed up for winter and it offered true ceilings with stands embedded into the stone passed down in families for centuries. This was more a case of people nailing up a few boxes for a stand, tossing all they could grab out of their houses across them and marking everything's price up before the next round of storms. It wasn't fancy but it got the job done.

"This is rather lively," Lana giggled, shuffling to keep up with the press.

"It's not too much, is it? We could stop," Cullen offered, wishing she'd take the out. He was growing tired of it five minutes in.

"No, no," Lana laughed, "I'm good. Where's Honor?"

"Slobbering at the back of my knee," Cullen assured her. While the mabari at first afforded them a bit more breathing room, as the sun rose along with the temperature more and more Orlesians flocked outside. Standing-room-only barely applied, they were approaching wall-climbing-room-only soon. The buzzing burned at the back of his head, and he'd give anything to slip out of the crowd for a few quiet moments with Lana, but she seemed to be enjoying herself and he still had to solve the birthday dilemma.

"Ooh," Lana pointed at something in the distance and broke off from the thick crowds to cluster near a smaller press of bodies. Dangling off what looked like a dismantled gibbet were woven rugs. A sign proclaimed them "100% Rivaini" which meant they were probably stitched together in Jader.

As people jostled them closer together, Lana laughed, "You know, the first time I ever entered a market place was rather hilarious."

"Oh?" he struggled to keep up with her conversation and satiate the buzzing in his head.

"Mm hmm," she slid her arm around his back and tried to raise up higher so he'd hear. "There were so many options I had no idea what I was supposed to choose. In the tower, we were given what we needed. So, I stood there like an idiot for a good five minutes not saying a thing and waiting for someone to hand over the necessary supplies. Poor shopkeep grinned at me, I'd smile back and resume waiting. He had to think I was mute or suffered serious brain trauma."

"What happened?"

"One of my companions stepped in, wondered what was taking so long and then rather patiently explained how it all worked," her smiled faltered for a moment and Cullen realized he didn't need to ask who that companion was. "The worst was money though. I didn't entirely get the decimalization aspect. A coin's a coin and all. I tried to pay for something that cost 12 silver with a hundred and twenty coppers."

"Maker's breath, how did you even carry around a hundred and twenty coppers?"

Lana shrugged, "I never noticed the weight of coins much what with all the other gear loaded on my back. The tower does a poor job of preparing people for the real world." Her words trailed off as she ran her palm over her middle finger and the ring bulging below the glove. "I wonder sometimes how the mages managed during the rebellions. We rarely cooked for ourselves, never faced cold or wolves, they'd have had little shelter while on the run and never learned how to create their own. If it weren't for Redcliffe taking them in..."

He'd never thought about it, how debilitating life in the tower was. Most mages arrived around age thirteen and up, but some like Lana could spend nearly their entire childhood growing up in one. Never running in the rain, or buying a melon to cut up right there on the grassy knoll before heading home. They'd always seemed so capable and certain in their actions, almost to a smug degree, because they had to be. If not, then people began to question if that mage could survive a demon's temptations, if they could be trusted. It used to gnaw on his nerves the way some mages would walk into a room as if it was grateful to have their addition, but how many of the cocksure ones fell to nothing more than not knowing how to cook or recognize potable water?

Fingers dug up his arm, drawing him out of his thoughts. He smiled at Lana trying to assure her he was all right, but something of his dark thoughts must have shown through. "Perhaps we should try and disentangle ourselves from the twitching mass of consumers for a bit. I wouldn't be against finding something to eat," she smiled.

"Your appetite could put a dragon to shame," he sighed, aware of the breakfast they had not even two hours ago. Then he grimaced, not meaning any offense by it. He was happy to see it as she tried to overcome not only her forced fasting but the pull of the taint as well.

Before Cullen could apologize, Lana waved it away with a laugh, "The moment I breathe fire, then you should grow concerned. Until such a time, a few villager sacrifices every once in awhile to me is all I'll need."

Chuckling at her quick rescue of himself, Cullen brushed his lips across her forehead. "Are you certain you don't want to purchase anything from this stand?"

"No, I only thought we should draw away from the horde. Unless you have a thing for 'Rivaini' rugs," Lana gestured at the garish hues and fraying edges of the knockoff options.

Grimacing from the goods as well as the fact he still had no answer for her birthday, Cullen sighed, "No, I don't. Come on, I know a small shop that has pastries nearly the size of your head."

Honor led the way through the pack, her nose permanently etched to the ground as she sniffed up every footstep from half of Val Royeaux. Mesmerized by it, Lana kept pointing at her and wondering aloud, "What do you think she gets out of all that nosing? It can't be more than a moment's scent before she shuffles past. And yet, she never stops. It's fascinating."

Unaware of her audience, Honor paused, the ridge of hair along her back lifting in a nearly straight arrow. Her head darted to the right, set in place. Cullen stopped, dread filling his stomach until his dog darted forward through the crowds and lapped up a dropped heel of bread off the filthy ground. His body slackening, he sighed, "I believe that is what she gets out of it."

Lana chuckled at their silly dog's lust for food and followed the lead towards the bakery Cullen knew of. Quaint in only the way a shop in Val Royeaux could be, it bore the bright sky blues and white valences of nearly all the others around the city. As they drew to the door Honor began to bark in staccato, her voice all but demanding someone come out and answer her. He tried to get her to quiet down, but her blasted summons worked and the proprietor of the shop bustled out. Barely glancing at the people crowding his bakery, the portly man dropped to a knee to shove Maker only knew how many tarts into Honor's greedy face.

"I take it you two stop here often," Lana said, a soft quirk to her face.

"Not by my wishes, but as you can see, she tends to demand it," Cullen sighed, watching the baker pet Honor as she finished up the last of her free meal.

After wiping off his hands upon the wadded up apron, he turned to the pair of them and in a thick Orlesian accent said, "Ah, monsieur with the silly puppy, and this must be the mademoiselle you speak so highly of."

He picked up Lana's hand and shook it gently before bowing so deep, Cullen caught a curious smirk rising across Lana's lips. Before she could finish it, the baker rose up. "What brings you by today?"

"We were at the market," Cullen said, then sneered, "attempting to shop at the market, and my...the Lady grew hungry."

"Of course, of course." He had that rosy cheeked, bright eyed face you'd expect to find on a storybook grandfather. It suited him well as the kindly corner store baker, though his love of greedy mabari couldn't be helping the bottom line. "What is your beautiful stomach in the taste for?"

Now Lana giggled, pulled in by the man's charms, "I heard tale of a pastry nearly the size of my head."

"Mademoiselle," the baker started, his eyes darting down her tiny frame that looked as if it could at best hold a grape. "Are you certain you can handle such a monstrous feast?"

"In fact, I might require two," she fake whispered near him.

Throwing his head back so far it was a wonder his deflated cap didn't tumble off, the baker laughed uproariously as if all of life was a jest and only he caught the joke. "Please," he reached a hand out and Lana took it, falling into line with the baker as he led her into his shop, "come with me. A woman of your unique distinction requires something extra special."

Cullen glanced down at his dog, who after slurping down her second breakfast was now chewing on her leg. Dipping to a knee, he ran a hand over her dark grey fur while watching Lana lean against the counter. She clapped her hands together and smiled so sweetly it drew one to Cullen's face. No doubt she was entertained by some kind of fried dough treat the baker was hoisting upon her. Turning to his dog, he sighed in the back of his throat, "Maker's breath, I don't know what I'm going to do. Honor, what would you get Lana for her birthday?"

Perking up at her name, the mabari struck a small pose, her tail pausing in its nearly continuous wag, and her nose pointing at something. For a brief moment, Cullen almost wondered if she didn't understand his request and have some idea, when Honor leapt tongue forward to slobber all over his face. He let her get a few more licks in before shoving her back and trying to wipe it all away with his sleeve.

"Yes, I get it, that works for dogs, but I'm afraid that won't give quite the right impression from me." Uncaring about his predicament, Honor woofed once, then waddled over to follow Lana.

In the end, Lana selected something fried, doughy, and covered in a pink crystalized sugar. She wasn't certain what it was, but the pastry easily outflanked her head and left a smattering of the pink crystals across her lips and down her chin. Cullen only tried a few bites before declaring it too sweet for him.

"Too sweet? How can anything be too sweet?" she mocked, turning from one of the three tables in the narrow shop to gesture at the baker. "Am I right?" He waved back, clearly agreeing with the woman who made his morning by trying some unholy concoction.

After taking another bite, and covering more of her mouth in glittering pink, she continued, "Is this another case of Cullen can't let himself enjoy anything?"

"No," he shook his head, "I have never had much of a sweet tooth. A little here and there is enough for me."

"Uh huh," she narrowed her eyes, her slitted vision drifting up and down him to see if he was lying. He knew she was playing, but Cullen couldn't shake off the guilt sitting in his gut at the moment. Somehow he had to not only find a way to walk the market alone, but also come up with the perfect gift for her.

The sound of a chair sliding closer drew his attention up from the table just as Lana leaned forward and her glistening pink lips curled around his. As their innocent kiss increased in heat, the sugar stuck to her lips melted, it's syrup dripping into their joined mouths. He couldn't stop himself from licking across her bottom lip, a curious almost peppery flavor to the sugar that should have been revolting but worked.

While Cullen bit on his lip, Lana smiled, "Too sweet for you?"

"No," he sighed, his fingers cupping her cheek, "never."

"What if I were to...?"

Cullen interrupted her before she could begin, "There are plenty of things you could do right here that would embarrass me beyond means, I'm certain of that."

Lana opened her mouth, then closed it a few times, "I was going to say let you have another bite, but not if you're going to be that way."

"I..." He tried to not crumble in on himself from the way she ripped off another section of the dough and crammed it in her mouth. "I didn't mean to imply..."

"Sweet Andraste," she swallowed and then laughed, "I know Cullen. It was a joke. Are you okay? You seemed less on edge this morning. Is it...? It's not Wednesday?"

"No, no, it's not Wednesday," he shook his head. It had to sound strange to others to overhear their code for when lyrium withdrawl overwhelmed him as the pair of them kept talking about whether it was Wednesday or not. Once a Sister walked up to them after they'd been in a heated discussion about the return of his symptoms to inform them that it was in fact a Friday and also six pm.

Lana waited for him to answer, her fingers poised over her doughy treat. "I..." he felt his fingers reaching for the back of his neck when a brilliant idea struck him. "I was hoping to find a present to send to Mia and the family for Satinalia but the market's a mess. It'd be too much for you."

"So that's what got you in a dour mood," her fingers traced along his lips, leaving the pink sugar in their wake.

"Commander Sullen at your service," he forced a smile, but Lana frowned at it.

Shaking it off, she leaned back, "Well, I'm warm, I'm quickly filling up, and I have a new friend over there..." She gestured to the baker who was singing a song under his breath as he punched down a wad of dough large enough to smother a bronto. "Seems a good time as any for you to head to the markets and find something."

"You..." Cullen glanced around the empty bakery, "you would be safe here alone?"

She was obviously trying to not roll her eyes at that. No sparks flared up on her fist but Cullen tasted the rise of the fade building off her body. "Yes, I think I will be." Having made her point, the metallic scent and flavor vanished. "Besides," her fingers drifted down to the dog curled up under the table, "I have Honor here to help me select the tastiest pastry." His mabari woofed once, her tail thumping against the chair's legs.

"Very well, I won't be more than an hour, at most. You're certain that's not too long?" Cullen paused in rising from the table. He knew he needed to get out there, but a part of him didn't want to leave Lana alone. Some of it was fear, she wasn't up to fighting form by any means no matter how much of the fade she could draw upon, and a lot of it was not wanting to miss the time with her. More than likely she was going to get up to Maker knew how much trouble with a mabari and a baker.

"Yes," she smiled. Then reached over to grab his sleeve as if she changed her mind. Cullen was prepared to give in to her demands and find some other answer to the birthday problem, when Lana yanked him down and planted a full kiss on his lips. Breaking away, she shooed him on, "Now go before it gets to rampage levels out there."

* * *

He need not ever fear the Void again because Cullen was certain he'd seen far worse in his time at the market. Unused to shopping, perhaps not as bad as a mage but templars weren't know for perusing bazaars in their spare time, he had the brilliant idea to wander the stalls and see if anything caught his fancy. This would have been a useful idea if it were a normal day instead of the rising chaos of the streets of Val Royeaux. At one point the city guards were called in to break up two older women, both easily in their 70s, who were trying to disembowel each other for some small rock with eyes painted upon it.

Jewelry, kitchenware, cloaks, hair accoutrements, a stand of nothing but towels for some reason, each one only raised more questions than answers for Cullen. Jewelry seemed the simple answer, the go to gift, but Maker's sake what did she wear? He knew of two things Lana ever donned, one was a pendant gifted to her when she joined the Wardens that she destroyed. The other was her ring that rarely left her finger and seemed to be more a safety touchstone than anything. While a ring, or pendant, or even hair barrette enchanted to gift the wearer greater strength or dexterity would be useful it may also remind her that she wasn't what she once was. Or worse, what if she thought it was his way of saying he wanted her to return to that life she strove so hard to leave? To pick up her staff and continue fighting, killing? There was also the fact that none of the options were enchanted beyond one that glittered by light in an eye searing fashion.

Books, he knew she loved to read but that was an instant quagmire in and of itself. He suspected it would be easier to name the places in thedas he hadn't visited than the books Lana had yet to read. There were a few on mage studies and rift magic in particular published recently, but would any of those have a bearing upon her studies? Not to mention, it was supposed to be a birthday present not a 'we may require you to help us heal the veil, please prepare yourself for it' gift. Cullen wasn't a hundred percent, but something told him gifts of those type should be of the romantic variety.

Flowers were not an option. There was a single, curious stand but all that prospered upon its cart were herbs of a certain nature. He never was involved much in the contraband side of templar life, but Cullen could spot a few of the more hallucinogenic plants that mages tried to slip into their potion brewing when none was the wiser. Sometimes they found their way into the templar barracks as well, because the barrier between mage and templar was nearly nonexistent no matter how much they tried to pretend otherwise. While Lana might be excited to try brewing her own potions, he had no idea where to start and if left to his own devices would probably bring home poison again.

Wouldn't that look good? _Happy birthday, have some poison. I suppose the message is 'I want this to be your last birthday.' Maker's breath_. Mia'd only been gone for three days and already he was failing in his promise to her. How much more could he screw this up?

Rugs, daggers, selections of rope...all useless for his cause. Cullen paused at a sampling of paintings, some of them rather lovely sweeping vistas of fields and forests by summer's glow. He put them into the maybe pile until his fingers flipped through the stack to come upon one called "Birth of a Hero." That painting he knew far too well. Done primarily in purples, reds, greys, and a specific brown, copies of it hung in parlors across all of southern thedas. It was Lana. No, it was Solona standing upon the gutted archdemon corpse while a small ferret loomed in the foreground. He never understood the point of the ferret, she never mentioned one in her travels of the blight. Blood was splattered across the painting, but it was stylized in purple hues to try and diminish the horrors that hanging an exsanguinated archdemon corpse above the fireplace would cause upon the buyer. Never mind what it would have done to the woman who did it. Andraste, he hated this painting and suspected Lana did as well. Perhaps if they had the one Alistair mentioned, that he gave Cullen a small copy of...

A dark thought churned in his stomach as he remembered the letters the King had been blanketing Lana in. She said he was coming up with his own blighted theories for how the book he could easily pick up and read ended, but what if one of them was him wishing her a happy birthday? Crowing the fact that he remembered while Cullen failed to? _Why did this have to be so Maker damn hard?_

He wanted to slink back, to break away from the crowd of Orlesians and sulk alone in his misery. In some small part his brain, he knew Lana wouldn't hold it against him if he came up empty handed, but he couldn't stand himself if he let her down. Cullen was ready to abandon hope, perhaps fight for another one of the eye rocks and play it off as a jape, when something caught his eye. It was off from the beaten and crowded path, only a few people slipped past in a hurry to chase down the more flashy goods. As he stepped closer, his eyes lit up and he nearly smacked himself at the simplicity of it. How could he have never thought of this?

The shopkeep caught the glow in his eye and smiled wide. "Can I help you?" she asked, slipping back and forth on her weary feet.

"Maker's breath, I hope so," Cullen sighed. "I'd like that, and that," his fingers pointed at the offerings, the woman smiling wide as se reached for it. "But, could you have it delivered later?"

"Of course, Sir. Where and when?" she unearthed a tattered notebook and prepared to scribble something down.

"Later tonight, perhaps seven, and sent to the Grand Cathedral for Commander Cullen's eyes only." The shopkeep's widened at the mention of the Cathedral and his name, but Cullen couldn't shake off the grin infecting his face. This might work out after all.

## Chapter Twelve

**Surprise**

**  
**

When she was having a good day they dined with the rest of the chantry in the grand hall. Lana expected the clergy to be nothing but bent heads shoveling tasteless gruel into silent mouths, but the various Mothers and Sisters - most into their 60s and beyond - put raucous teenage mages to shame. On more than one occasion they had to dodge a cascade of rolls lobbed from one end of the room to the other. After waking from her nap, she expected them to head down but Cullen suggested they dine in instead. Lana was about to insist she was fine, the sleep shored her up well and she could handle a few over eager Sisters, but something in his demeanor caught her. While he could lose control of his limbs at times, Cullen was normally the very definition of stoic. He would often stand stock still for nearly hours, his eyes drifting past into the ether and those taut muscles keeping him locked in place. Probably remnants from being a templar and having to stand guard at the door or watching over one of the day long classes. But today he seemed on edge, dancing back and forth from one foot to the other as if the ground itself were on fire.

She wasn't certain what it meant, but Lana kept her arguments to herself curious to see where it was all going. After having finished eating the filling and rich dinner, Lana tried to push back her chair but felt the thud of a dog in the way.

"Are you waiting for your helpings?" she asked Honor who no doubt was also put off by them remaining in the apartment. With her pleading eyes and wiggling body, she often secured her weight in scraps from the clergy.

"She already scammed a bone off the butcher in the market, the pastries from the baker, and I don't want to know what you ate off the candlestick maker. On top of your usual dinner. You're good," Cullen ordered, his eyes darting down at Honor who whined a moment at her master's commands.

"It will not work on me," he insisted, folding his arms over his picked clean plate. Lana watched, waiting to see if Cullen's assessment would hold up and sure enough he seemed set on it this time.

Grunting, Honor slunk away from the table, her head hung low as if this was the greatest injustice ever heaped upon a mabari. As she was about to leap onto the divan, Cullen spun in his chair and sighed, "Do not get on the..." Not listening, Honor got all four of her feet up and sat down, daring him. "I give up."

Lana reached over and patted his hand, "It's best to choose your battles with them. I've found that's also the same with Wardens."

"And soldiers," Cullen groaned, his old life playing behind his eyes. After shaking off that sneer, he turned back to her and cupped both of her hands in his. "Did you, uh, have anything important planned for the rest of the...day?"

She twisted her head at his meandering question, but answered, "Not really. I have a few new reference ideas to compare with my old books and was thinking of trying to darn up my socks."

"'Darn your socks?'" he repeated with a scoff.

"I'm getting better at it. All right, so the yarn doesn't match and my needles are too thick but it's better than holes through the boots and... Why are you pulling that face?"

He blinked at her question, and the essence of panic contorted his cheeks. Digging into the nape of his neck with a ferocity, Cullen leaned back to stare up at the ceiling as if the answer was written there. "I probably should have said something earlier, but I didn't know if you'd...or there was..." The blush ramped up to a full flush over his features to match the increase in placeholder words, "Ah, I mean, surprises are...some like them but others are not as, but then when we were already, and you didn't say anything."

"What..." Lana tried to get his attention if only so he'd start making sense, "what are you talking about?"

"A moment, please," he skittered so fast out of his chair it tipped backwards, smacking into the floor. Cullen didn't even slow down to try and rescue the priceless relic as he vanished into the office leaving Lana alone and beyond confused. When he returned there was a canvas bag in his hands, a giant smile across his face, and a hundred questions expanding to a thousand.

Without bothering to lift up the chair, Cullen stood before her and stuck out the bag. She accepted it with the question on her face. Rather than look inside, Lana kept a watch on Cullen partially out of fear that something was very wrong and he could have a sudden relapse. Shrugging his shoulders, and then banging his empty hands together, Cullen shouted, "Happy Birthday!"

"Ha...what?" Lana blinked, shaking her head to try and find sense.

"I, with all our traveling and so much work taking up my attention, there wasn't much time to..." his nervous smile slid off at the perplexed look scrawled across Lana's face. Slowly, his hands stopped smacking into each other until they hung suspended in the pervading silence.

"It's not my birthday, not by a long shot," she spoke slowly, scared that her words might set something off. "I was born in the spring."

Cullen swallowed, his eyes blinking, when he smacked his forehead, "The spring? I blighted knew that too."

"Why did you think it was my birthday?" Lana laughed, not wanting to make him feel bad but Maker he looked so adorable stewing over the fact.

"Of all the..." Cullen stopped cursing under his breath before he sighed from the bottom of his lungs, "It doesn't matter. I was...I decided to make a fool out of myself, it seems."

Lana pursed her lips, her fingers digging into the canvas, "Let me guess, it was Leliana."

"Yes," he started, blinking rapidly from her driving right to the truth. "Is she not aware of when your birthday is?"

"No, she knows," Lana tossed her head back and groaned, "She's done this before. Not the birthday lie but other facts about me to try and, you know..."

"Test me," Cullen groaned. He glanced down at the toppled chair as if wishing to fall into it, but waved a hand and instead placed his weight onto his fists digging into the table. "And I failed spectacularly."

"I don't know about that," Lana shrugged, "I'm not certain if there is a way to win."

"Why would she do that? Who else has she done it to?" The first question was whined to the Maker and anyone else listening, but the second he glared through Lana, no doubt assuming he knew the answer.

"The why is because she's appointed herself my big sister and, in trying to look out for me, she uses a lot of the Game. Confuses the hell out of the Fereldens at times."

"You do not say," Cullen deadpanned, his head plummeting.

"And no, _the who_ isn't who you think. She didn't start playing that Game until long after we...after the blight. Basically, anyone I admitted to having an interest in Leliana would find some way to challenge and see if they were up to the task."

"Did any pass?" he asked.

"I don't know, I never lasted more than a few weeks with anyone else. It, uh, I'm not very good at getting into relationships it seems," Lana tried to play it off but it stung her still. What men didn't cower at the Hero of Ferelden deigning them with attention, the rest tried to one up her, proving that she didn't really deserve them. It was a constant headache and after the sixth or seventh year she decided she'd rather die alone anyway. Filling Vigil's Keep with cats didn't seem like it'd be too difficult.

Cullen's fingers traced along her cheek and she turned up to his smile, "I'd say those other men were idiots but I'm rather grateful for their stupidity."

"You, uh," Lana couldn't tamper down the blush rising against her cheeks. Swallowing to bide for time, she cupped her fingers around his. "I'm sorry for Leliana being, well, Leliana. I'll have a talk with her and explain that she can call off her dogs."

"Was that why you didn't want her to know about us?"

"That," Lana muttered under the breath, "and her digging up every relationship you ever had to grill the poor women."

"What?" Cullen started, his hand falling off her cheek in shock.

Lana shrugged, "There's a reason she was so successful as the Inquisition's spymaster. And, uh, if she maybe mentions the name of someone from your past just smile and nod as if you don't remember it. It's easiest that way."

"There aren't even any..." Cullen paused, his eyes darting through the past, "well, the one but it was from decades ago, surely..." He turned the question to Lana who gritted her teeth and nodded. "Maker's breath, I feel the fool for falling for it."

"Leliana's a bit of a handful at the best of times," Lana tried to cheer him up, "Pretty sure she knows every stupid thing I've done in my life."

"I was twisted up in knots, doing my damnedest to procure an acceptable gift for you and all the time it didn't matter," He paced back and forth before the table, knocking the chair further away with his boot. "And the way you remained silent on the fact I feared that-that either you were upset and hiding it or were expecting some grand surprise."

"Andraste, I'm sorry. It probably didn't help that I was doing a lot of browsing for browsing's sake either."

He paused in his ranting and glanced towards her, "No, and you have nothing to apologize for. I did it to myself, because..."

Lana staggered up to her feet so she could catch his hand. With the warmth of his skin pressed against hers she smiled, "Because you wanted to make me happy. Which is adorable and sweet." His agitated pacing stopped and rueful eyes turned to her. Tugging him closer, Lana leaned far across the bones of their meal to pluck a sweet kiss from him. Cullen fought her at first, but as she roughed her fingers across his stubble he gave in, his own hands wrapping around her shoulders.

"So..." Lana drug out the vowel as Cullen steadied himself up on his feet. "Can I open my gift or should I save it until spring?"

"Maker, no! Don't save it," he cried out before dampening down to a calm. Lana eyed up the bag now with greater wary. What did he get her? She didn't hear any mewls coming from inside but this was Val Royeaux, anything was possible. "Go ahead and open it. There's not much point in saving it," Cullen drifted back to a steady calm, his arms crossing and his head tipping down.

Shrugging, Lana broke open the knots along the top of the bag and carefully reached in to grab up a small glass bottle. "You got me...foam?" she asked lifting an eyebrow at him.

"There's more inside," Cullen said, pointing a finger at the bag.

Placing the jar of lumpy, white, potentially frosting on the table, Lana yanked the bag open wider and stuck her head inside. "Nope," her voice was muffled as she rifled around inside it, "there's nothing else in here."

"What? That cannot be," Cullen started, holding a hand out. With a shrug she passed him the bag so he could find the same. It was completely cleaned out save the glass jar with a tight lid keeping everything held in. Scooping it up, Lana walked around the table to join the man who kept running his fingers along the lining of the bag and then dumping it upside down as if that would make something appear. "I swear to the Maker, there was something else."

Lana slid beside him to lift the jar near his face, "Something to go along with this?"

"It was delivered, I saw it before and..." his eyes narrowed and he turned to the dog sleeping on the divan. Normally, Honor would lift her head from any attention but now she feigned sleep like a professional actor. "Did you get into this bag and eat it?" Cullen thundered to his mabari, who -- if she was a person -- would be whistling nonchalantly and banging her hands together.

"By the void, you are in so much trouble for..." he began to move away when Lana caught his arm. The touch was barely a glance but Cullen froze and his anger dissipated at the amusement bubbling in her eyes. "It was a pie, an apple pie. Seemed a strange time of year to have one available, but I thought you might like it."

"I imagine Honor really liked it," Lana struggled to swallow the laugh in her words.

At her name, Honor woofed once but that earned a fresh glare from her master. Sighing that she got no respect for taking on that dangerous pie all by herself, the mabari plopped her head down onto the couch cushions she also wasn't supposed to be on. Cullen dropped the bag to push his cheeks up towards his eyes.

"Maker, a pie eaten by my dog meant for a birthday that actually occurs months later. I am ordained by Andraste herself to fail at every step of this."

His self deprecation only made Lana want to hug him more but he had his hands locked tight against his face as if that would somehow cure him of all of this. "Well," Lana said inching even closer to him. Cullen pulled down his hands to look upon her. "At least we have this," she held up the jar and popped the lid off with a quick turn of her fingers. "What is it again?"

"Whipped cream, fresh whipped cream for the pie resting in Honor's guts."

Chuckling at his grumbling growing more good natured with each return, Lana dipped a finger into the jar and dropped a dollop of the cream onto her tongue. Fresh as morning's dew and richer than the tapestries of the Grand Cathedral, Lana's tongue lit up along with her eyes as she licked off her finger. "This is wonderful all on its own."

"Thank the Maker for small miracles," Cullen grumbled.

Unable to take his grumpy turn, Lana dipped her finger back into the jar and drew forth a greater glob of whipped cream. Less than carefully she extended it towards Cullen who took her finger in his mouth, his tongue lightly trailing across her joint before she pulled it out.

"Not bad," he smiled, smacking his lips, "it's been too long since I've had real, farm fresh cream and..." His eyes darted down to her chest right above her dress' neckline, where her over exuberant dollop of whipped cream lost a small section. Before she could move her fingers to swipe it away Cullen bent over and lapped it off.

When he stood away, he swallowed, about to remark more upon the cream when he noticed Lana's slack mouth. "Oh, was that...should I not have...?"

Inching her finger deeper into the jar, she dropped a better dollop onto her collar bone upon the birthmark and smiled wickedly, "Do it again."

A hungry look rose in Cullen's eye and he dove for her birthmark. Lana gripped tight to the jar of whipped cream as she wrapped her arms around his back to steady herself. Throwing her head back, she gave him all the access he needed. After licking up half of the cream, Cullen pressed a whisper soft kiss against her skin, then another. His hands cupped around her waist, pinning her in place as he kissed towards the last of the cream, dotting her skin in his lips along the way.

"Mmm, I may have been wrong before. It's better than I thought," Cullen whispered as he gently lifted his head away from hers so as not to hit her chin. When his hungry, almost impish eyes met hers, all those silly fears inside of her washed free. He began to slide back, as if the game was done, but Lana gripped onto his arm and held him close to her. Uncertain, but happy to keep going, Cullen remained near her as she slid next to the table to place the jar down.

Slowly, Lana undid the first few buttons on her dress. She glanced up at Cullen from the edge of her brow and watched his entire face light up in an eagerness she wished could be framed. Scooping up a few plops of cream, Lana dropped them right where her giving cleavage pressed at the top to create the soft t. A moan rattled in Cullen's throat, but he seemed locked in place, either uncertain if this was right or so excited he couldn't move.

Grabbing onto his hair with her cream coated fingers, Lana pulled him down for a kiss, her tongue already slipping in with his. Awakened from his stupor, Cullen matched with her, his hands gripping onto her shoulders and sliding ever further down until the fingers curled at the sides of her breasts. Maker, she wanted to grab both as before and place them upon her chest and between her thighs. Before she could make good on that idea, Cullen's lips broke away from her. He nearly dropped to a knee to come face to face with her ample cleavage. With the softest of touches, his lips graced across the top of her canyon. The cream already began to melt from her body heat, some of it sliding deeper in between, but that was no match to the man licking his way across her skin.

"Sweet Andraste," Lana gasped as his chin dug into her dress, dragging it lower to give him access. Instantly, she undid more of the buttons all the way down to reveal her puckered stomach and the start of her lime green smalls. Freed from its straining tackle, the dress hung against her breasts, uncovering the edge of her nipples on both sides. Cullen's kissing paused. He didn't rise from his lean, but he did look up at Lana waiting for her to give the go ahead.

She'd felt silly before, asking for him to touch this or that while keeping so much off limits. Now, she dipped into the cream, pushed off both sides of her dress and coated her hard nipples in it. The grin upon Cullen's face raced to her own, and she couldn't stop fluffing his hair as he kissed his way down her cleavage and towards the first temptation. When his lips sucked off the cream and pressed against her nipple, Lana threw her hands back against the table, rattling their dishes.

His eyes darted up a moment, making certain the table wasn't about to fall apart, before he returned to driving awake every inch of her body. When his teeth grazed across her nipple, she was pretty sure even her hair became aroused. Having finished with one, Cullen switched to the other, but his fingers kept threading over the licked clean nipple. The cool air in the apartment knocked against her wet skin, making more of her wet as she tried to claw against the woodgrain of the table. Not one to shirk his duty, Cullen took his time lapping up every freckle upon her breasts, those strong hands gently kneading them until Lana tipped her head back and groaned.

"May I?" he asked, pointing at the few remaining buttons.

Nodding while her mind buzzed in such a high pleasure stratosphere, he slowly undid each one, pausing to look up to see if she was still okay with it. She wanted to grab the last of the dress and yank it apart, but her legs began to tremble in an unexpected anticipation. It was silly, but she felt almost as if this was her first time with him, with anyone. As the last of the buttons fell away, Cullen rose and his lips fell into hers. While he caressed her cheek, his tongue wrapping around hers, Lana shook off her dress, exposing nearly all of herself to him. Every scar, every gaunt rib and ropy muscle. Her ashen and dull skin. She tried to bite down on the terror knotting at the back of her brain, but it was almost drowning out her panting arousal.

Rising away from kissing her, Cullen's eyes canvassed her body, all the divots, all the bumps and bruises. A satisfied smile rolled up his cheeks and with his lips pressed beside hers he whispered, "You are, Maker, beyond beautiful."

"I want you," Lana's mouth slipped the antagonizing thought free before the fear had time to catch up.

He blinked at that, his mouth working a few times before he could stutter out in a voice driven deep into his chest by lust, "Are you...you're certain?"

Was she? Her hands drifted down his stomach towards that bulge straining at attention, thick as she remembered, that waited for attention from behind only the thin fabric of his trousers. "Yes," Lana smiled, "all of you. So badly, I..."

"Should we move to the bedroom?" he pointed in the direction, but Lana hooked her arms around his shoulders and pulled him to her.

Shaking her head, afraid she'd lose her nerve if they moved, she breathed in his ear, "No, here. Now."

She expected him to refuse for the table's sake or out of a fear of some Mother or Sister overhearing, but Cullen smiled wider. Curling his hands under her ass, he heaved her up onto the table. The dishes rattled from her addition, and then slid back across the surface clanking together as she got her bearings. Wearing the same ecstatic grin, Cullen yanked his shirt off over his head. Lana had to bite down a yip in her throat as she watched his tempting pale skin flex while he undid his belt. Maker, should forearms and biceps flex so much when one tugged on a single strip of leather?

Who blighted cares?!

Even with his attention on trying to free himself of the trousers, Lana wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck and pulled him to her for a kiss. Cullen stumbled for a moment, his lips puckering at the side of her mouth but once he yanked down his trousers, he dove all in. His protective, callused palms rubbed up and down her shoulders, amping up the heat between both sets of her lips. When Lana bit down on his bottom lip, he in turn pinched both of her nipples. She couldn't tell which of them cried out in that pleasureful pain first, perhaps they both did at the same time.

Her fingers trailed down his side, trying to reach around to give a good grab of that taut ass that so often tempted her. Laughing at her attempts, Cullen rose up and leaned closer so she could dig in, the hard muscles tightening under her fingers driving awake every ounce of her libido. He pressed a kiss to her head, finding her fascination with his backside entertaining until she rolled her fingers around his hips, and gripped tight to his cock. She watched the groan roll up his throat, the adams apple darting high while Cullen's head tipped backwards. Lana took her time reminding herself how much she missed all of his body.

Gasping for air, Cullen placed his wandering hands upon her shoulders to steady himself as she rolled her fingers up and down his cock. Her movements steady as a heartbeat, she could see his own blood pounding away from his neck as Cullen stretched higher. He looked as if he yearned to thrust away, but kept himself locked in place, wanting to savor every second of this.

Slowly, Lana released her hold upon him, her fingers trailing down his thighs and her eyes glanced up to find his gorgeous honey ones opening up. Sweat glistened upon his forehead and down his chest as he parted his lips upon her head. Whispering into her hair, he asked, "You...you're certain?"

Snickering at that, Lana picked up his hand as she had before and guided his fingers towards her inner thigh. He swallowed deep as his palms caressed up and down, so achingly close to reach out and drive her home, but he kept darting them near the middle of her smalls before pulling away. Unable to handle it, Lana grabbed onto his head and whispered in his ear, "I'm so damn wet, you don't need to tease."

Ravenous fingers knotted around her hips and, in one fell swoop, yanked her smalls off; the green fabric flying off through the room. She barely had time to laugh at his fervor before his fingers circled around her lower lips and then dove first one, then a second deep inside.

"Sweet bloody Maker," she exclaimed, tossing her head back along with her elbows and knocking over a glass. Mercifully it was empty, not that it would have mattered. Even if blood red wine soaked into a thousand year old rug there was no way she was stopping now.

Rumbling with a delectable gravel in his voice, Cullen cooed, "You were right." She hadn't been this wet in a damn long time, as if every heated kiss, every touch of his skin, all the physical moments placed on the shelf for later roared awake inside her. When his thumb brushed across her clitoris, Lana leapt an inch off the table.

His fingers paused for a moment, concerned at her reaction, but she butted her forehead into his and breathed, "Don't you dare stop."

Grinning with pride and excitement, he nodded his head with hers attached and began anew, throbbing his thumb against her buttons while pulsing the fingers inside her across every inch he could reach. She felt her toes curling while they dangled off the floor, her tongue falling slack in her mouth as her vision sparkled. He had her panting so hard, egging her body close to the promised land before sliding back, she had to swallow or risk passing out.

Lana sat up and snagged his cheeks, pulling him to her for a kiss. Even as their lips mashed, groans and exclamations slipped unbidden from her busy mouth, each of them scrawled across his flesh as her body begged for the end. Reaching almost blindly, Lana grabbed onto his waist and tugged him closer. Cullen glanced up at her with a small question, but he kept up his dutiful finger ballet.

"I..." she swallowed, trying to pluck the words from her ecstatic brain, "I need you inside of me. Now."

His fingers froze and slid across her inner thigh. For a moment she groaned, almost trying to follow, but there was better on the horizon. Cupping her breasts in both hands, Cullen drew his hips achingly close to hers. As his tongue twirled with hers, she could feel his cock glancing upon the skin of her thighs. So near, so achingly close, all she had to do... Unable to stand it, Lana's fingers wrapped around him, circling up and down his girth. With a gentleness she was amazed to find in her state, she guided him to the entrance of her lips and let go.

Cullen paused in his kiss, the head of his eager cock pulsing right next to her as he ran his fingers down her cheek. It drew her attention right to those honey eyes, and with the two of them staring deep into the other, he thrusted himself inside.

"Holy Andraste!" she cried, her head snapping back as only the first inch of him bored out through her tight muscles.

He waited, panting above her while his eyes canvassed her body. Humming below her breath, Lana glanced up at him and a thread of mischief wove through her face. "More," she commanded, her lips twisted in an ornery smile.

With the titanium dedication of a templar, Cullen obliged, easing a bit more inside and stretching her out but holding still. Maker, it was a delightful torture, her brain begging for every inch while firing up all the nerve endings in her body. He shuddered, his eyes screwed tight to maintain concentration while slowly pushing deeper inside. When his cock glanced across that pleasure node knotted up in her core, Lana gasped. Her legs rose to wrap around his waist and, with her heels, she dug into the back of him.

By the power of her beleaguered legs, she guided him through the first thrust when Cullen's hands lashed out to grip onto her hips. Holding tight, he kneaded into her sparse flesh as he took over the thrusting, every push of his glorious cock back to driving Lana towards her cliff. She felt herself slipping and sliding in their exuberance, the plates rattling in anger as they abused the table.

With a single, sexy growl, Cullen batted at the plates -- scattering them in a porcelain cascade to the ground -- so he could lay her back. The cool wood of the table crawling up her back juxtaposed against the heat permeating the rest of her. Dragging her hips closer to him, Cullen's strong fingers plied her thighs, then traced across to her calves all while he maintained the perfect rhythm of his cock parting through her. Lana rolled her hips downward, struggling to meet him with everything inside of her. That perfect plateau, the moment when her body sat tingling in anticipation for the final push, enveloped her.

Sensing it, or reaching it himself, Cullen grabbed onto her ankles wrapped against his back and pulled her legs around to rest upon his shoulders. Digging in tight, he pressed his lips against her ankle, his moans mumbling into her skin as he drove harder and deeper, pushing both of them to an orgasm.

"Shiiiit!" Lana cried, her body arching upward as it wrapped itself in the never ending pleasure only it could invoke. Cullen didn't swear but his hands shuddered upon her legs, his breath ragged as he struggled to remain upright while cumming inside of her. Laying fully naked upon the table, a laugh began in Lana's throat and refused to leave.

Chortling, she snorted once, and then again, the laughing fit taking full hold. Even with tears of joy in her eyes, she glanced up to find Cullen still inside her, with a question on his blotchy red face. She had to bite down on her hand to will back enough of the rushing joy and pleasure in her system to get a word out. "Ma-a-a-aker," Lana stuttered, the laugh punctuating her words, "why...why was I ever scared of that?"

A proud smile turned up Cullen's lips. Letting her legs fall back to the floor, he reached forward to wrap his hands against her back and pull her up to a sitting position. Caressing her cheek, he smiled, "I take it that means you enjoyed yourself."

Trying to not roll her eyes, she stretched higher and draped her arms around his neck. Not able to reach his mouth, she pressed her lips against his glistening chest instead, "As if you have to ask."

Gently, Cullen dropped his hips, sliding out of her. He only glanced once over the great mess they made. At some point the whipped cream bottle smacked to the floor, not broken, but enough spilled out over the stone ground. And there was his own created mess spilling out of her. Caring not a whit for what they'd solve later, he bent over to wrap his arms around her and pulled her tight for a hug.

"Andraste's grace, but I love you," he sighed, accentuating his endearments by bundling his arms tighter with the last three words.

"I...I love you, can't imagine being without you," Lana sighed, a sense of safety rising in her body from his arms and a satiety filling her soul.

Rolling his palms across her cheeks, Cullen stared into her eyes. "Was it too much?"

"Nope," Lana smiled.

"Good," he grinned, that ravenous hunger returning instantly in his eyes. "Because I have more planned." Scooping his hands under her butt, he pulled her tight into his arms. Lana yelped once in surprise, but knotted her own hands behind his neck as she rose into the air.

"What about the mess?" Lana asked, her voice laughing.

Cullen paused only a moment at the spilled plates and spoons, uneaten food drenching the chairs and floor. "Honor will get it," he pronounced before knocking open the door to the bedroom and carrying her inside.

* * *

"Are you asleep?"

She could make some smart ass response, but Lana felt as if her entire body had been scrubbed clean, her mind floating on a pink pile of fairy fluff. Pressing her mouth against his naked chest, she tried to not drool while answering, "No."

Cullen sighed, his arm locked tight around her back as he held her against him. "Maker, how are you not exhausted?" the strain echoed in his voice as he fought to stay awake and hold her.

Chuckling, Lana smooshed her nose into his dewy skin, getting a deeper whiff of his earthy musk. How could he smell so good after all of that? Tempted to kiss him but unable to make the journey, she settled on running her fingers over the curve of his muscles instead. "I never claimed to not be exhausted, merely not asleep."

"Fair enough," Cullen smiled, his head tipping back to rest against the wall. Their pillows went...somewhere. She lost track of nearly everything by the third position change. "Are you cold?" he asked out of the blue, noticing for the first time that all the blankets were missing.

Lana shrugged, digging her shoulder into the mattress, "A little, so I think I'll pull more warmth from you." Sliding with that last of her muscle power, she draped half of her body across his. Cullen held her even tighter, trying to transfer his natural warm state through her always chilled one. After a time, his hands broke off and they began to caress up and down her back in small circles.

"That, uh," he paused for so long Lana tried to turn her head up to look at him, "that wasn't too much for you? I don't want, hope you don't regret..."

"Not a moment," Lana smiled, her weary hands lifting up to pat his lips silent. "I'll probably be sore tomorrow, but that goes with the territory."

"Oh?" he frowned, a cloud crossing his temples, no doubt blaming himself for some failure.

She patted him on the cheek, and sighed, "You can be a bit much to handle at times, particularly if it's been awhile, and that was a long while."

"Ah, I..." a blush rose under her fingers as if it surprised him that she'd know anything of his naked body. "I had no idea in, uh..." coughing, Cullen shook his head to try and will away the burn of embarrassment. "I'm sorry?" he was apologetic but she could hear the ego driven smirk in there.

"It's not the worst problem to have," she smiled and began to inch herself up to his face. Cullen assisted, his hands cupping under her arms. With far more grace than she could manage, he hoisted her up until they lay eye to eye. "And if we have a go at it a few more times I'm certain to limber up better."

His sweet smile bloomed before Cullen scooped her up and pulled her in for a kiss. Even after all of that, in the back of her mind Lana felt the urge to rise up and straddle him, but that was so far beyond her capabilities. Settling for the innocent kiss instead, she curled down upon him, her head laying on his shoulder while Cullen placed another kiss in her hair. "I never want to hurt you," he whispered.

She knew he meant it, both physically and emotionally, but there were some hurts worth having. "It's not so bad, on the right side of pain I suppose."

"The _right side of pain_?" he chuckled uncertainly.

"That, uh," her own blush rose up threatening to consume her, "may be something to explain another time when my brain's not fluff. Very satiated fluff."

Blinking slowly, his golden eyes took on a dusky hue in the bedroom -- as if being in a momentary state of bliss drained him of that fearsome amber color along with his worries and anger. He never looked more like the young man she remembered from the Circle tower than right after sex. "I don't know why I was so scared of this," she sighed wishing she could go back those few months and shake herself smart.

"Trauma can do things to people..." he snuggled her tight to his chest as if she was a comforting blanket. Lana tried to hug back, her hands pinned against his sides. She sensed what he was thinking, his own past pains did untold damage to him. Perhaps even the kind of damage that was even harder for men to admit to. "I understand why," he whispered instead, "and was happy to wait until you were ready."

"Maker, makes me sound like I'm a virgin all over again," Lana scoffed before folding into his embrace. With only a whisper, she mouthed against him, "Thank you."

"I have often thought of you, your touch, your skin, your tempting curves, how it feels to slide inside you," Cullen said, his voice stripped as bare as the rest of him. There was no regret in his words, no apology, only the simple facts.

"Me too," Lana admitted, "in the fade in particular, I'd replay our handful of moments. All twelve times. I guess this makes it number thirteen."

"Twelve?" He sat up higher trying to pry her up to look at him. "You know how many times we've had...been intimate?"

It shouldn't be so damn adorable, but the way he avoided saying sex made her fall for him all over again. Nodding her head against his chest she smiled, "Yep. I, I like to keep count to sort of remind myself it's real. Not just a one time thing. I used to count kisses as well but once they reached past thirty I stopped that."

Cullen fell silent, his hands stopping their caress while his fingers knocked against her back. Concerned that he found her cataloging their intimate time strange or creepy, Lana craned her neck to stare at him. But he didn't look bothered, instead his eyes were far away gazing into the distance or perhaps the past. "I can't think of all twelve," he confided.

"Let's see... Twice in the deeproads, once at Halamshiral." That got a chuckle from him as he held her tight. "I don't know if the storm one counts considering how it all ended, so I give it a half and round up."

"The, uh, training yard after, when you 'evened the odds' should be the other half."

Lana smiled, "Exactly. Uh, five times in your loft."

"And twice in your bed at Skyhold while Hawke was out," Cullen finished, nodding his head. "That's eleven."

"You're forgetting right before Adamant, in your tent when we..." her words faded as she struggled through tears percolating behind her eyes. They hadn't intended it by any means. Not on the eve of battle with so much at stake. But somehow both of them wound up together alone after the last meeting was called. The fortress lay stretched not even a days walk away, they knew the end was in sight. She wondered often in the fade if some part of her didn't suspect that that would be their last time. That was what pushed her to wrap around him and Cullen, perhaps fearing the same, answered in kind.

"I..." he shuddered in a breath, "I'd try to forget that one, it's true. For a time I thought that perhaps I did something, or said something that--" Cullen shook his head, banging the back of it against the wall, "It doesn't matter, because it wasn't our last time."

"Nope," Lana smiled, wrapping herself tighter to him, "not by a long shot." He returned the hug, his chin bumping into the top of her head. After a moment, Lana lifted her face off his chest to catch his eyes. He smiled half heartedly, uncertain what placed such seriousness across her face. "Cullen, I-I want you to know how proud I am."

"Proud?" he guffawed, glancing around as if this was all some prank.

"Everything you've been through, I know there are little thanks for it. People clap you on the back when you save the world, but making it through the day to day, deciding small matters that are guaranteed to piss someone off because no one else will. And having to do it all while you were secretly mourning, it's...I'm sorry that burden fell to you. That I put it upon you."

Sucking in a breath, he looked about to shake all her praise away but he paused. Perhaps something in her earnest tone caught him, or how she stared with certainty at him. Either way, it got through. "Thank you," he whispered, pulling her closer to him. "And thank you for staying alive. From everything inside of me, thank you. I...I know what it is to cling to life when there's no hope left. How endless the darkness seems."

"I had hope," she smiled, chewing on her lip to keep the tears at bay. Her palm caressed his cheek, buffing up his stubble. "I had you."

Cullen turned to plant a kiss upon her palm, "You always will."

Happy beyond measure, Lana curled up on his chest, ready to let sleep claim her. It was the calmest she'd felt facing the fade since leaving it. On the edge of hearing, she heard Cullen whisper, "I should thank Leliana for telling me about your birthday."

Chuckling at the image of Leliana's face hearing that, Lana drifted off safe and content, all of her at peace for the first time in two years.

## Chapter Thirteen

**Shadows**

**  
**

_At least she waited for someone to say come in_ , Cullen thought as he watched Leliana enter the apartment. She was still dressed in her Divine robes, with a tweed traveling cloak knotted across her shoulders. He sat perched at the breakfast nook, his work spread out around him. As nonchalantly as possible, Cullen placed a boot down to try and cover the stain neither he nor Lana could get up by alchemy or magic. Even Detan seemed perplexed by it after using some special cleaning agent that was supposed to work on demon blood. In the end, she suggested they slide a stack of books in the way and pretend it never happened.

"Afternoon," he smiled at the Divine. "How was your trip to Jader?"

"Boring, and a waste of a week," Leliana sighed. He hadn't seen her since the birthday incident, the Divine suddenly needing to head to northern Orlais for a vitally important meeting. Cullen floated the idea she was doing it to avoid him, but Lana shook her head at that. Leliana wasn't the type to avoid the shit she started.

"Lana's resting at the moment, but you can take a seat and wait for her to wake," Cullen offered up the other chair. For a moment, the Divine's crystal eyes wandered over him, no doubt trying to see if he was planning some retribution for her lie, but she had no other recourse and tumbled down to the chair.

After unknotting her cloak off and rubbing her throat where the clasp pulled, Leliana said, "You say she's both resting and sleeping..."

"Originally, she planned to lay down on the bed and do some reading, but when I went to unearth a book left in the room I found her face down in the pillows."

"Interesting," the Divine eyed him up. "Long day?"

"We visited the catacombs under the city," Cullen explained.

"For the Maker's sake, why?"

Smiling at Leliana's look of disgust, Cullen tipped his chair back, "Lana found mention of an old symbol in one of her books being located amongst the piles of bones below the city and she wanted to see it for herself to cross reference with another symbol designed during the...at that point I stopped paying attention."

Leliana laughed at that, her bell like chuckle ringing in her nose. "I've found that's the best approach when she starts hopping back and forth on her feet in ecstatic glee over a moldy old parchment that's barely legible."

Bobbing his head, he was glad the Divine didn't expect him to share in all of Lana's hobbies and interests because he'd have to learn a lot more of magic and its history a lot quicker. "She did stumble across an old mage circle drawn, Maker, it had to be ages and ages past."

"Was it still active?" Leliana sat up at that, but Cullen waved his hand.

"No, the magic itself was long disrupted. I made certain of that," he added getting a nod of approval from the Divine, "but she was bubbling over in glee at the language used for the runes. Apparently, you can something something very important something else. Either she's completely altered everything ever known about the history of ward crafting or is about to."

Leliana reached over and patted his hand, "Lana always seemed to be at her most focused when she had a cause driving her. Without one her attentions become erratic and divided. If I were you I'd find one cause to hone her and quickly lest she wind up digesting the entire library of Minrathous."

He nodded his head, his hands parting over the remainder of his work. While Cullen could easily whittle away a few hours of each day upon it and know more remained, a small part of his brain questioned what he would do once he was finally finished with the Inquisition. What would he be like with no cause to steer him? As if sensing his thoughts, Leliana gestured at the works, "You'll be leaving soon?"

"Yes," he nodded. Plans were in place, passage booked, and he had the itinerary down to the wire. Three days travel with barely any rest, five days working to finalize and free himself of the remaining knots of his involvement with the Inquisition, and another three to return. He wished he could get it down to a week of being away from Lana, but when word rattled through the mountain about his leaving everyone suddenly had something the Commander needed to do. Lana snickered at that, and said they were most likely all planning goodbye parties, but he doubted that all of Skyhold could intend to get that drunk for so long. Even after Corypheus fell, the Inquisition only partied for three days. He was hardly worthy of that much celebration.

Shuffling his stacks of vellum up, Cullen smiled, "I hope to get in and out quickly."

"How's she doing?" Leliana asked, tipping her head towards the closed bedroom door.

"Good," he paused, "she's been strolling through Val Royeaux each morning. On occasion even takes Honor on quick walks here and there. And..." Cullen's smile turned internal as he thought back to their passionate moments with Lana in both the throes of bliss and giggling at herself for ever doubting it. A knocking drew Cullen out of his reverie and he found the Divine staring through him. Coughing once, he nodded his head and added a deeper, "Good, very good."

"Yet you're worried about leaving her."

"I..." he flexed his weary fingers over the table and watched the tan line across his knuckles fading back to his normal pale color. They came from gripping tight to the pirate ship's ropes as he teetered between no hope and praying fervently for her. Now his heart was settled and his tan could fade. "I am. She's come so far, but if anything happens."

"I'll be here," Leliana said, nodding her head. "We can have an over extended slumber party. Drink wine, talk about men, paint some of the statues in garish colors."

Cullen snorted at the idea, then narrowed his eyes, "I'm growing more concerned about leaving now."

Smiling at him with the force of the chantry behind it, Leliana patted his hand once, "There, there, she's rather tight lipped about your bedroom antics. I doubt there'd be a play by play of whatever happened last night."

"Last night? How can you..." Cullen mashed his lips together, cutting off the question that gave away everything. He couldn't stop the small burn wrapping up the back of his neck.

For her part, Leliana only chuckled as if the answer was so obvious as to be scrawled across his forehead. Rather than tip her oversized hat, she sat up in the chair even more prim than before and began to fluff up her sleeves. As a child, he'd wondered at times if the Mothers in the chantry ever kept anything stashed up inside them. While he doubted the one at his local chantry did, Leliana's digging revealed a leather sheathe hidden against her wrist. Take the woman out of the Game, but you can never take the bard out of the woman, it seemed. Sensing his curious eyes upon her, the Divine lowered her sleeve and cut through him with a single look.

"Your, uh," Cullen's brain flipped through any topic it could cling to, "the trip to Jader wasn't as productive as you hoped?"

Leliana glanced over at the bedroom door, no doubt willing Lana to rise awake as much as he was to save him, but it remained obstinately shut tight - their only salvation fast asleep. Folding her hands on the table, Leliana tipped her head, "I'd been counting on some intelligence that was intercepted."

"Intelligence?" While Cullen was technically extricating himself of all the politics -- from mages, to the chantry, to elves, and the rest of thedas -- he couldn't avoid the whispers on the wind. What they said he never heard, but their very existence unnerved him. While grumbling and malcontents could never be fully wiped away, it was the slow drip over time that concerned him. Sometimes it meant nothing, and other times it led to a flood shattering through the floor.

"It is...not of too great a matter," Leliana tried to wave it away, but Cullen scooted forward.

"Does this involve the Inquisition?" he asked, jabbing a finger into the table.

"What does that matter to you?"

"Last I checked, I still live in thedas and a threat to the Inquisition, even if it's been defanged, will still effect me," he pointed out. "Not to mention I would not wish any ill on the people who I served with."

Leliana frowned and dropped her head down as she glared at her fingers. Slowly, each one drummed up and down the clean section of table while the Divine selected her words. "There are rumblings, of a sort..."

"Mage or elf?" he asked, aware enough to know what current problems plagued the chantry.

Her crystal blue eyes snapped up and Cullen instinctively swallowed from her ice cold stare. Still thrumming the slow cadence of a dying heartbeat, Leliana watched through him, as if she was staring into the hearts and minds of every person in thedas. "I am uncertain."

"The...what would one have to do with the other?" Cullen started, shaking his head to find reason.

Leliana shrugged, "The enemy of my enemy I fear. People are still recovering, from the rebellions, the civil war, and the damage the red templars caused. While it takes time there are many who are too impatient and are looking to blame anyone they can."

"Whispers of chantries being set on fire..."

"Have some validity," she said, her words thudding to the ground with an unquenchable silence. "I'm trying to determine why and who's behind it. But while I search for the truth, others are quick to fill in their own answers. Some claim credit when there is no proof they'd even have been near it, much less that they'd have the clout."

"I should..." he scooted back in the chair, when Leliana shook her head.

"You should maintain what you've already claimed. Extract yourself from the Inquisition, changing course now would only give more fuel to a complicated fire." She challenged him to argue with her, but Cullen barely knew anything beyond the bare facts. While he'd left service of the chantry, in his heart he suspected he never could fully abandon it. Lana made no complaints about him attending services, sometimes inquiring about them. And while he still smarted from Kirkwall, from the bureaucracy that tied everyone up, abandoned the templars to the mad Seeker and Corypheus, he did not want to see it fall.

Leliana seemed to read all that in him, her head tipped down for a moment and she whispered, "Far too alike."

"What?" He sat up, all business.

"We can endure without you, it has for centuries in fact."

Cullen folded his arms up and glowered, "I'm aware of that, but if...if there's danger to Ferelden, or southern thedas, I think I'm owed a little classified information."

That caught her and she leaned back in the chair. Frown lines crinkled up her smooth brow and down her cheeks, age or stress finally catching up to Leliana. "You are right, and you know the other threat on the horizon better than most. What will come of it, no one can say." Cullen still wasn't certain if he believed Solas was Fen'harel or the idea that one man could destroy the veil, but he put faith in the Inquisitor doing all he could to prevent it.

Scooting closer, Leliana stretched her neck and then whispered, "This is in strictest of confidence, but there are rumblings across Orlais and western parts of Ferelden that the mages are..."

A blood curdling scream ripped apart the air. Cullen stood so fast, his chair tumbled back, Leliana attempting much the same. "That came from the bedroom!" he cried, pointing towards the shut door. Horrors tried to dig behind his eyes, Lana's screams twisting his nightmares into something almost unbearable, but he gritted through them.

"Maker, is that smoke?!" Leliana cried out, her cold mask shattered as she pointed to a gap under the door where white puffs billowed out.

As Cullen neared the door, he caught the acrid scent of wood charing to the flames of an open fire. "Lana!" he cried, panic strangling his tongue. Not bothering to check the latch, he shoved open the door with his shoulder. Smoke bit into his eyes, but he blinked through the pain to spot a figure huddled in the corner, fire flying from her fingertips with an unstoppable ferocity at the vanity. Immeasurable heat charred and warped the mirror, silver dripping like rain down the glass curving in on itself. Deadly flames danced off the vanity's counter, licking towards the walls and risking the entire Cathedral if they weren't contained.

Leliana shouldered him aside, and shouted, "Lanny!" But Lana didn't turn to her, didn't acknowledge her, only kept up her fire. "Stop! What are you doing?!"

"Can't," Lana mumbled, tears gushing from her eyes, the black smoke obscuring her trembling body. "Not, no, you're an illusion."

"Lanny," Leliana begged, dropping to a knee and trying to scoot closer to her. She whipped her head towards the Divine, a horrified look on her face, and Leliana stumbled back terrified of what could happen. Something got though and the fire spurting from Lana's hands broke off, her arms dropping to the floor as if spent. But the fire was fully enraged now, rising up the bedroom wall and eating everything in its wake. Cullen grabbed a blanket off the bed and tried to smother the fire, but it roared awake, snapping back at him.

"You have to put out the fire, Lanny," Leliana begged, crawling forward.

"Leave me be, spirit," Lana groaned, her head dropping into her chest as she hugged her knees tight. She looked pitiful, like a scared child trembling from the monster under the bed. Yet, she didn't fight against the smoke billowing into the air, cutting away the oxygen and burning into their eyes. It was as if she didn't feel it.

Tossing the blanket down, Cullen slid across his knees and scooped Lana up into his arms. It was almost the exact same way he had when she came back to them from the fade. "Lana," he pleaded, his hands digging into her hair. She didn't look up or acknowledge him, only shook her head and mashed her face harder into her knees.

"No, no," she moaned, scrunching up tighter in on herself.

"Please, put the fire out, before you hurt people. Innocent people. You don't want to do that," he clung to the first thing he could think of, but she was too far into her delusion. She gripped tighter to her legs, her nails causing welts to rise up on her skin. "Lana, please," he begged, "I-I love you."

She didn't look up, but power flowed through her body, the fade warping fast around her. For a moment, Cullen instinctively moved to yank her mana away, terrified of what she'd conjure next, but he held it back. He had to trust her. Leliana tried to wave the blanket to beat back the fire, but it was beyond either of them now, flames licking up the leftover vanity and scouring the stones black. White crystals wrapped around Lana's fists still dug into her legs. Without waving her hands near the fire, power -- biting with the power of winter -- blasted past Cullen to wrap around the flames. He craned his neck back to watch ice rise from the ground to envelop the fire in its smothering embrace, freezing it solid until it reached the ceiling.

It happened so fast the blanket Leliana was waving froze tight to the ice block. She released her hold, unable to rip it free, and staggered back. Her eyes widened while surveying the charred remains of the vanity crumpled in on itself, white as ash, and the dents the fire made into the walls and ceiling. "Andraste preserve me," she mumbled, her hand covering her mouth.

A sob wracked Lana and Cullen turned back to her, his hands wrapped around her shoulders. "It's okay, I'm here. We're both here, it's...you did the right thing, Lana. Okay?"

Leliana plummeted to her knees as well and scooted towards her friend. Together, she and Cullen formed an impenetrable wall, trying to wrap Lana against everything she just created. "Oh, Lanny," she sighed holding tight to her.

The trembling paused in Lana's shoulders but she wouldn't lift her face. Moaning into her knees, she cried out, "I...I, no, I didn't mean to, didn't want to... Not the fade, not at all, not now."

"I know you didn't mean to, Lanny," Leliana cried back, the tears thick in her eyes.

"I never, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Lana moaned. For a moment her eyes darted up over the carnage she preserved behind ice, the destruction she caused. Yelping at it, she waved her fingers and buried her head again. With a whisper, the ice wall melted apart, sending gallons of water washing across the fire damaged floor. The smell of charring smoke and rotten wood filled the room as the puddle washed across their feet. Only her heart wracking sobbing echoed over the hissing of still steaming wood coming to a rest.

"It's okay," Cullen cooed again, trying to pull her into him, to get her to break away from her knees. "You're not alone. I'm here, Leliana's here. We've got you."

"I..." Lana stuttered, her face whipping back and forth across her legs.

Cullen glanced down and winced at blood rising up from where her nails dug deep into her skin. "Lana, please," he couldn't bite down on the tears in his voice, "please stop hurting yourself."

He wanted her to stop digging her flesh off, but her body trembled and in a heart wracking sob she cried, "I don't know if I can."

"Lanny..." Leliana wiped at her tears when the sound of armored boots running down the hall drew both her and Cullen's attention towards the apartment door.

It sprung open from a shoulder all but shoving it off the hinges and a man cried out, "Your Most Holy!"

Leliana staggered to her knees to look over at what appeared to be three or four guards judging by the boots racing towards her. She wiped at her cheeks and fitted on the calm mask she always wore. While Leliana dealt with them Cullen held tight to Lana, his face burying into her back. She'd silenced her crying, but he could feel the inaudible sobs trembling up her body.

"What is it?" Leliana asked, trying to block their view of Lana crumbling apart on the floor beside the bed.

"We heard a scream and came running to...are you all right, your Worship?" the lead guard asked, his eyes sliding across his unperturbed Divine.

"I am fine, as you can see. There was a small matter..." Leliana glanced back only for a moment before whipping her head back, "We spotted a mouse."

"And then set it on fire?" the second guard asked pointing at the obvious damage that nearly ate through the wall.

"It got rid of the mouse," the Divine said with such confidence Cullen almost believed her.

"As you say, your most Holy," the lead guard said, bowing uncertainly. "But, I would not recommend dealing with vermin in such a manner."

"Yes, next time I will try a trap instead. Those cause less collateral damage," Leliana nodded brusquely, her arms crossed as she turned her body into a barrier. No matter how hard the guards tried to peer in on Lana, she wasn't letting them past.

"Do you require any more help?" the guard asked, lost as to what to do with a clearly crying woman on the floor, the room having just been lit on fire, water soaking across the ground, and the Divine insisting it was all due to a mouse.

"No, you may return to your post," Leliana said, waving a hand to dismiss them. "Oh, but could one of you summon Detan."

"Yes, Your Worship," the guards bowed, sliding away.

Cullen heaved a sigh of relief at their departure. The last thing Lana needed was questions coming from anyone much less an arm of the chantry. With his arms pinned tight around her, she finally broke free from digging into her legs and wrapped them back around him. Biting down the pain in his heart, Cullen nestled his chin in her hair and repeated a continual loop of "I have you. I'm here." Breaking a moment from Lana's hair he caught Leliana's concerned eye and mouthed, 'I'm not leaving her. I'm never leaving her.'

## Chapter Fourteen

**Light**

**  
**

Light undulated across a carpet. She didn't see all of the hand woven image, only a corner with a horse cavorting through a forest that kept dipping from a bright golden glow to the deepest greens as the branches outside the window danced in the breeze. What did the horse think of the light? Was it welcomed, or did it burn with a searing white, the heat of the heart of fire itself fading away its once luxurious colors? Cullen's hand wrapped around hers, his fingers holding her tight while she couldn't manage to return it.

Digging a towel through her hair, Leliana shooed a handmaiden away and sighed, "Maker, it feels so much better to have that caustic smoke scent off me." She was dressed only in a robe, barely knotted across her waist which caused Cullen to glance towards the window. Lana expected to find a blush rising up his neck but his cheeks remained wan the whole day.

She didn't remember the trip up to Leliana's proper apartments, her eyes screwed tight for fear that if she opened them she'd either find the green sky of the fade with the Black City taunting her or the entire Grand Cathedral up in flames. While Leliana and Cullen fretted about finding a comfortable place for Lana to sit, she stumbled one step, then another before plummeting to the ground. And that was where she sat for the past few hours watching the sunlight move across the carpet. Cullen tried to get her to move, but when she refused he stopped asking. Leliana made more suggestions, offering up a couch, a chair, even a bed or two. The last caused Lana to fold further in on herself.

People hustled in and out while only speaking to Leliana, a few glanced towards the broken woman on the floor but none talked to her. After a time Leliana suggested a bath to clear off the soot, but Lana didn't look up. Exasperated at Lana's continual non-answers, Leliana took it herself. Now clean of the fire, the fire Lana caused, her friend was back to trying to fix things.

Drying her hair with a fervor, Leliana sighed and attempted to whisper at Cullen, "She should take a bath."

He shrugged and leaned towards Lana, "Do you want to try a bath?"

Lana shook her head wildly, tears scattering from the force. She didn't deserve it.

Shrugging his shoulders, Cullen leaned back, only his fingers clinging tight to her limp ones. With her free hand she patted at the floor, trying to disturb the dust motes hiding below the chair legs.

Leliana tossed her towel at a statue and growled, "This isn't helping. Lanny..." She plopped down to a knee in front of Lana's bent head and tried to look her in the eye, but Lana kept staring further away. "You need to talk about it." She shook her head negative again and pulled her knees tight. Leliana's eyes traveled down Lana's shins and she hissed at the damage everyone kept talking about. But Lana didn't feel it, her body numb to everything.

"Lanny, please," Leliana dropped a hand onto her shoulder and Lana sagged further down, "It'll do you good. Tell me what happened."

Her lips quivered, the trembling beginning again as Lana pulled her legs tighter to her chest. "No," she whispered, barely able to speak the word through her shaking.

"No isn't..." Leliana began but Cullen reached out and nudged her off. She turned her icy stare upon him but he glared back with as much fervor.

All the venom vanished as he spoke to the broken woman, "Lana, what do you want to do?"

She shrugged, clinging tighter to her legs.

"Do you want to take a bath?"

She shook her head.

"Do you want to change out of the..." Cullen's words faded as he gestured to the ratty old tunic she wore to sleep. It stank of smoke that burned her eyes and needed to be cleaned.

Lana shook her head again, curling deeper. She expected him to sigh or begin challenging her resolve as Leliana had, tell her to grow a spine and stop behaving like a spoiled child.

Instead, he slid a bit closer to her and asked, "Do you want me to hold you?"

Her brain fought to tell him no, she didn't need it, she didn't deserve it, but her heart won out. In a gasp Lana cried out, "Yes," while falling into his open arms. Cullen took all of her without a complaint. His own shirt stank from the fire, the fire she caused because she was too weak. Burying her nose deeper into it, Lana filled her lungs with the pungent smell, every breath burning her the way she deserved.

Clinging to his arm, Lana slid lower into his lap, the back of her head burrowing into his stomach as she rested her cheek upon his thigh. Cullen didn't complain, only softly picked at her hair as he held her tight. "Do you want to talk?" he asked.

A sob echoed up her dry throat and she clung tighter to him, fingers digging into his knee the same way they had to her own. "Shh," Cullen soothed, "it's okay, you don't have to talk. When you're ready. For now, we can sit here, okay?"

Lana didn't answer him, but Leliana did, hissing close to his ear as if she wouldn't overhear. "What are you doing?"

"Helping," he stated with certainty.

"You know how to help with this?" she scoffed, folding her arms and wanting to delve to the heart of the problem.

"A templar trained in dealing with a mage whose powers ran rampant. Yes, I think I know how," he sneered at her before tugging Lana tighter to him.

Leliana stood up to glower at him but Cullen didn't respond. He gently caressed Lana's head and stared out at the wall. She did the same, her watering eyes watching a painting. It was old, before a more realistic style swept through the artists. Humans were little more than rectangles with circles for heads while the elves had sharp triangles. It was strange to find a painting with both human and elves on the same level. Lines and lines of people depicted going about their life in painted stratum while strange creatures haunted through the margins.

She didn't remember the dream to start it all. Lana wished she did because then she could say _it was this, seeing this, thinking this brought it all out and as long as I avoid that then it'll never happen again._ But no, whatever happened to her in the dream vanished on the wind. When her waking mind returned to her it brought the suffocating press of anxiety, a depth of panic she hadn't felt in...Maker, she couldn't even remember. In battle, she could focus on a plan, on strategy, but there in the bed with her legs trapped by a blanket it was nothing but unquenchable hopelessness. Crushing, bleak, empty darkness. Instant loss with no way out. And her magic took over her body. If Cullen hadn't been there, if he hadn't talked her down...

"I'm sorry," Lana moaned. She felt Cullen jerk below her, as if her words startled him awake. He craned his head around and caught Leliana who rose from a chair to stand behind.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Leliana said, her voice soft.

"It was an accident," Cullen said, his fingers running down her arm.

"And you did that old vanity a favor by torching it. Saves on me having to have it destroyed and then face up to the preservation society," Leliana tried to laugh but Lana sobbed, curling deeper into Cullen's leg.

"I thought, I tried, I wanted to be better, to not be...why am I so broken?" she cried, tears streaking down her cheeks to wash away the soot on Cullen's pants.

"Lana," he tried to tug her up, but she clung tight to him unable to face the two most important people in her life.

"You're not broken," Leliana insisted, her hand squeezing down Lana's shoulder.

"I...I nearly, Maker. I could have killed you, or you," she gasped, glancing up at both of them before burying her head back into Cullen's leg like a sulking child. But that's what she was, a child who had no control over her magic. And while at age six the most she could do was flash freeze a pail, now she could enact a horrible vengeance upon an army without batting an eye. She was a monster, a monster without any restraint.

"We, we're okay," Leliana said, but Lana could hear the stumble in her words, a swallowed down gasp from the facts. Mashing her mouth tight together, Lana dove deeper into the dark abyss of shadows wishing it would swallow her up and end this. No more keeping a check upon her magic, no more fighting every day to get out of bed, just the sweet silence of nothing.

Shaking his head at the Divine, Cullen leaned closer to Lana and said, "What is it? Love, I know there's more."

She bit her lip at his pet name. He'd never said it before, and in any other instance she'd have found it trite, but right then it was all Lana had left to cling to. "I...I'm, it's happened before but never like that, never. The dreams, they're in there, the nightmares. You know," she said to Cullen who grimaced and nodded softly, "nothing can make them go away, and I never know why. But I could handle it, keep the-the power at bay. Drain myself or, or contain it to a few wards, damping down a fire, or-or..." Tears gargled in her throat, the salt water stinging her still raw eyes, "I'm a monster."

"Lanny, no, you're..."

"I am, I-I can't be trusted, I can't-can't keep myself from," she shuddered, that long sealed crypt in her mind cracking open so all the ghosts were free to rattle through her soul. "I'm a curse of the Maker, to be locked up to keep everyone safe. It's the only...the only...." Her words crashed as she drifted lower, the sobs fading to a dull thud in her stomach.

"You've proven yourself time and again," Leliana insisted.

Lana snapped up at that, her red, splotchy eyes searching for the shocked blue ones of her dearest friend. "I nearly burned the Grand Cathedral down, a mage. Do you know what that would have done to the other mages? To the chantry? To thedas itself?!"

Her truthful and stark words struck Leliana who stumbled back from Cullen. Leliana placed her fingers into her mouth and began to bite down on the edge of the skin while thinking. Moaning, Lana tumbled back into Cullen's lap. He waited a few breaths for the ringing from her shout to die away before speaking, "These things happen, you know that."

"To young ones, to mages who are struggling."

"You're struggling now, but that doesn't mean it's permanent," he sighed as he cupped her shoulder with his hands, "Lana, whatever you went through in the fade, you knew it'd hurt. It..." he swallowed and his fingers dug in tighter to her skin, "it was three years after the tower before I suffered my first nightmare panic. I woke in the kitchen with a knife in my hand attempting to kill a head of cabbage I thought was a demon."

"You never..." she began, rising up to face him.

Cullen cupped his hands around her cheeks to hold her close. "I'm ashamed of it, of failing myself, of not having enough control but I found ways around it. To keep myself from doing it again and protect the people I care about. You can do the same."

She shuddered at his hopeful turn. "No, no I can't because you're...you can put down the blade, but I..." She lifted her hands up to her face, her traitorous fingers that should be coated in blood, "I can't. I'm cursed, broken, and without control there's..."

Lana gasped as an epiphany flooded her mind, and Cullen focused anew upon her. She couldn't look at him anymore, and her eyes tried to slide away down to his shirt, "There's only one thing to be done to mages without control. One thing. I should be made tranquil."

Leliana clapped a hand to her mouth, the slap echoing in the suddenly silent room. Risking it, Lana glanced up at Cullen and found his head tilted high, his eyes scanning the ceiling while a few tears slipped free. He breathed deep with his mouth, his cheeks flattening as he tried to find strength. "Lana, you're...no, that's not an option for you. You're past your harrowing. You, chantry law states--"

"When did that ever stop you?" she cried out, and instantly regretted it as his face crumbled, every shameful sorrow rising upon Cullen's brow. "Maker, I..." she tried to apologize, her deadly hands reached out to touch him, but she froze. Hanging her head down, Lana groaned, "I took the harrowing before all of this occurred. Before I faced down an archdemon or became trapped in the fade. Before I...broke."

"I will not allow it!" Leliana thundered, cutting her hand through the air. Both Cullen and Lana turned to her to find ruddiness blemishing her perfect skin and tears pouring down her cheeks. "The Rite of Tranquility has been abandoned and for good reason. It will not happen, not under any circumstances."

"But..."

"There are no buts here, no one will be," Leliana stumbled from her fiery speech and she sobbed once as if she could already picture the Lana with her mind burned away, "No, I will not allow it. Find another way."

"I'm sorry," Cullen spoke, his voice stuttering them both towards him. Leliana looked as if she planned to yank Lana away if he intended to go back on her word, but he continued, "it's my fault for...for pushing you so hard. To, I keep wanting you to be better, healthy, but..."

"Cullen, I," Lana wrapped her fingers around his cheeks as if trying to lift them into a forced smile, "I never should have said that. It, it wasn't right."

"No, it was. It did happen, often. I-I did that, and more, in the service of what I thought was the greater good. You're no more a monster than I am," he sighed, his head drifting down.

Her heart rose from its black depths, taking a rare sip of light to drive Lana to wrap her arms around him and tug his head tight to her in an embrace, "I love you."

"Why?" he asked, shaking his head. "There are dozens of reasons, hundreds why you shouldn't..."

Lana laid her finger against his lips. His words died but his exhausted eyes trailed over her begging for an explanation, "Because I do. Scars and all."

"I love you too, Lana. So much. And, I swear to the Maker, I will do everything I can to keep you safe," he cried.

"Even from myself?" she stuttered, wishing not for the first time that she could purge all the mana from her forever and never cast another spell.

"With everything inside of me. I'll sleep beside you for every night, every nap, hold you tight and tell you it's safe, no one's coming for you. Blanket your mana, do everything I can in my body to keep you safe, here."

She blinked, trying to think through the despair's gnarled hands wrapped around her mind, "What about the Inquisition?"

"I don't care, you need me more than they ever will."

"Your plans to return to Skyhold...?" She gasped, wondering if that wasn't what pushed her over the edge. Lana was happy to put on the smile and crack the occasional joke to distract people from her own traumatized soul. It was one of the things she and Alistair shared perhaps most in common. She could run from her own depression for weeks, sometimes months, but when it caught up to her it was as if her entire world crumbled in on itself. And when the storm passed she had to pick up the pieces and rebuild her life from the rubble.

Cullen butted his forehead into hers, his fingers curling up her cheeks, "Cancelled, all of them. We'll find another way, I can find another way. I'm not leaving you."

"I'm dangerous," she whispered, "dangerous mages are..."

"We're all dangerous," Leliana cut in, her blue eyes blazing. "Magic or no, and...this is not the time to be having this argument. Lanny, please, let me help you change into something not scorched."

Biting on her lip, she banged her fingers together and stared down at the nails chewed to a nub, the edges jagged and brittle. It wasn't from breaking them on accident, nor from her malnourished state in the fade. When Lana would fight against the horrors in her mind, the darkness trailing her heart, she'd bite down on her finger almost tearing off a nail to try and pinch herself back to the real world. How long had she been running from this? Her fingers were bruised and blackened, angry specs of red lining along her cuticles from the way she mistreated them.

Cullen's fingers circled over top of hers, his skin cracked and rough from his own trials. She watched him gently wrap around her hands until he could grip tight and hold her. "Lana," he whispered, his voice raw and close, "let me help you. Please."

Strong. How did he have such strong hands? That was what she was supposed to be, the big, strong hero. The woman who ended a blight didn't get scared, shouldn't wish away the magic that saved thedas, and would never show any doubts. But she wasn't that woman, never was even when she threw on the mask and paraded about in armor sealing up her body and soul. Never letting anyone in because, because they'd know the truth about her, about how fragile she really was and how easily she broke. And they'd hate her for it.

Bobbing her head, Lana acquiesced and let him save her from herself.

## Chapter Fifteen

**Crumbs**

**  
**

He couldn't hide the tremors in his hands as Cullen struggled to get a glass of water down his parched throat. For once he suspected the thirst wasn't the lyrium's doing but the fire's, not that fact helped him much. Lana rested upon a chair, her feet tucked up under her and a pillow in her lap as she stared out through the window. She wasn't better, but she wasn't asking anyone to brand her either. Refusing the bath no matter how many times Leliana suggested it, Lana stripped off the old tunic and slid into a robe. It was far too long for her small frame, hems trailing upon the floor when she rose to her feet, but it didn't reek of smoke that stung their eyes.

As he tossed the glass back, Cullen got a whiff of the smoke upon his own shirt and sighed. He needed to change too, but there wasn't time and he wasn't leaving Lana alone. "Do you want anything to drink?" he asked, his voice tender. Her head lifted from its stupor but she shook it a soft no before laying it back down.

Nodding, Cullen returned the carafe back to the counter and began to walk towards her when the Divine's inner door opened and Detan walked in unannounced. She had a clipboard jammed under her arm and a tray of food in her hands. All manner of comfort foods sat upon the silver tray; cookies, crackers, toasts with a multitude of jams, a sampling of meat and sausages. Anything to try and tempt Lana into eating. Cullen picked the tray out of Detan's overloaded arms and she smiled in thanks. He turned to present hopefully something to Lana, when the elf grabbed onto his arm.

"Ser, if'n you please, there are some, um, matters to discuss," her scrutinizing eyes darted to Lana curled up in on herself, before landing back upon Cullen.

"Can it wait?" he sighed, his arms already straining from the load. His body was reaching the point of collapse itself, and he suspected any attempts at being polite or official would end in him snapping someone's head off.

"It's only, if you're serious in canceling your trip to Skyhold..."

"Yes, that's off the table," he interrupted.

"Right, my issue is we had letters to be delivered regarding your trip and nearly all of them referencing it," she whispered.

Groaning, Cullen tried to not abandon his bare grasp on the waking world before collapsing onto the floor in exhaustion. They'd been planning this trip with a rather terrifying degree of organization, and most of the letters he'd spent the week preparing were meant to head out today. "Hold them back, all of them, until I...figure something out."

Detan bobbed her head, her eyes darting over to the mournful mage, "Very well, Ser. And is there anything I can do for..." she pointed towards Lana but didn't say her name.

Shaking his head, Cullen hoisted the tray up higher, "No. I wish there was, but..." He screwed his eyes tight from his tongue taking command. No one else needed to know of her struggles, not now. "Thank you for your help," he said instead.

"Of course," Detan bowed deep before sliding towards the door and to no doubt run down a dozen messengers.

Lifting the tray higher than his muscles wanted, Cullen tried to put on a smile but it refused to take, "Lana, are you hungry?" Her head raised up and she glanced once over the options before shrugging. "You need to eat, it's been...a very long day," he groaned. Maker, he wasn't cut out for this. He had a temper, a spiteful one that could rear up at the worst times. There was little tenderness mixed into his blood, not when he sat upon the edge himself. Cullen made for the worst nursemaid imaginable and somehow he was the only hope she had. It seemed a cruel joke.

After sliding the tray upon the short coffee table beside Lana's chair, Cullen bent his legs and collapsed onto the footstool. He'd meant to hit a chair, but it didn't matter. It got him off his feet. Exhaustion claimed its prize fast, climbing up his limbs that'd been knotted up tight for over six hours now. Unable to lean back while holding her, he had to sit upright for hours to prop Lana up, which chewed through his lower back. When Leliana left to handle something important, Cullen took to racing through the foreign apartments to find anything Lana might need. In his haste, he stumbled across a few of the Divine's secrets hidden inside drawers he never should have opened. It would have scared his cheeks in embarrassment but he was beyond feeling much of anything in his state. Now his body sagged as if he'd climbed through the Arbor Wilds again, drained of everything inside of him.

How could he be strong enough for her? She faced, Maker, he barely knew what in the fade. His brief moment nearly scooped out his heart from his chest, and she was in there for two years. Alone, abandoned, with only spirits to talk to. Spirits that seemed to torment her the way blood mages plucked him apart. Lana needed someone with an iron arm who could stand for days without tiring, who didn't face exhaustion at the hands of his depleted veins crying out for lyrium. She needed someone...

A warm hand rolled over his, pulling him out of his maudlin turn. He didn't realize he'd crumpled into his lap until Cullen sat up, blood rushing to his cheeks and brain. Lana didn't look at him, her stricken eyes hovering through the floor, but she gripped tighter, her fingers trying to knot around his as she yearned to anchor to him. Returning it, he gripped tight and then covered her hand with his second one.

She needed him, and any doubt on his part was foolish.

Lana's free fingers drifted over the tray. Pulling up a few of the cookies, she passed one to Cullen first. "No, you should..." he began before she nudged it hard enough into his fist to break a small section off. Crumbs littered the ground, drawing Honor's attention from across the room. The dog sat vigil ever since they trekked up to the strange apartment, scared to touch or look at anything. Like she was wiggling below a nest of thorns, Honor crawled upon her belly across the floor and below the footstool's legs. Her muscular front legs snagged upon the tight fit and with a great stretch, she lapped her pink and black tongue out to reach for the scattered crumbs.

"Silly girl," Lana mumbled. Her voice was hoarse and whisper quiet, but when Cullen snapped his head up at it, there was a hint of a smile upon her face. Maker, it was eight hours of sleep and a four course meal to his soul to see even a moment of levity in Lana.

Accepting the cookie from her slack fingers, he took a great bite and was surprised to find them rather simple and not too sweet. "These aren't half bad," Cullen said, chewing through his words.

Lana's wary eyes rolled over to his as she took a bite of the second biscuit. Her teeth bit down slowly, savoring each chew before she swallowed prominently. After a moment she sighed, "I should have known you'd love it, seeing as how you hate all things sweet."

"Not all things..." he began to defend himself when he watched that half smile flit about her face. She was fighting to find her old self buried under all the pain and self hatred. "You're right, I am stone, hate everything bright and sweet in the world."

"Really? Everything?"

"Sunshine makes me rear back and hiss," he said, his tone so certain it lifted the other half of her smile up. "A baby's laugh is like a cat scream in my ears."

Lana snorted once, her fingers splayed out across her lap. After watching her hands for a time, she asked, "What about glitter?"

"No one likes glitter," Cullen said, meaning every word.

"I dunno, Dagna could do some pretty things with it," Lana sighed, her head tipping back and forth.

"Ah yes, like the time she and Sera managed to fill an entire barrel with the stuff, stick it inside a trebuchet then launch it right into the walls of Skyhold."

Lana blinked rapidly. For the first time her head lifted and her eyes focused into his. "You're...you're lying?"

He groaned and threw his head back, "After their glitter bomb nearly shattered a window and splattered pink and purple sparkles across an entire tower, the winds picked it up and blew half back across the courtyard. I was picking it out of my scruff for two weeks."

She chuckled, the laugh barely audible as she gave it no breath, but it was there. Cullen wanted to reach over, tug her into his arms, and hold her as he described the great glitter attack in fine details. But Lana hung upon such a narrow thread he settled for gripping onto her hand instead. Holding tight, she bounced their joined hands together up and down, watching both their muscles contract and relax.

"I'm sorry," she began.

"Lana, you don't have to apologize for the fire."

"No, not that," her eyes bored into their joined hands. "I mean, I am sorry for it, but... What I said earlier, about you and-and what happened in Kirkwall."

Cullen sucked in a breath. He'd been doing his best to not think about what her words stirred up in him, how ashamed he felt and regretful, the ghost of repentance haunting his every move. "It was true," he said, accepting that he deserved to be reminded of the pain he caused, perhaps daily. A shame that should never blot away.

But Lana whipped her head back and forth, "That doesn't matter. I shouldn't have said it, ever. It's..." Her broken brown eyes drifted up to him, "it's not fair for me to throw that around against you, and I, forgive me, please."

"You were in pain," he said.

"Still am," she admitted, her free hand cupping her head.

"Lana, do you...do you still wish to be--"

"No," she shook her head, "I don't think so. I...it's in there. That...threat? Fact? The mages used to use it sometimes, some enchanters would threaten us with it. 'If you don't learn how to channel your mana they're gonna take a poker to your skull and burn your emotions out of you.' To try and push us to do our homework, or when they were frustrated. Always there, at any time it could fall upon you. I never realized how often I absorbed that until..."

"You never know how messed up your world is until you meet someone who isn't," Cullen sighed, his thumb and forefinger pinching into his eyes. She tugged on his hand, and he felt her looking a question at him. Pulling his fingers away, Cullen stared at the reflection in the silver tray. The warped metal revealed a man beseeched with wrinkles, frown and scowl lines permeant, and his head pinched inward as if all the horrors inside his brain finally sucked him dry.

"After Kirkwall...fell, after the chantry fell, I... Some of the other circles sent templars to assist early on. I'd meet with them, not much, there needed to be orders given and someone decided it should be me."

"I know how that goes," she sighed, her thumb rubbing the back of his hand. Maker, he loved when she did that. It was one of her little gestures that he'd wake aching for after she died almost as much as a kiss or embrace.

Burying his head lower, Cullen watched the warped and broken man speaking his tale in the reflection, "There wasn't much time for getting to know everyone, but people needed a break between the work and levity was bound to happen. I was speaking with another Knight-Captain, a good woman from Nevarra. She was always smiling, even after twelve hours of shifting rubble. We got onto the subject of contraband and the strangest things we'd catch mages try to sneak in."

Cullen shook his head, the scent of charred flesh rising from memory to fill his nostrils. Kirkwall stank of it for weeks after it fell, mages turning their fire on all who got in the way. "She spoke of it all as a laugh. I can't remember what all she mentioned but with each listing of found contraband as if they were little more than a harmless prank I kept thinking, 'We'd have branded someone for that. They'd have been tossed into the hole, never allowed outside.'"

Hands wrapped around from his side, and he started from his depths to find Lana had slipped out of her chair to hug tight around him. She buried her face into his shirt, her sweet fingers locking him in as he told her the darkest depths of his heart. "The others, the templars loaned to us, they laughed too at the list, added their own and I stood dumbstruck, unable to face up to how far we'd lost our way. How far we...how far I'd fallen." He glanced over at the face in the tray, tears streaming down cheeks and utter heartbreak in the eyes.

Against all common sense, the mage continued to hug him, the man who'd done countless horrors to her own kind. He could see it all in her, the wear the circle placed upon her mind, what the threat of the rite of tranquility did to her even years away from the circle. And how many mages did he do the same to? How many did he torture without meaning to? "Lana," he moaned, biting down on his lip to try and suck back in the tears. This wasn't supposed to happen, he wasn't meant to break down, not now. She needed him.

But Lana rose from her knees, her face lifting off of him. Gently, she wiped her thumb across his cheeks and knotted her hands around the back of his neck. Pulling his forehead to hers, she breathed deep and held the breath. He watched her lips softly mime a count of five before she released it. Threading his limp hands around her waist, he began to match her, trying to chase this imaginary calm people talked about by breathing as deep as his lungs allowed. They stayed like that, pressed together at the forehead and filling their bodies with air for what felt like forever.

"Ah!" Lana cried out suddenly. Cullen's eyes flew open terrified to find her in pain but a laugh broke up her features instead. She shouted again, her hands breaking from his neck to bat at the dog's tongue trying to lick up the crumbs scattered in the folds of the robe. "Honor! Silly puppy..." shaking her head, the laugh faded into tears almost instantly.

"Will you keep me from hurting other people?" she asked. A deadly seriousness cut through her watering brown eyes.

"Lana, I..."

"I know, you love me, you don't think I would ever hurt anyone, but right now I don't need to hear from Cullen. I need the templar. The one I recruited to-to finish the job I couldn't. Because what's inside of me, it...it scares me sometimes and you, you're the only... You have my permission to drain my mana when necessary. To cancel any spells that grow out of hand or...or anything else to stop me."

She whispered the last part, her eyes trailing down to the rug and he understood what she meant by anything else. "Lana," he swallowed deep, "I can use a mana cleanse against you, I may even be able to restrain you should it be necessary," he gulped that last part, still struggling to come to terms with the idea. "But..." Cullen screwed up his eyes and beat back the eternal torment roiling in his gut to get the last words out, "I can never kill you."

He hated that he had to say it, that it was ever a possibility, but she had a right to think it, to fear it. What he'd done, could have done to her or any mage... Lana's fingers graced over his chest as she tugged her cheek to him for a hug. "Understood," she said.

"You, you believe me?" he stuttered in surprise.

"With my whole heart," she said, placing her cheek above his pounding heart. He couldn't do it, not even if she was possessed. The King wondered often from him, his questions getting nothing more than a glower as answer from Cullen, but he couldn't stop them from floating back to it at night. Every time he asked himself if he could, the answer always came back no. As long as there was even a crumb of hope, he'd cling to it, as he always did.

"Lana, I'm...what I've done is unforgivable," he gulped, terrified that in his exhausted and raw state he did what he begged the Maker to never have happen and ruined his one chance at happiness.

She sighed and lifted her head, "Do you find me reprehensible?"

"No."

"Even though I nearly burned down the Grand Cathedral, even knowing the terrors lurking inside of me, even if I can't handle my power between the sleeping and waking world as if I'm some child wetting the bed. Knowing all that, can you ever look upon me again?"

Locking his palms tight against her cheek, he pulled Lana up to face him and lost himself in her endless eyes. "I can never stop looking at you."

Her lids slipped closed and a whisper of a smile floated upon her lips. "That's how I feel about you."

"Blessed Andraste," Cullen gasped, clinging to such a simple answer. She looked about to explain, but none was necessary. Instead, he tugged her tight to his chest, his lips peppering the top of her head in kisses. Lana melted into him, her own face brushing against his shirt as she murmured words to try and calm him, soothe him, help them both.

"I ran into Detan on the stairs and she said she delivered the food tray..." Wrapped up together with Lana on the floor and Cullen squatting on a footstool was the perfect time for Leliana to come traipsing back into the room. She skidded to a halt at the sight of the two of them and blinked a moment. Cullen opened his arms to let Lana slide out, but she clung tighter to him for a beat longer, her cheek brushing against his smoke stained shirt.

"Seems to be a rather enticing spread," Leliana continued, trying to fight on through the awkwardness. "I hope you found something to eat."

"I did," Lana said, sliding away from Cullen and turning to her friend, "thank you."

Leliana started for a moment, her sharp eyes softening to a heartbreaking cry of joy for those few words from Lana. "Did you, uh, find a favorite. I'm partial to the strawberry eclairs myself. You tried one?"

"Not yet," Lana scrubbed at her eyes with her forearm, "but Cullen liked the butter cookies."

"Oh...?"

He shrugged and quaintly said, "I have simple tastes." Something in it was enough to draw a laugh from Lana, her hand flying to her mouth to cover over a chuckle gaining in momentum. Unable to stop himself, Cullen gently ran his fingers through her hair, but he felt a stare from Leliana. When he turned up to it, he read only an eternal gratefulness in her eyes. He lifted his shoulder; he'd had nothing to do with Lana turning a corner. It was all on her.

"Should we eat or...?" Leliana asked, gesturing to the piles of food that could feed six people.

"I..." Lana began to stagger to her feet, which Leliana was quick to offer help with, "I think it's time to take that bath and wash the soot off me. And give Cullen a chance to change. Your shirt stinks," she turned back to him in a jesting tone, but he didn't have the strength to banter back. He picked up her dangling hand and lightly pressed a kiss to it. She smiled, her fingers running against his stubble before succumbing to the Divine's pull.

While Leliana led Lana to the bathroom, Cullen glanced down at the dog under his makeshift chair. "You did good," he whispered to her, his fingers knocking about her ears. This wasn't going to be easy by any measure, and Lana would need more than time to get better, to find her feet, but he had faith in her the same way she had faith in him. Scooting forward, Cullen reached out to snatch up one of the sausages, when a blast of the smoke scent rose off his shirt and he crinkled his nose. She was right, he needed to change too.

Tugging off his shirt and stuffing the sausage in his mouth, then passing one to Honor, Cullen twisted about looking for a waiting hamper. From the bathroom he heard the sound of water splashing as a body slid into the tub.

Time, patience, and hope. _Maker, please give all of those to me in equal measure because she deserves it._

"Lanny, by the void, what did you put in this robe's pocket? Are these cracker crumbs?"

A great belly laugh took hold of Cullen and he doubled over, for the first time feeling like they'd survive this.

## Chapter Sixteen

**New Addition**

_9:44 Denerim_

Wailing, the kind fabled banshees bleated outside someone's door before the home owner leapt onto the pyre the next morning echoed through every stone in the castle. Roused from his half sleep, Alistair stumbled shirtless down the corridors in pursuit of the noise. He moved to wipe the sand out of his eyes and nearly bashed a sword's hilt into his nose. When did he grab the damn thing? After too many years spent sleeping on the ground waiting for any manner of creepy evil thing to come and cleave his head off, he defaulted to "shit's about to go pear" without thinking.

An even louder shriek broke the normally quiet castle air. While pursuing it, he'd catch a few harried glances of servants all poking heads into the hall, the bags under their eyes lengthening to match their scowl - until spotting their king hoofing it. Then it was an immediate snap to attention, but he waved each off, mouthing that he was going to get to the bottom of it. Past the coat of arms and the creepy paintings of his ancestors whose eyes rolled whenever he walked near he paused outside the door. Judging by the high range of squeals and shrieks there had to be some horrible murder happening right inside. Steadying himself to his kingliest pose, Alistair threw open the door.

The servants kept the fire down to almost nothing, only the light of the full moon and a few stars reflected upon a woman bent over the newest piece of furniture in the castle. Curtains wafted in the spring air to frame the cradle while its lone owner took a breath before resuming her blood curdling wail. The wet nurse glanced over at Alistair, turned back to the baby clearly unhappy with her services, then whipped back at him. "Your majesty," growled out of her throat.

"That's me, all majestic majesty over here. Like a short mountain," he pinched the bridge of his nose to try and steady himself through the never ending howls. "Not going so well, I take it Marn?"

"It...it is of no concern," Marn answered, folding her arms across her coveted bosom. The queen weighed the potential candidates for weeks before deciding on the woman who'd nursed a good fifteen kids to strapping height. Marn also looked like she could flatten an ogre.

"Here," he inched closer to the cradle and held out a hand, "let me hold her."

"You're carrying a sword," Marn snipped, jerking her chin at him while she kept rocking the cradle back and forth, though the owner was having none of that while maintaining her howl.

Tossing the sword against the wall, Alistair turned back to her and smiled, "Now I'm not. So...baby?"

The nursemaid glowered down at him, "I do not think this is a wise idea...Your Highness."

"Come on, she's been screaming for a half hour. What's the worst you think I'll do, drop the only heir down a well?"

"Anything is possible," Marn was not one easily swayed by fancy titles or threats of beheadings. He rather doubted an axe could get through her thick neck anyway.

Throughout their standoff, the little princess made her unhappiness evident, the wails digging into his teeth. He was about to shoulder past the nursemaid and pick her up himself - which would probably end in Marn laying him flat out - when the queen appeared. She was draped in thick quilted robes, her face still wan from giving birth and skin almost an ethereal blue by the moonlight.

"It's all right," she said, her fingers landing across the nursemaid's bulging forearms. "He can try," Beatrice nodded to her technical husband.

Alistair bobbed a grateful head to his technical wife, "Thank you." Sliding past Marn, he peeked in on the newest mouth to come screaming into the world and planning on keeping it that way. In her first few days of existence, Alistair was terrified of her wonky head and splotchy skin tone. While everyone else remarked upon what a beautiful baby it was, he ached to ask any of the healers if she was suffering from some terrible disease to make her look both purple and red at the same time. Her toothless mouth stretched wide as she screamed for something no one in the palace could understand. It was damn impressive how loud their newborn could get - a good sign of health Eamon declared. Yeah, maybe in the first few days it was welcomed, now those healthy lungs were assaulting everyone.

Gently, he scooped his hands under her swaddled body. _Maker, how did anyone start out so tiny?_ She fit along the length of his forearm, her screams halting for a moment at the sudden change in her life as she rose through the air into his arms. In her fit, she'd managed to shake off one of the mittens someone knitted for her, leaving her dagger nails out to slice apart anyone else who drew too close.

"You tuck your arm under..." Marn began, but Alistair glared at her.

"I get it, hold baby, don't drop. It's not that hard," with one hand cradling her head, he placed her against his chest, her little mouth noshing against his skin as she continued to wail. Drool dribbled down his skin heading towards dark places.

"Very well," Marn huffed, sliding back to her mistress, "Maker knows we've run out of options."

The princess' tiny fists thudded against him, and instinctively Alistair bounced her up and down, bending his knees to an erratic beat. Her wails paused again, and he glanced towards the women. "Mind if we go for a walk?"

"What? No!" Marn shouted, but the queen guided her back.

"Go ahead." Beatrice smiled at him, and began to return to her bed. Torn between protecting the baby from her would-be father and also worrying about her mistress, Marn wrapped a hand around Beatrice's forearm but took the time to glower at Alistair.

He ruffled his fingers against the baby's fine hair. It wasn't really hair, they said, at least not the normal kind, but something that'd fall off over time. Which was good, because when he first saw it, he thought the kid was going to have stark white hair her whole life. Her mouth opened wide against his chest, and Alistair steeled himself for another scream, but her tiny nose wrinkled up and she began to gum him.

"I bet you're just tired of these drab surroundings. Looks like someone died in here," he whispered to her. "Let's go see what there is to find in the castle." Bouncing gently in his arms, he stepped into the hall. It all seemed quiet -- as if everyone grateful for the screaming reprieve vanished off to sleep -- until he'd turn back around and catch heads watching from their rooms. No one trusted him with their only hope for succession.

Only the baby seemed unconcerned with the future in his hands, her wails halted as she fell to sleep against his skin. "How is that comfortable?" Alistair whispered down to her, his finger caressing her pudgy cheek. "Well, you know how to baby best." Uncertain where to take her while everyone watched from the shadows, Alistair headed to his room on the other wing of the castle. Along the way he pointed out various paintings creating heretical backstories to match each one. The princess remained unamused, her drool endlessly dripping down his chest.

A strong fire greeted him as he shouldered open his door, one he didn't remember starting. "Give it time," he whispered to her, "they'll get used to there being a baby around and then it'll be 'Oh, you wanted a fire?  What, is your crown broken? Get it your damn self.'"

Like a baby bird squeaking in its nest, the princess roused from her sudden nap. Alistair wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her in front of his eyes. She yawned her toothless mouth, and her eyes opened to reveal a deep emerald to match her mother's. Sniffling at first, the princess waved her hands about as far as her developing muscles could manage.

"Hey, come on. We're in this together. Don't start crying again or they'll run in here and whisk you back to the creepy room."

Perhaps something in his tone reached her, or the fact he began to dance and weave to try and lull her back to sleep did, but the burgeoning scream faded away and she tested out her eyelids in sleep. Everyone had chased the supposed father as far from the baby as they could. Sure, he could gaze once at the screaming thing freshly scrubbed of blood from the birthing process to prove "Look, an heir," but ever since then it was all "Hey, your majesty, you don't need to be bothering with that. The women have this. It's none of your concern until she's, I don't know, eighteen or something. Then you can get involved in your daughter's life." Maybe they were trying to all deal with the delicate matter of her creation, or - most likely - everyone was terrified Alistair would try and feed the baby dog food or juggle her with swords.

While it'd be fun to terrify the people hounding the new princess by pretending to do those things, Alistair didn't want to. A foreign calm wrapped around him like goose down pillows as he watched this tiny human with splotchy skin and vibrant green eyes sleep in his arms. "Did you know we share something in common? Not blood I'm afraid, but we're both bastards. Maybe I shouldn't be teaching you that word now. Cool uncles are supposed to teach you all the good curse words." He paused at the thought of Teagan even saying one much less sharing it with a child. "Being a bastard is, it's like a secret club for people who get punished for their parent's choices. Very exclusive, you have to be born into it. I, I guess it's not so bad. At the very least you're wanted, which is a step up from me.

"Everyone's so happy you're here, you know. Gonna be celebrating for months if Isolde has her way. We were getting a little worried there. You were in your mother for a long time. So long they brought in every healing mage and surgeon in Ferelden. I almost sent a letter to..."

Her itty bitty mouth gaped open as a mighty yawn raised up the fragile ribcage of this tiny baby in his arms. All thought drained from Alistair while he watched this simple, everyday occurrence as if he'd never seen it before. Smiling like an idiot from a yawn, he shifted her higher up in his arms to plant a gentle kiss against that squishy baby forehead. "So that's what new baby smells like," he mused, blinking through a mist.

"Anyway, uh, right..." his eyes drew away from her to a burst of red pulsing on the desk beside his bed. Snuggling the baby deeper into his warm chest, Alistair fumbled for the phylactery. As his fingers grazed the glass, he knew exactly where Lanny was - safe, alive, probably happy or that templar was going to be hearing things. Why she gave it to him was surprising, but like all things with Lanny she had her own logic. Her templar had little need for it while at her side, and Alistair did have an army at his disposal should she ever require finding or helping. Perhaps it was her way of showing confidence in him, the kind he never have in himself. Bundling the phylactery below the baby, he trucked both over to the chair by the fireplace.

Well seated, he lifted her up higher as if she could care about the phylactery of a woman countries away. "Do you know who this belongs to? The mighty Hero of Ferelden. You're named after her, well, one of your names. You've got enough names attached to you people are likely to pass out from lack of air while trying to recite the whole thing." It'd been Beatrice's suggestion with a gentle nodding from the others that it was a good way to honor their fallen Hero of Ferelden. Only Alistair, and one other special Arl, knew the truth - to the rest of the world Solona Amell gave her life saving the world. To her few closest friends, Lanny (or Lana) lived on.

The princess smacked her petal pink lips in sleep. He smiled even brighter at that. "You don't match your name at all, far too pompous for someone so little. You're more like a... like a potato with your round head and chubby cheeks." Weighing the baby in his arms, he chuckled, a nickname falling into his head. "My spud," he whispered to her. _Maker, everyone was going to hate it._ Alistair grinned even wider at the idea, Spud cementing in his mind.

"Where do I begin to tell you about the Hero of Ferelden?" he said while rocking his chest back and forth on the stationary chair. Spud seemed to enjoy that, her eyes fluttering open for a moment and a nug-like squeal escaping her lips. "Lanny's, well, she's something else. Always has been, always will be. She's put up with me for far too long. I hope," Alistair raised his little Spud higher in his arms, his head dropping low so he could whisper over her, "I hope she's found her peace. Maker knows Lanny deserves it."

His pinkie caressed little Spud's cheek, the baby's skin soft as silk and so warm. _Huh..._ Alistair chuckled under his breath. Leaning closer to his daughter he pressed his lips against her forehead and whispered, "I owe her ten sovereigns too." Regardless of all the nitty gritty parts, she was his child without question in his heart, in his soul. A gentle coo echoed in Spud's tiny throat. "Maybe I should make it twenty," he said, his heart threatening to burst from the abundance of love this little baby grew.

"Where to begin? How about the beginning? I was a grey warden once. Grey wardens are very stylish warriors who everyone looks up to for our great hair. I met Lanny while I was in the middle of arguing with this grumpy mage..."

Spud curled tighter to him, her fist burrowing into his chest hair, the little mouth dribbling against him, while Alistair told his daughter everything in his heart.

#

**Mistakes**

_I'm writing to you because..._

_This letter is in regards to..._

_I never thought that I'd..._

"Maker, damn it all!" Lana cried, digging the quill over every attempted sentence with such vengeance it split open the vellum. Her head collapsed onto the desk and she rotated her forehead against it a few more times for good measure.

"Lana, are you...?" Cullen's voice echoed from the sitting room. She heard his approach towards the office, the one she took over for the vital task of writing a necessary letter for the past hour, all of which amounted to absolutely nothing.

Extending her fingers clutching tight to the quill, Lana jabbed her hand in the air but didn't lift her forehead.

"I am guessing it's not going well," he said. In answer, she rolled her head against the table and moaned more. "Do you have anything of use?"

Her fingers dug across the desk and lifted up a half dozen scratched and mutilated sheafs of vellum. Cullen flipped through them and sighed. It took two days before they returned to the apartment which was chilled to the bone from the windows being thrown open to allow the scent to clear. Lana's first concern was for the poor Adder's Hiss, nearly covered in frost, its ice crystal dirt dry to the touch. It was the only time she let Cullen water it, as she found it hard to focus on anything.

The days sharing an apartment with Leliana weren't as long as the nights. She offered up her bed to Lana, said she could easily keep a watch on her, but Lana refused. Sleep once again chilled the blood in her heart. A few hours here and there, she'd drift off while propped up in a chair but Lana hadn't gotten a full night's rest in days. The worst was what it did to Cullen. Not willing to leave her alone, and insisting he didn't need a bed either, he spent every night trying to fall asleep upon one of the benches in the Divine's quarters while clinging tight to Lana's hand. His sneer seemed to be permanent now, as well as a hunch along his knotted shoulders.

While Cullen was grateful to be back in walls without the Divine and her bevy of clerics, as well as Honor, Lana inched around the rooms terrified that a glance at her failure would send her crashing back to bottom. The cleanup crew did wonders buffing up the walls and scrubbing away all soot and ash. They took the time to replace the burned up rug with a new one and instead of the vanity a new, empty bookcase sat in its place. Cullen chuckled that they'd have it filled in three days.

She tried that first night. With the help of a sleeping draught from the Divine's personal apothecary, Lana slid into bed beside Cullen and attempted to embrace sleep. For an hour she lay stretched out upon her back glaring at the ceiling and trying to not look over at the hole where the vanity once stood. Snores reverberated from the man who passed out almost instantly, not that she could blame him. She was so hard on him even if she didn't mean to be. Sleep, it was necessary, it would help, but what if...? What if she did it again? What if it wasn't fire or ice, but something far worse that slipped from her fingers? Very few people could combat a death hex from her, much less reverse its effects. Every way she could ruin and maim someone she didn't mean to floated through her mind.

When Cullen woke, he found Lana curled up on the divan while Honor lay on top of her. He tried to get the mabari off quietly, but it was enough to rouse Lana from her shallow sleep. After making certain she didn't hurt anyone, she apologized for not lasting the night. Books she began to read, then abandoned for others were stacked like small towers around the couch. Which was how she'd spent the last two nights, always starting in the bedroom with the plan to last but trekking out to force Honor to share her favorite sleeping spot. The breaking point was looming ever closer for them both, but Lana had no idea how to stop it.

"Tell me you know what to write," Lana moaned finally lifting her head. It felt flattened like a pancake from her rolling it around.

"I'm afraid not," Cullen sighed. "I rather suspect anything I'd have to say to the man wouldn't be taken well."

Lana snorted at that, a sharp inhale, "As if mine would be any better. Why did Leliana suggest this?"

"She said this was who you should write to?" he asked uncertain as he watched her fish out another fresh sheet and begin again.

"No, not exactly. She just kept on and on about how I had to talk to someone. I think she meant her, but..."

"You can talk to me," he threw out, sliding across the desk. Lana's agitation paused and she glanced up at him. Cupping her hand against his knee, she squeezed tight.

"I know, but this is...it's not something that, well..."

"It is a mage thing," he summarized. Gently, Cullen ran his fingers down her cheek and curled around her ear.

"Non-mages wouldn't understand what it means. You don't, you can't...ah! I don't want to do this!" Lana banged her face back into the desk, causing the ink well to rattle.

"Are you certain that it'll reach him?" Cullen asked. He seemed to be as much against this idea as Lana was only without voicing anything against it because he was trying to play her cheering squad. Sometimes she missed his sour moods, endlessly chipper Cullen felt wrong.

Leliana thought she was helping, trying to get Lana to open up about what drove her to fly fire from her fingers. Unable to shy away from it under cover of trauma, Lana began to crack jokes about who wouldn't want to set that garish vanity ablaze. Which only caused her old friend to sigh and cross her arms. Thank the Maker, for Cullen. He didn't push for her to rise up to her problems and give them a whack on the nose. Granted, he seemed to do about the same thing as Lana did by wadding any pain into a tight ball at the bottom of his stomach and never talking about it. She wondered if there was a market for templar and mage created bezoars at times. Their shared worries bundled into a bolus had to amount for good coin.

By the third visit of Lana less than deftly shaking off her psyche, Leliana insisted that she either speak to a mage about it or Leliana was going to bring one in to do it herself. And that was why Lana squirreled away in the office to force herself to compose a letter she never wanted to. The other alternative was to face up to a mage of Leliana's choosing. It could be one she knew from the circle, or worse, one as her time as the Hero. Either way, her secret would be ruined, because mages were the worst gossipers she'd ever known.

"What am I going to do?" she whined. With her thumb, she fluffed up the back of the quill, the pressure increasing with each run until she felt the hollow tip threaten to snap in half.

"Which part is giving you pause?" Cullen asked, his question drawing her up to look at him. "Who you're writing it to, or...talking about what happened?"

"Maybe a little of both?" she confessed, staring through the walls. Someone took the time to put up wallpaper around the back room, each section dotted with little diamonds and crowns. If she crossed her eyes it almost looked as if the crowns were coming out of the walls at her.

Reaching further, Cullen wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tried to tug her up for a hug. The chair she sat in refused to follow, but Lana leaned towards him and gripped back. After placing a kiss in her hair, he smiled, "I'm certain you'll think of something. You always do. Oh, I forgot, there's another letter here for you from the King."

"Alistair?" Lana accepted it, the envelope thudding into her hands from the weight.

"Nearly one if not two a week. How does he have time to rule a country?"

Lana snickered, "Well, the alternative would be him putting all that time into ruling so..."

"You make a fair point. I assume his aides regularly slot him in front of a desk and tell him to write so he doesn't cause half of Ferelden to fall into the Amaranthine ocean."

She couldn't stop laughing at Cullen's obvious discomfort with Alistair, which he often drove to extremes. After curling her fingers in his hand and squeezing back for a moment, Lana slit her finger down the envelope's catch. But there was no letter inside. Turning the envelope upside down, she watched as golden coins plopped out one by one onto the desk; ten in total.

"By the void," Cullen sighed, "he sent you Sovereigns? What in flames for?"

Lana smiled wide as she picked one up and turned it in her fingers. The embossed Ferelden mabari strutted proud off the glint. "It means there's a baby in the palace," she grinned, remembering her bet to him. "And Ali's finally gotten himself that family."

"Oh..." Cullen inched back, his head slightly bowing to his chest. Dropping the coin with the others, Lana grabbed onto his arm and tugged him down to her level for a full hug. He started for a moment, her reach shaking him from his thoughts, but after getting his bearings he returned it in kind. Turning her head, she caught his lips and kissed him with eyes so tight she could see stars.

"What..." Cullen gasped, his mouth sliding away, "was that for?"

"For saving me," Lana said.

"Ah, that, uh..." he dove back, kissing her again, "I'd gladly do it again."

Lana ran her fingers down his cheek, her thumb tracing along the scar upon his mouth until it softly pulled his bottom lip open. She felt a tremble inside of her that for once had nothing to do with fear. "I know," Lana sighed. Not ready to let him go, she reached her hands around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a crushing hug. Cullen answered it in kind as she buried her face into his soft chest while his strong fingers locked tight, his biceps flexing against her from how he clung.

As he broke away, he now caressed her cheek and smiled that soulful Cullen one. "I should leave you to begin that letter."

"Yes, I suppose so," Lana sighed, her head hanging down. She knew she had to do it, to try and get better, to be strong enough to keep going. "When I'm finished in here, do you want to, uh..." a silly blush climbed up her cheeks and she tried to hide it under a hand.

"What?"

"Um, uh..." Maker she felt foolish and giddy, her stomach flipping upside down, "whipped cream?"

Cullen's head tipped down but she spotted a smile climbing his cheeks, no doubt from the ridiculous way she asked that. "If you wish," he said, picking up her hands, "and now I have to somehow return to work waiting in anticipation. You're a challenge," he smiled wider with the last part and slid off the desk. Halfway across the floor, Cullen turned back and whispered over his shoulder, "Please, write quickly."

"I'll try," she couldn't bury the smile in her voice as she glanced over at the monumental task ahead of her. Cullen was right, it wasn't just what she had to put down but who it was to, who she had to ask for help. He made it to the doorway, when Lana called out, "I still blame myself for him, for what happened."

Pausing, he ran his hand up and down the wooden frame before speaking, "We all blame ourselves."

As Cullen drifted back out to the sitting room, no doubt failing to get anything accomplished in his own to do pile, Lana hoisted out a fresh stack of vellum from the rest and began anew.

To: Anders

C/O Hawke

I am writing to you for help. This isn't easy and is not meant to make amends for our difference of opinion, but you may be the only person I can turn to as much as it pains me to think about...

To: (struck through but still legible) Warden Commander (hand changed to Hawke's blockier script)  **___E__ SecretNameToNotMention**

**C/O: The Divine and her crafty pigeons**

_(Note from Leliana: Maker's breath, they're ravens. How can she not recognize ravens?)_

I went though about a dozen opening lines from laughing at you needing my help, to taunting you with a refusal. Which Hawke then read and pouted over. So, here it is, my response. From Anders, the one that betrayed you, the order, all mages. Your eternal disappointment. Congrats.

To the first point, no, Justice doesn't have much of any advice about the fade. We can't believe you survived inside it physically for two years. No one's done that in, well...darkness, sick, black over gold, blight, darkspawn, you know the rest. There is something, a glimmer in Justice's I wouldn't call it a memory but an idea. That the veil itself was less than, or more. I don't know, I'm getting a headache and Hawke's making her puppy eyes at me. I must be glowing again trying to tap into Justice.

Fine, yes, it was a bad mistake. Are you happy? I know you kept trying to get that from me, to hear me say it aloud as if I didn't already know. Stupid old Anders, the mage who never committed to anything went and locked himself forever with a spirit. A spirit that's slowly driving me (thick ink marks covered over what he wrote). Forget it. It's too late, it's done, and there's no going back.

Kinda like the wardens, huh? Look at you, the great Commander who stood for us all, brought us under your big griffin wing and you abandoned them same as me. But not really, right? Told your templar about all of that? What's waiting at the end for those of us in the taint club? We never really leave the Wardens no matter how far we run.

All right, I got it out of my system. Wait, one more "ha ha, welcome to my world, you're trapped here forever." Okay, done. You want help and I might have some ideas. The nightmare casting, yeah it's a bit embarrassing to bring up to other mages. About on par with a late potty training accident and hiding the evidence of a first wet dream. But, and I swear to the Maker if you tell anyone else I'll send you a very crisply worded letter because I'm not going anywhere near Val Royeaux, I've had them too.

Since joining with Justice, there are times when I don't know, it's not his doing but my own. Nightmares, more than that, this hunger to do something. And all around me were injustices, pain that I wasn't helping to solve. It'd drive me awake. Lucky thing I'd mostly wake to find myself trying to heal a wall. But you, I tasted your power and I'd be freaking out too.

Hawke's telling me that I'm not helping, only making you feel worse. I suggested she send a cake to try and aid you and that was right up her alley, so expect that. Also glitter, she seems to think glitter will help. So, an answer to your immediate problem. Seems you've got a templar in easy reach which oughta help a bit. He'd know more of how to hamstring a mage better than I, your bigger problem is keeping him from enjoying it.

Fine, I will be _helpful_ and _nice._

There's a signal Hawke and I use. When I'm losing control and Justice tries to pop out, she'll say a word, a special word we have to tell me that things are okay, that he's not needed, and that I need to calm down. It doesn't always work, but mostly's better than nothing. And no, I will not say where we learned that technique from no matter how much Hawke needles me to tell the story. You've met Isabela, you can probably guess.

Anyway, that's all I have. Come up with some word or safety phrase your templar can throw out to convince your mind this is reality and not the fade. You'd know of all the potions that curb mana better than I do. Burn off mana when you can, keep open fires to a minimum, and don't eat Hawke's cake - it's made with pickled plums.

And, Commander, thank you, for what you did for Hawke. I know there is nothing I could have done or will ever do to deserve her. She's the only thing in thedas that keeps me sane and gives me a reason to get up in the morning. If I'd lost her I don't know what I'd do, and your sacrifice kept me from having to find out. So, thank you and I hope you heal, because in the end you were a good Commander. I was a lousy Warden.

(Signed with a drawing of a fearsome mountain lion far more detailed than Hawke's dragon doodlings)

Beneath the drawing is the label "Ser Pounce-A-Lot II"

## Chapter Seventeen

**Release**

**  
**

Pinching his forehead, Cullen tried to stretch his legs out from under the foreign desk. It must have been built with the always shrinking Mothers in mind as he kept banging his toe, heel, and knee into it when shifting his legs. To get through the day, he'd have to sit turned to the side, which gave whoever he was meeting with the impression that he was in a hurry and didn't care for what they had to say.

Situated near the Grand Cathedral, the borrowed office was so he could take all the meetings he should have had in Skyhold. Most were with dignitaries and others that moved between the fortress and Orlais, willing to pass on information or trusted enough to carry it. He claimed it far from the apartment so there was no risk of anyone recognizing Lana, and Leliana was happy to establish it.

Craning his neck back, Cullen gazed through the ceiling and wondered what the two of them were up to. When he last saw Lana she was hunched over a piece of vellum not writing but drawing an eternal series of lines to make a grid. After Leliana appeared with a bag of coins, rocks, and two bottles of wine he knew it was time to leave them alone, though Honor bravely stayed behind.

It'd been a long day of getting nowhere with people who had little to no push within the Inquisition. Half he didn't recognize, and the other he knew as cooks or buyers that once reported to Josephine and now answered to an amalgam of people. So many months since he last visited, and Cullen knew nothing of Skyhold's current infrastructure. All of his meetings kept making mention of some big Satinalia feast as if he should know of it and be planning to attend, but...Maker, what day was it again?

He reached out to pick up a mug of mead when a knock broke against the door. Taking a swig to clear out his caked in throat, Cullen called out, "Enter."

Detan appeared, her hair tied back even tighter than usual giving her a haunting look that reminded him of some of the well preserved corpses in Nevarra. She bowed deeply, and he waved his hand. They'd been working together long enough, Cullen saw no reason to stand on ceremony. "Ser!" When she snapped up she all but saluted, which set Cullen on edge.

"What is it?" he asked, praying he didn't hear about the apartment catching on fire or something worse happening.

"There is a...you have a visitor, um, uh..."

Cullen's concern moved to the level of an army marching over the mountains. He'd never seen Detan flustered, and she'd regularly deal with the Divine, Grand Clerics, the Grand Enchanter, and Empress' trio. Who could get to her? As he staggered to his feet the answer carefully stepped into the door.

"Commander."

"Inquisitor," Cullen struggled to not gasp at the patrician elf filling the doorway. Despite having a wiry frame, he always managed to command a room as if it wasn't large enough to contain him. And all without relying upon bombastic bluster as most other nobility required.

Smiling with his thin lips, the Inquisitor turned grey eyes upon Detan. She giggled, a blush rising to her pale cheeks which she tried to fan away with her clipboards. "Could you give us leave, please? We have matters to discuss."

"Ah, yes, Ser, Inquisitor Sir, I..." Detan scrambled away so fast her heel smacked into the door.

It startled the certain Inquisitor so much he reached out to grip onto her hand to steady her and Detan melted fully into the puddle. Murmuring barely words, she slid out the rest of the way and loudly slammed the door. Outside they both heard a "Maker, damn it!" as she cursed herself before stepping away.

Spinning back to face Cullen, the Inquisitor tipped his chin, "I see you are in good health."

"I had no idea you intended to travel to Val Royeaux," Cullen gasped, sliding around the desk.

The Inquisitor smiled his thin lips, "It seems I am capable of some subterfuge all these years later after all." Instead of his red finery they all suffered with, or the armor fanatics sold copies of in shops across all of thedas he was dressed brazenly in what looked like old Dalish mail. Almost as if he dared anyone to call him a savage in it.

Slowly, the Inquisitor stuck out his hand and Cullen took it, shaking it with a firm grip. Glancing over at the missing arm still bundled tight to his chest as it healed, Cullen shook his head at being such a poor host. "Please, sit..." he said gesturing to the chair before the Inquisitor, as if he couldn't figure out how it worked.

Chuckling softly, the man tugged on the chair and eased down into it. With less grace, Cullen fell into his seat and managed to knock his knee against the desk in the process. Cursing the pain under his breath as he rubbed it, he missed the Inquisitor glancing around the office.

"Not as nice as Skyhold, but less drafty. And...it's strange."

"What is?" Cullen asked, trying to find some footing.

"To see you sitting. Blessed creators, every time I'd walk in on your office you always seemed to be standing, or, on occasion, picking at the floor."

"There were a lot of weeds trying to sprout through the floorboards and...not the point," Cullen shook his head and gulped. Maker, why did he feel like a Knight-Errant all over again facing down the gentle but strict glare of the Knight-Commander? "You must have come all this way for a reason."

"I have," he nodded his head. Sliding a hand between the buttons on his coat, he unearthed a letter. "Once I received word that you would not be able to return for the foreseeable future I decided to make the trip myself."

"You didn't have to, if it disturbs your..." he fumbled around a way of pointing out his amputated arm, but the Inquisitor lifted the limb up and chuckled.

"It's been healing well. All the best surgeons in thedas have had a hand in it, excusing the pun. But in truth, I suspect much of that was due to...how it was removed," he avoided saying Solas' name, a fact that began after he returned from wherever the mirrors took him. "And you..." the Inquisitor turned his head, those steel eyes warming to a soft grey, "you are well? I'd feared that something might have occurred to you given your reluctance to return."

"Ah, that, I can explain," Cullen began his tongue yearning to tell him the truth but he paused. It wasn't his secret to give. "Actually, I cannot. It's a..."

The Inquisitor held up his hand, "Let me guess, a private matter. I do not wish to pry into that, I was merely concerned that my best Commander was out of sorts and trapped in Orlais."

"My sorts are well in order but trapped does feel accurate somedays," Cullen said and a weight lifted off his shoulders. It felt good to admit that aloud.

"Yes, I would believe it. For a time I wondered if your letters were not some ruse. It seemed impossible to imagine you willingly ensconced in such...refinery. No matter, you have your reasons, and as I said I will not pry. I am here to finish what we began."

"Ser?" he tipped his head, lost.

A despondent smile flitted across his lips and he gripped tight to his forearm, "I do not relish saying my goodbyes. In fact, I do all I can to avoid them, but all good things must come to an end. Consider it official, Cullen Rutherford, you are released from your duties with the Inquisition. There was some talk of a pension and we'll have to figure out what to do with your belongings in time, but that's all matters for later."

"Inquisitor, I don't..." he gasped, it couldn't be that easy. "What about the troops and our timeline for...?" Cullen yanked up the letters he'd been working on for the past week.

"It's out of your hands now. Your replacement, Addley, she's been taking up the slack originally under the assumption you would return, but slotting her officially in place should be no problem. Not that I want you to think your absence will not be felt. It has for these past months and will continue. But we all have a life to live, and yours it seems is growing beyond us."

"Inquisitor, I..." he swallowed deep, "I don't know what to say." He thought that it would take more time, there'd be procedures to follow, and...done. Just like that. No more duty, no more having the lives of hundreds of people placed upon his shoulders. Cullen felt lighter, not as if he was freed of bonds shackled to his limbs, instead it was as if someone scooped out a part of him leaving him hollow inside.

"And of course, Skyhold will remain should you decide to pop on by," the Inquisitor threw out half heartedly, "we're not going to ban you from the mountain by any means."

Cullen bowed his head, a gratefulness merging with a stubborn need to want to cling to the familiar. Slipping his eyes tight, he thought of the woman waiting for him up the stairs, the reason he began this, his hope for a future, and some of the fear washed away. "Thank you, Inquisitor. For giving me the chance, the opportunity to prove to myself that I could be redeemed...I suppose."

The gentle man, the one few saw outside of his hard shell, wafted across the Inquisitor's face. With lashes laying flush against his cheeks, the Inquisitor bowed his head deep. "Commander Cullen, you have served us honorably and while we disagreed on occasion I was proud to think of you as a friend."

"And I yours, Ser," he reached out and grabbed the Inquisitor's hand. This was it. His future was nothing more than a question now, no one to answer to but himself. _Maker, was Cullen prepared to face the unknown?_ Dipping his chin down, he moved to release the Inquisitor's hand when a bark echoed from outside the door.

_Oh no._

"Strange," the Inquisitor remarked, "I swear I heard a dog."

Cullen stood up fast, his knee jamming on the desk, but he was too late. The door creaked open and Lana stepped inside. Her face was buried in something she was reading, but when she pulled it down so went her smile. _Where was Detan? Why wasn't she guarding the door to warn her?_

Gritting his teeth, Cullen glanced towards the Inquisitor who seemed to be taking the shock in stride. He closed his steel eyes tight, his head bobbing as if he was listening to a song in the distance. When they opened, he sighed, "Ah, now I understand why you are here in Val Royeaux."

"I, uh..." Lana eased backwards trying to escape the mess she walked into, but Honor butted her head into her legs, trapping her. She had to jam her cane in a new position, the echo drawing all their attention to it. Accepting there was no way to play it off, she bowed her head, "Inquisitor."

"So your mission was a success after all," he said to Cullen who was struggling to jam his jaw shut. "In truth, I feared it had failed. We heard no word of the resurrection of the Hero of Ferelden and...your refusing to return to Skyhold made me grow concerned."

"You were worried about..." Cullen struggled, shaking his head. "It's a complicated and long story of why we chose..."

He waved his hand again, "I do not wish to pry. It is your life, not mine. But Commander, I do have one request."

"Yes?" he asked, his eyes darting towards Lana. She'd thrown on her cloak of command, dampening down her panic, but he could see glimmers of it breaking through the mask.

"May I have a moment to speak with Lady Amell in private?"

"Why?" he asked, his never far need to protect Lana rising awake. It was foolish, he trusted the Inquisitor. He wasn't the kind of man to lash out at someone.

"There is something we need to talk about, leader to leader."

Lana reached over and ran her fingers down Cullen's arm, "It's all right. We're not going to come to blows in here."

"I rather doubt either of us is capable of such a feat at the moment," the Inquisitor cut in, his eyes darting down to Lana's cane.

She drug it across the floor from the attention, but nodded. "Are you...?" Cullen asked, but she wrapped her arm around his side and pulled herself in for a half hug.

"It will be fine, you worry too much," she chuckled.

Gently parting his fingers over her hair, he sighed, "Yes, I do. Often for no reason."

"It's what made you an excellent Commander," the Inquisitor spoke up.

Bobbing his head, Cullen began to slide out towards the door. "If you're certain, then I'll...um," at their stern looks, he patted his thigh, "Come on, Honor. Let's go." She barked, happy to be doing anything with her favorite human. Trying to not look back at Lana with a strange fear in his heart, Cullen slid out of the office that was supposed to be his and shut the door.

Placing his forehead against it, he whispered to himself, "I'll just be out here, waiting to see if my world's about to fall apart."

It wasn't the panicking and jittery Lana from meeting Mia that watched Cullen close the door, though the sound of his murmurs did fault her sure steps. Summoning a decade's worth of playing the Arlessa, she washed herself clean of any self doubt and presented only certainty to the Inquisitor. He in turn watched her, his steel eyes darting up and down her wobbling body as she tried to balance on her cane.

"Would you like to take a seat, Warden Commander?" he said as if the office was his.

Lana blinked, aware that she'd already lost in showing weakness, but sitting was preferable to falling face first onto the floor. Nodding, she hobbled towards the one Cullen must have bolted out of, still sitting kitty corner to the desk. "I assume you are overburdened with questions for me, Inquisitor," she said leaning her cane against the desk.

The move drew his sharp eyes towards it. Pointing at it, he asked, "Is that also a staff?"

"No," Lana answered truthfully, "simply a cane. Any magic passed through it would most likely cause the wood to combust."

"I see," he nodded his head softly. "Dagna has been rather excited about crafting me various hand prosthesis. One involved a grappling hook to, as she put it, 'Help me scurry up and down walls like a friendly, local, spider Inquisitor.'"

Lana snickered at his impression of Dagna, "I never expected that young dwarven girl to rise to such heights."

He bobbed his head a moment before placing his hand upon the desk, "You've touched lives. I'm certain she would be ecstatic to design a staff cane for you. No doubt it would be three times as powerful as any normal staff and come coated in glitter."

"While it would be cherished, I'm afraid no. I cannot ask that of her," she shook her head, trying to find a comfortable spot on the chair. Maker, it was like sitting upon stone. How did Cullen not notice?

"Is that humility that binds your tongue or...?" he asked, a solitary eyebrow lifting. With lips pursed Lana only gave him a moment's glance before he sighed, "And now comes the crux of the matter. You do not wish others to know of your return." Her eyes darted towards the door, the thought wandering through her head if Cullen told him. Turning back to face it, a curious smile knotted up the Inquisitor's lips. "No, he did not say anything. I dare say he's been so tightlipped on the matter people were growing concerned about his seemingly forced exile."

"Like his sister," Lana sighed, digging into her shoulder with her hand.

A momentary snicker lifted the Inquisitor's lips before falling back in place, "Among others, though that is a woman who is difficult to say no to."

"It's no wonder they're related."

"Yes, quite. His continual non-answer responses grew so strange even I felt the need to investigate myself. Everyone who met with Cullen here said he seemed well at ease, perhaps even calmer than expected, which only drew forth greater rumors of blood magic or other foul play at work."

Lana tried to not grimace at the mention of blood magic. All her life the damn rumors trailed her, that she used it to end the blight, to claim Amaranthine, to direct the king to do her bidding. And the more she denied being a blood mage, the more people suspected her of it. It was a no win situation the moment the rumors began.

Sliding forward in his seat, the Inquisitor prodded a finger into the desk. "I see now it was a different kind of magic that lightened our...how did Varric phrase it? Moody Commander?"

"Commander Sullen is what I've heard," Lana said.

"Oh, that's much better," the Inquisitor tipped back his head and a breath rattled in his nose. Scrunching up his face, he prodded at his eyes with a finger before reaching inside his coat to draw the stump free. Slowly he began to itch up and down the limb, reaching for a hand no longer there. Realizing he was scratching empty air, he paused and a light blush lit up his cheeks, but Lana didn't call attention to it. She'd done enough amputations and been around so many people who'd faced them that phantom pains were background for her.

"It takes it from us," she spoke, not meaning it to be aloud, "not always physically but the toll, the sacrifice, it's not just in time but blood, body, sanity, soul."

He paused and stared down at his stump, slowly twisting it around as if he was reaching out a hand no longer there. "People do not want to see it that way."

"They'd rather we be stone, perfect statues who, after saving the world, they can put away in storage until another crisis arrives. Ignore the cracks long enough and the entire foundation crumbles to dust."

"Indeed," he nodded, gently wrapping his stump back up to hide it away from curious onlookers. People were aware that in saving them the Inquisitor lost a hand, but few knew much less understood. "You tried to warn me of what would come after."

"Did I?" Lana asked, shaking her head. Skyhold felt decades ago; she barely remembered much beyond losing her wardens and finding Cullen. "I fear I was being morbidly poetic. It happens from time to time."

The Inquisitor smirked, "I see, but, whether you meant it as a general observation or fact, I did not wish to hear it."

"You had a world to save, that's not the time to worry about what comes after," she waved it away. They'd both failed, both succeeded. No one was perfect, certainly no heroes.

Smiling, he cupped his fingers under his chin and gently rubbed the clean skin. "I don't know how I missed it before. It seems so obvious in retrospect."

"What?"

"Your love for the Commander, and his became crystal clear after..." he paused, Adamant hanging on his tongue.

Lana winced, glaring at the desk covered in his writings. People would probably expect the constant soldier once templar to have atrocious writing in curt, blocky letters but in truth his flowed like a river. It wasn't proper calligraphy, and yet there was a gentleness in his hand that would surprise most. Running her finger over his dried words, she whispered, "Was it bad for him after?"

"Ah," the Inquisitor sat back in his chair blinking rapidly, "He is a very private man." Lana snorted at that and twisted her head back and forth - she was well aware. "And he seemed to prefer to bury his pain instead of admitting to it."

"It's as I feared," she sighed, shrinking further in. If she hadn't stayed behind, if she'd been smarter or faster then maybe, maybe she'd...

"I asked to speak with you not to uncover your secrets, or, Maker, return to our little battle for supremacy," the Inquisitor said.

"Pissing match of mythic legends was how Varric put it," Lana smiled.

"Of course he did," the Inquisitor shook his head, causing his braid to spill out of a hood. She didn't remember his hair being so long. "I need to offer to you my gratitude."

"No, it's..." Lana began, trying to wave it away, but the Inquisitor dove into something she began to suspect he'd prepared just in case.

"Many people have sacrificed themselves for me, in my name, for the cause itself. Too many," his head dropped a moment and those steel eyes weakened. "But you were the only one to make the choice, to give yourself when you had no good reason. You were not sworn to the cause and I gave you little reason to find me amenable. Yet, you stayed behind."

Lana shrugged, "You had to save the world, and I...I," she sighed, digging her fingers into her cheeks. A dozen different answers lurked in her brain for why she did it. To save Hawke. Because she'd already done the world saving once before. Because she'd been living on borrowed time anyway. All of them were valid, and yet none were right. "I did it because someone had to."

He laughed once at her simple answer, and his head dropped down to stare at the desk. "When I first received the anchor, Cassandra's and Leliana's intentions were to drag me to court and try me for the Divine's death. It seemed my only way out was in saving them from the breach, and in turn myself. There was a moment after, while the advisors were consumed with laying the bones for the Inquisition that I found myself alone, unwatched, staring out at the horizon. How easily I could have run, vanished into the forests as only a Dalish can, leaving the humans to pick up the pieces."

Pausing, he picked at a button upon his outfit bearing the eye of the Inquisition. Slowly, he turned it in the candlelight, watching it seeming to wink by the play of shadows. "I wondered to myself for months after why I never took that chance. Knowing what shemlan thought of my kind, and how they'd not only turn upon me if I failed, but all the other Dalish. Why did I stay? Why did I risk much? Why did I give them a chance?" Lifting his head, his eyes rolled through hers, "It is as you say. I did it because someone had to."

"We're not so much heroes as the custodians of thedas," Lana laughed. "No one else is going to pick up this trash, so I guess I will."

"And like the never praised street washer, we are the ones everyone turns to when the shit piles high upon the cobblestones."

She was shocked to hear the Inquisitor let fly a curse. Lana'd watched the Divine herself swear up a blue streak, even heard Cullen drop a few, but something in the careful and cautious turn of a man aware that every eye was always upon him letting himself swear in her presence lightened the mood. "We have to find our rewards where we can, our...hope to keep going," she said, nodding her head.

"True," he sighed, "and you have quite the prize there. We still receive interest in the Commander's hand, sometimes in the form of sonnets."

"Maker's breath, please don't tell me people show up to recite them," she gasped, tugging at her cheeks to try and hide the second hand embarrassment.

"A few," the Inquisitor admitted.

Shaking her head, Lana let a few chuckles escape before she smiled, "I am in more over my head than I ever imagined. And what of you, how is Dorian?"

She meant it to be light, but a cross look broke through the Inquisitor's set face. Shaking it off quickly, he threw on a small smile, "Well enough, in Tevinter."

"Oh, I didn't know..." she gasped, feeling the fool for wading in.

"He made his choice, and..." a crack of pain broke under the Inquisitor's armor, but he spackled over it fast, "and I cannot fault him for it. He is attempting to do what he must, what he thinks is right to make the world better."

Lana winced, thinking of Alistair and his choice. "You may not fault him, but you can still be angry that he made that decision, especially if it was without your input."

"That..." the Inquisitor paused and he sighed, "that is true. I take it by your response you had something similar occur?"

"What, you didn't get the rumors?" she said, shocked.

"I wasn't certain of their validity, many stories of the Hero of Ferelden seemed to be exaggerated."

"I can't imagine the ones of the Inquisitor are any less bombastic in nature," she chuckled, having overheard a few whispered between people she'd stumble behind. Elves in particular held him up as a beacon of hope, their own risen to heights unimaginable. Maker, if he'd died instead of losing his hand during the exalted council who knew what kind of rebellion that would have set off.

The Inquisitor traced a finger across the desk, scooting the vellum out of the way, "The tragic part is, the reality tends to trump the rumors in unbelievability tenfold."

"And yet no one will ever know," Lana said, leaning back with her arms crossed.

"Warden Commander," the Inquisitor sat up, his chin rising, "you need not concern yourself with anyone at Skyhold learning of your secret."

"I thank you for your prudence, but given the circumstances, perhaps you should call me Lana, Inquisitor."

A smile turned up his lips, and a soft flush curled up his icy pale cheeks. Nodding deeper he spoke, "Of course, and in return I ask that you refer to me as Gaerwn instead of my title."

"Gaerwn?" Lana repeated, realizing it was the first time she'd ever heard the Inquisitor's real name. But then, how many knew it was Solona who ended the blight, much less that she went by Lana? Heroes had titles not names.

He chuckled at her no doubt butchering tongue, "It is a very dalish name that tends to get caught up in human tongues, which is why most prefer to only use my title."

Lana rolled her eyes at that, "Most humans I meet can barely handle Solona. Gaerwn probably causes them to break out into a rash before leaping out a window."

"Yes, quite," he chuckled. "And unless you had something else, perhaps we should reconvene with the Commander before he wears a hole in the floor."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Lana mused to herself which earned another laugh from the Inq...Gaerwn. That was going to take some adjusting.

Hobbling to her feet, Lana cracked open the door. She no sooner got it open a few inches before Cullen's panicked head shot in, his eyes wide in fear. A thought flitted through her mind that she was grateful he'd never become a father because the anxiety was liable to kill him stone dead. Blushing from the implications, they hadn't talked about remaining intertwined for so long or what it would mean, Lana leaned back.

"Is it...are you...? Finished?" he gasped, glancing from the Inquisitor to the Warden Commander.

She couldn't stop a laugh at his panic. Placing her hand upon his cheek, Lana pulled him tight to her and whispered, "Yes, and you need not concern yourself. We wiped down most of the blood."

"And made certain the scars are not in easily viewed areas," Gaerwn said back, his wit dryer than Leliana's wine.

"That goes without saying," Lana nodded sagely. The panic didn't completely vanish from Cullen's eyes, but he calmed his twitching fingers and smiled at her.

"Glad to see you're both being considerate to the cleric I loaned this office from," Cullen said. She yearned to reach over and kiss him, but settled for squeezing his hand tight. When her thumb drifted over the back of it, Cullen's breathing returned to normal and a smile lifted up his lips.

"Well, I should leave you two to continue with Inquisition business," she said, sliding away.

"Actually, we, um, is there much to...?" Cullen glanced at the Inquisitor and then back to her.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and said, "Tell him the tale of your travels. And do whatever men do when left alone. Farting contests I assume."

"That, uh..." a tempting blush rose upon his cheeks as he glanced over at the Inquisitor who didn't blink from the mention of gas passing. "Lana, why did you come down to find me?"

"Oh, I nearly forgot," she dug into her front pocket and unearthed a letter. "I hoped you could get this in with the rest of your rotation."

Cullen accepted the envelope, "Is this bound for Kirkwall or," he swallowed and his voice imperceptibly grew rustier, "Denerim?"

"Antiva," she said, "and I'll explain why later. Good afternoon, Gaerwn," she said bobbing her head to the Inquisitor.

"And to you as well, Lana," he called out, waving from his spot.

Smiling, she turned to Cullen and gave in to her urges. Pecking softly upon his slack lips, she smiled, "I assume you'll be back in the apartment before nightfall."

"Uh, yes, probably...I think," he stuttered.

"I'll leave a candle lit for you," pulling her fingers away from him, she called to Honor and limped out of the door towards the staircase.

Behind her she heard Cullen gawping, "I can explain."

The Inquisitor laughed his solitary chuckle before speaking, "I certainly hope so, especially the parts with the King of Ferelden."

## Chapter Eighteen

**Holy Day**

**  
**

Snow drifted from the heavens like shavings of parmesan cheese, languid curls plopping from the sneering maître d's grater as the land kept asking for more. Lana snickered at that thought, she must still be hungry despite a giving meal. For once she didn't sit on the divan, but twisted one of the gilded armchairs around to watch what looked like the stars themselves plummeting from the sky. Against the cloudy black background, each pinprick of snow illuminated itself brighter than usual. Two years since she'd last watched the tumbling flakes build to pristine drifts to devour the dingy world. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the continual reminder this wasn't the fade.

A gentle fire slumbered in the hearth, barely a flicker of orange light. She relied upon a fat candle dribbling wax near the nestle of holly wrapped around it in the spirit of the day. Smiling, Lana ran a finger over the greenery, its waxy edges wafting across her skin. She swaddled herself in a nightdress that on a normal person would come to their knees but for her nearly reached to her toes. Even then, she kept her feet and legs curled under her for warmth.

"Lana?"

Twisting in the chair, she spotted a shadow that sounded like Cullen stumbling from the bedroom. "Did I wake you?" she asked, her voice in a whisper despite no one else being in the apartment.

"No, I was..." he paused beside the candle highlighting his hair mashed skyward, the curls forming their own fortress from his sleep. Wearing only a pair of soft tan breeches, she watched the flames flicker shadows across his pale skin, deepening the lines of his muscles. "Are you all right? Was there a bad dream?"

Smiling, she twisted further in the chair to gaze up at him. "No. I could not sleep, but it had nothing to do with the fade." He paused beside her chair and clung fingers tight to the high back. Reaching out, she caressed his side, digging into his hip. "I wanted to watch the snow."

Chuckling, he turned his own amber gaze out the window. No one stirred in the streets, the solitary night when all of Val Royeaux found lodgings. Soon the Grand Cathedral would be full to bursting with all the citizens coming to worship and celebrate, but for now it slumbered on silently watching over the empty streets hushed by a blanket of snow. "It is lovely," Cullen mused.

Leaning forward, Lana traced her fingers across the window pane. Dipping into the fade she drew forth the ice that clung tightly to her soul and, with slow movements, traced a pattern onto the glass. A snowflake took form below her finger, the edges jagged from the crystals that created it. Proud of her work, she said, "I used to do this every winter. We'd challenge each other to draw more and more elaborate things with ice but snowflakes were my favorite."

Sensing eyes upon her, she glanced up into Cullen covering her in what could only be described as a loving gaze. His amber eyes glittered by the candlelight while he stared at her as if she'd just performed a complicated spell that saved the empress' life instead of etching a drawing on the window. How could one man heap so much praise upon her without saying a word? She felt a blush digging into the base of her skull from the idea, and as a distraction, Lana grabbed onto his hand.

"Sit with me?"

"Gladly," he said, his eyes darting around the room to find the other gilded chair far on the other side. "Hm, I have a better idea." Scooping his hands under her thighs, Cullen lifted her up into the air in his arms. She felt an urge to laugh and insist that he was being silly, but so much of his skin touched hers. Instead, she snuggled her cheeks against his chest, her hands wrapping around his neck to hold her safe. After he pecked a kiss upon her hair, Cullen eased over and sat into the chair with Lana in his lap.

"Now I can't see the snow," she pouted, her eyes locked upon his handsome face. By the soft glow of the moon he looked scrubbed clean, the frown lines smoothed away and, for once, he'd even tamed his stubble - though she objected to the latter.

"Shall I describe it to you?" he said seriously, before an eye darted down to her followed by a whisper smile.

Giggling, she lifted herself higher by her arms and sighed, "Let me guess, white stuff continues to fall in flakes and sometimes clumps."

"On occasion there are even specks, though they're harder to see at this distance."

Unable to help herself, Lana nuzzled her cheek against his neck, a warmth enveloping more than just her body. It wrapped up her heart. She felt as if she could lay there all night listening to him describe the snow in his husky voice. Tipping his chin down, Lana raised up, her lips aiming for his. Cullen caught on to what she wanted and he helped to lift her higher. No stubble prodded into her top lip and she took advantage of it by sliding her mouth higher, letting him nibble upon her bottom one with the tips of his teeth. Cupping his cheek, she was about to tangle her tongue into his mouth when a hundred voices rang out from below them. Those were joined by more scattered throughout the Grand Cathedral, each one singing in an enchanting harmony until the song spilled out into the streets reaching beyond the borders of Val Royeaux, even Orlais to encompass all of thedas.

With her lips beside his cheek, Lana whispered, "I guess that means it's midnight. Happy Satinalia, Cullen."

"Happy Satinalia, Lana." Tomorrow there would be feasts, dancing, wine in greater quantities than seemed imaginable, more dancing, dressing up the prettiest couple in ribbons, dancing due to all the wine, and somewhere in there honoring Andraste, if they had time. It was certain to be a grand holiday for everyone, and Maker knew Val Royeaux knew how to celebrate when given ample opportunity. She was looking forward to seeing what putting out all the stops meant in Orlais, a country already known for its debauchery, but right now with the calm of the snow and the warmth of his arms this was the best Satinalia she could imagine.

"What is it?" she scoffed, watching his eyes wander away with a thousand thoughts.

"I...no, it's silly," he shook it away. She reached up, prepared to kiss the answer out of him, but he changed tactics, "How busy do you think tomorrow will be?"

"Today you mean?" she asked, earning a soft eye roll for her pedantry. "Very much so, Leliana's already planned me an out if it seems her 'mistress' can't handle all the excitement." Cullen grumbled at the mistress part. She wondered if it was more because he hated the fact it was a lie than people under the delusion she and Leliana were a couple. Then again, it was preferable to everyone trying to drag her off for claiming what seemed to be the most eligible bachelor in all of thedas.

"I imagine Val Royeaux knows no bounds for celebrating," Cullen sighed.

"Had you been here for Satinalia before, for the Inquisition?"

"No," he shook his head, "we always had it in Skyhold. Josephine could work miracles armed with only a spool of thread and boughs cut from an evergreen if she needed to."

Lana smiled and nodded her head, "I remember in the tower, we'd sit up all night on our beds. It was the only time the templars let us get away with it. And we'd string berries along thread to then hang up for the whole day. Inevitably, someone would be dared to try and eat them and he'd do it to disastrous results." She laughed from the memory of one apprentice turning a delightful shade of green after he made it through the fifth string.

"Templars would..." Cullen paused and he dug his forehead into the top of her head. After breathing in her scent for a moment and curling his fingers tighter around her stomach he continued, "we'd have services in the morning."

"Mages too," she interrupted.

"Right, of course. And...no," he paused, shaking his head, "I'm remembering Kirkwall and how we'd always spend the day with an eye upon the minimal mage celebrations. In Kinloch, it was...more relaxed."

She nodded her head, remembering the suits of armor standing not at attention around the doors but flitting through the clusters of robes, everyone holding a glass to toast whenever anyone called for it. "Were you there when a senior enchanter, more than likely drunk off her ass, kissed the Knight-Commander?"

"No," Cullen shook his head, his eyes widening in shock, "I'd remember that one."

"Oh, Maker, yes. The room went deathly still after, every mage and templar staring at each other uncertain what to do, when the Knight-Commander stands up and cries 'Happy Satinalia, everyone!'"

"Gregoir did that?" Cullen scoffed, shaking his head.

"Ah, right, that was the woman before Gregoir. I forgot, I was only thirteen at the time, so..."

He shifted his lap, twisting her so he could look down at her face. Caressing a cheek, Cullen sighed, "Do you ever miss it?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "Holidays I think about the tower, the traditions we had all our own, or when I stumble across someone I once knew in there. It's...it was where I grew up, and now it's been left to rot unattended into the lake. Feels strange to think the circles are no more. No more padding past the library barefoot because a single squeak of a shoe will set off the librarian. No wrapping towels on your hands and knees and crawling over the floor to scrub it. No..." her reminiscing faded away on the crisp winds, far too many 'nos' to list.

"I remember the first Satinalia when I was transferred to Kinloch."

"Oh?"

"You wore a gown of gold that sparkled whenever you twirled, which you seemed to do often. No shoes, but there was a string of berries tied across your chest and holly wrapped around your..." Cullen closed his eyes and thought before speaking, "right wrist."

Lana glanced over at her gaunt wrist when he enveloped it in his warm hand and twisted his fingers around her like a bracelet. Sighing, she laid her head back against him and fell into the memory. "I had been learning transmutation of metals, but could only do it in small, thin layers. So, I wound up taping sheafs of gold coated vellum to my robes. It was hilariously awful to look upon."

"I thought you glowed like a holy beacon," Cullen whispered beside her.

Unable to shake off the blush, she gulped deeper in her chest. "I remember a templar, uncertain about what was going on, taking up patrol beside the punch bowl with the sweetest honey eyes I'd ever seen," she reached up and ran her palm across his cheek before curling into his hair, fluffing up the matted curls.

"My previous Satinalias were either starkly religious in the abbey or, the ones at the farm. Simple but comforting. Wandering into a good two hundred mages laughing, dancing, and singing was a bit of a shock."

"I bet," Lana nodded.

"But, it was fun. I remember there was this one templar who placed a cauldron upon his head without realizing it was full of some green liquid which washed all down his uniform..." Cullen's sweet smile folded in on itself. He hunkered lower to his chest and pulled Lana with, drawing strength from her. "He died in the tower, during..."

"For so many years I didn't want to remember them, any of them, because it hurt too much to," Lana said, her fingers skirting along his curls. Nodding, Cullen buried his mouth against her shoulder. "Time smoothed the wound over but it never really healed. It was my home, my family, all gone in a matter of days. Everything I'd known since I was a child. I'd..." her voice cracked, and she patted her cheeks to find a few tears upon them. "Sorry. You know it as well as I do."

"So many of the same hurts," grumbled out of his chest, his arms locked tighter around her.

"What," she shifted in his lap trying to pull his face to hers, "what was something you loved most about Satinalia? As a child."

His warm breath blew across her shoulders, each gust followed by a count as Cullen pulled himself back from the dark edge. Squeezing tight to her one last time to gather strength, he lifted his head and said, "The puppets."

"The puppets?" she scoffed, shocked to find he was the kind of person to enjoy anything so frivolous. "Wait, there are puppets?"

Cullen chuckled, "In my family there were, probably still are. My father, he loved carving them, taking the whole year to make a new one to join the growing horde. The first few were simple, their mouths could open and their legs or arms would twitch up and down upon the strings. But each year he came up with something better, more intricate. There was this mabari named...what did Mia call it? Sprinkles? Its tail moved with a flick of my father's wrist. He'd dangle out the puppet upon a stage placed in front of the hearth and all four of us would call out whatever it was thinking or saying, spending the whole day creating our own stories."

"That's wonderful," Lana smiled, swept up in the happy family vision he painted of a warm fire illuminating the farmhouse while all four Rutherford children shouted out orders and dreams for little, wooden people.

"It, uh, sounds sillier now that I say it aloud," Cullen said, an embarrassed flush working its way up his cheeks.

"What? No it doesn't. I wish I could see it in action," Lana interrupted his embarrassment, her fingers caressing his smooth cheek.

"Well, I'm certain Mia's kept the whole bunch and...there's always next year." A hopeful wish hung in his sentence, Cullen's amber eyes pleading with hers.

"Yes, there is," Lana agreed, and he sighed in relief. Scooping her close, Cullen's wholesome kiss curled through her stomach leaving her soul smiling.

"What about you?" he asked, whispering against her cheek.

"I don't remember ever being around puppets," she said, earning a glower.

"Your favorite Satinalia memory as a child," Cullen growled getting a laugh from Lana. She adored the way his voice dropped whenever he was annoyed.

After running her fingers over his scar which parted from its sneer into a gentle smile, she leaned back against him and thought. "I don't remember much of my family in the Free Marches. We'd do most of the same things done in the tower as everyone does for Satinalia, but..." twisting around in his lap, Lana gazed out at the snow rising in drifts along the street. Clumps clung against the window panes, slowly suffocating the stained glass Saint praying upon her ancient knees. "My mother used to make this dessert every year. It was thin sheets of dough layered on top of each other in numerous stratums. She'd often drizzle honey over it or a jam put away from summer for my brother and I. For the adults, they got the sweetened liquor we weren't supposed to know about."

"That's a Free Marcher dish?" Cullen asked.

"No, it's Rivainian. Her grandmother's recipe. I didn't realize that it wasn't Marcher until I started asking around figuring Amaranthine was so close to Kirkwall something would have had to slip over. But everyone always gave me a strange look whenever I described it. I never would have considered it had a different origin because everything else I remember was strictly Marcher. There were these green nuts embedded in the center."

"Green nuts?" he scoffed, clear disgust at the idea.

"They're very tasty, and a bright grass green I remember."

"If you say so..." he began, but Lana interrupted.

"It's not as if they're moldy almonds or something. I bet you'd like it if you tried it. Not too sweet for the sour Commander," she mocked, folding her arms across her chest.

Laughing at her summation, he pressed his lips close to her ear and asked, "What was this dessert called?"

"No idea. I was too young to know, especially if my mother referred to it in the Rivani tongue. Anyone I ask now either only has a vague recollection of having eaten it before, or gives me that same sour look as you did."

"Sorry," he said, pulling her even tighter to him.

Not needing an apology, Lana rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. "It's a strange magic the hold food has over our memories. I can still remember the crackling sound the dough made from a spoon jamming through it, green nuts spilling out." Smiling from the cozy kitchen of her childhood when she couldn't reach any counters without hauling open a drawer and standing in it, Lana drifted back to those sections of her memory she kept walled off. Cullen fell silent behind her, his fingers rolling up and down her arms in what she knew was his method of thinking.

"Don't you dare," she said.

"Hm?" he startled out of his inner thoughts, shaking it all away.

"I know what you're thinking, you're going to spend all of tomorrow trouncing through every bakery in Val Royeaux trying to find someone who has a clue what I'm talking about."

"There wasn't any..." his attempt at a lie died as she glowered, her reflection bouncing against the dark panes of glass to him. "Wouldn't it be nice?" he tried again.

"No," Lana shook her head, "I don't want to spend all of tomorrow alone waiting for you to trudge back through the snow more than likely cranky and exhausted."

Picking up his hands and holding them tight to her stomach, Lana tipped her head back against his chest and gazed up. Cullen stared out through the window with an indecipherable expression scratched upon his face. Sliding along his smooth jaw, she walked her fingers across his cheek until they dug into his hollow. "I want to wake tomorrow with you wrapped around me, have the biggest breakfast the chantry has ever spread out, curl up in a warm chair while you and Honor take your morning constitutional, and when you return we spend the rest of the day in the balcony listening to the chorals reverberating from every bowed head...while holding hands. That's how I want to spend my first Satinalia with you."

A smile lifted up his cheeks, and Cullen dipped his chin, those warm honey eyes beaming into hers. "It sounds perfect," he sighed. Straining, she tugged on the back of his head for a pert kiss, but Cullen answered with his own sugared response. After slipping away, Lana bumped her nose next to his and sighed. Two years, no, three since she'd done anything to celebrate Satinalia. While dancing and carousing were the norm, all she yearned for was being next to him.

Slowly she spun around while Cullen locked his hands tight across her stomach. He buried his chin upon her shoulder, scrunching up to watch the play of snow slowly trickle to an end. "It seems as if the show has stopped," he said.

"I suppose so," Lana sighed, wishing it'd lasted just a bit longer.

"You know waking in my arms generally requires one heading to sleep first."

"Details, details," she tried to wave it away as if she could stay up for hours watching the twinkling powdered snow crest along the empty streets. Behind her Cullen sighed, sleep catching up quickly with him. While Lana could fight it off with every breath, he seemed to succumb the moment it was suggested.

She was about to give in, when a tuft of clouds parted in the sky and a shaft of moonlight lanced through the window to land upon them. Her skin illuminated as if a candle glowed from within, giving rise to intricate lines in a lace-like pattern up the side of her face, dipping down her throat and across her birthmark. Cullen turned towards it and started, "You have the Moon glow markings?"

Shrugging, she turned to him, "I hadn't had them done since I was a teenager. It seemed like fun." Formed from a special ink that upon drying clung invisible to the skin, they could only be revealed by moonlight thanks in part to some enchanting. The spell was easy enough most mage children could manage, it was brewing up the ink that proved more challenging.

"They're..." Cullen drew his fingers across her cheek, trying to trace the delicate pattern without smudging it. "When did you get them done?"

"When last we were in the market area. There were stalls all over the place."

"But, it must have taken forever to draw such a delicate pattern, how did you find time?"

She tried to not roll her eyes, "You were haggling and getting into it with some merchant about something. I figured I'd be able to sit for a good half hour before you'd notice. Turned out I was right."

Laughing through his small shame, Cullen turned her in his lap to look fully upon the right side of her face lit up. Against her darker skin, the moon glow bore a far more impressive appearance than to the paler flesh, as if she sparkled from within. "Maker's breath, but you're beautiful," he sighed, catching her lips in a succulent kiss. Breaking away, his eyes lingered down her glittering throat towards the birthmark. She had the inker trace the thin lines and dots across her natural mark, highlighting its swoops and swirls.

Cullen's fingers drifted towards it before he paused and gulped, "How far, um, down do they go?"

Impishly, Lana lifted an eyebrow and asked, "Would you like to find out?"

"More than anything in thedas," he moaned, tugging her tighter to him as they kissed with a rising heat. Scooping her up in his arms, Cullen staggered out of the chair.

He began to drop her feet to the floor, but she shook her head. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Lana didn't want to abandon his tempting lips. Struggling to get through the room while she kissed him, Cullen paused at the door to the bedroom. Before he walked inside to begin the far more fun festivities, he butted his forehead against hers and whispered, "Lana, this is the best Satinalia in my life."

Scooping her fingers along his cheeks, she kissed him once more. "Mine too."

## Chapter Nineteen

**Charm**

**  
**

Dropping his hand under the table, Cullen banged his knuckles against the support leg before glancing fingers across his intended target. Reinforcing his grip, he circled around Lana's fingers that'd been upon her knee. She didn't turn away from watching a few street jugglers ply their trade, but a blush rose up her cheeks as she returned his caress.

More than aware that he was acting like a love addled young man while wearing a cheesy grin from holding a beautiful woman's hand, Cullen couldn't scrounge up the ability to care. On occasion a few eyes turned in their direction, all of them landing upon the Commander...no, the ex-Commander of the Inquisition. He'd look up to ascertain if it was anyone he'd know but that only seemed to encourage more gawking and, on occasion, some attempting to strike up a conversation.

After dismissing the last hanger-on with a "Madam, please, I am with someone and have no interest in any of your children, grandchildren, or great grandchildren!" they'd been left alone. Lana remained quiet through it, her leg crossed at the knee while she picked at the wool scarf tied around her neck. It was done in the colors of blue and silver, a fact that alarmed Cullen when she appeared with it, but Lana waved him off. They were the colors of the year and much of Val Royeaux was wearing them. She'd blend in perfectly.

It seemed strange to have the open air patio in use, with snow from the Satinalia blizzard still clinging in drifts piled up against walls and a chill wafting on the breeze, but Orlesians never made any damn sense. Honor slumbered at his feet after a rousing day of chasing after a few children who managed to snag the mabari's ball and thought they could escape with it. It was the perfect winter afternoon with nowhere to go and nothing to do.

"Does that happen often?" Lana asked, turning to face him. The gap of her face that was visible between wool scarf and fluffy hat bore the red haze of cold that only winter could bring, but she smiled and shook off any of his suggestions to head inside. Lana lived for the outdoors any chance she had.

Giving his hand another squeeze, she elaborated, "Women approaching you and offering you up to daughters or granddaughters?"

"No," Cullen groaned, wishing Orlais would keep its knotted nose out of his business. "At least, not on the regular."

"Oh no, you can't deflect that. You have to tell me now," Lana perked up, adjusting herself in her chair. They weren't the most comfortable seats in Val Royeaux, and by the winter's chill the wrought iron burned a cold up through his pants. He wished he'd put on the pair of long johns Lana suggested.

Cullen tried to stall for time, his eyes trailing around the courtyard filled with the remnants of a happy Satinalia. Scraps of bunting hung off the drying evergreen boughs on their way to being everbrown. But what demanded their attention were the jugglers, huskers, and -- Maker help him -- mimes working the crowds. Drained people moved through Val Royeaux on their way to return home after the celebration and the street hustlers knew that was when to strike.

"Was it during your time in Skyhold? Kirkwall?" she adjusted herself in her seat. "I can keep guessing all day, you know."

"Very well," he sighed, accepting defeat, "it was in Rivain."

"When you were...? Oh," she sagged down a bit but Cullen tugged her tighter to him by their conjoined hands.

"It was quite possibly the most embarrassing moment to have happen."

"Why?" Lana chuckled, "It's not as if Alistair was... Oh, dear," she patted her cheeks at his sneer, the one she claimed he wore special whenever the king was mentioned.

"He was purchasing some trinkets for his Queen," Cullen said. Lana merely nodded along as if she was aware of that arrangement and didn't care. "...when the woman at the shop asked if she could _purchase_ me for her daughter or granddaughter. I wasn't entirely clear on the conversation." Lana tipped her head down, staring at the table while Cullen continued. "In truth, if it weren't for the king's interceding I'm uncertain what I'd have done. I...I do not speak Rivaini."

"Be more surprising if you did. It's a difficult language to master," she said. Her head remained hanging down as if she found the table fascinating, but he heard a snicker in her voice.

"I see," Cullen mused, wondering how a man as simple as Alistair could manage that. "He made some bold exaggerations of whatever malady in body or charm turned me unacceptable and, after she cast their warding eye at me, I was free to continue on." Waving his hand across the table, and nearly elbowing over the empty mug, Cullen sighed, "There, now you know the entire humiliating moment."

Lana nodded her head solemnly, her fingers reaching over to pat his softly in compassion, when a snort reverberated in her nose. Trying to not glare, Cullen watched her snort once again. Unable to hold it back, the laughter tumbled free. Lana's head whipped up and she leaned back in the chair, trying to pin her hands against her face as she laughed so hard her shoulders vibrated. It was so damn infectious, even Cullen felt a tug despite the laughter being at his expense.

As she managed to compose herself, Lana wiped a tear from her eye, "I'm sorry, I...I don't mean to laugh, but you don't know. Maker, I doubt Alistair did either. And it's..." She succumb to the laughter again, doubling over so quickly her forehead skimmed above the surface of the table.

"Don't know what?" Cullen tried to not sulk, but judging by her face he'd either dodged a hail of arrows or was about to be stuck in the back.

Cupping a hand to her mouth, Lana sat up. Breathing deep, she began to explain, "In Rivain, they have a celebration. An old one from before Andraste's time. It used to honor Uthemrial, which is why I know of it. Kill an old god and suddenly one becomes interested in everything in their past. Sorry, not helping. The woman, she wasn't trying to buy you precisely. Not as a husband by any means. It was more she wanted to, um," Lana tented her fingers, "compensate you for your eventual time and..." a snort burnt in her nose before she could continue, "effort."

"Effort in what?"

"Ah, this is the um, difficult part. The ceremony, well, it's more a celebration not unlike Satinalia but back at its roots. Less calm, orderly standing in a chantry singing songs, more...uh, carnal delights."

"Carnal...? Oh Maker," he groaned folding into his hands.

"It is an interesting one to behold, and they rarely let people from outside the country become involved in it. You should be proud," she said, reaching over to pat his hand.

Cullen's eye darted up to hers and he growled. That only caused her to laugh harder, clearly enjoying the fact that someone in Rivain attempted to buy him for his...prowess. "I do not think I shall lose this burr of embarrassment until I am sixty five," Cullen muttered into his hands.

"It's a real badge of honor, or so I hear," she took it all as flippant with a shrug of the shoulder.

"It is bothersome. No, beyond that, to have people pecking and clawing for my attention as if I'm some, some gilded bauble to throw around their neck," he grumbled.

Her hand paused in patting, and in a soft voice Lana asked, "You never took advantage of all that attention?"

"What?" Cullen dropped his hands to look up at her, "No, of course not. Why would I?"

She lifted a shoulder and gazed out at the procession of people moving sullenly through the snowy streets of Val Royeaux. "It wasn't as if you didn't have a good reason to want to, and, judging by what I keep overhearing, had more than ample opportunity to explore."

"Lana."

"I wouldn't hold it against you, I promise. I mean, Maker knows I have my own..." she waved her hands towards the east, "past."

Leaning forward, Cullen grabbed onto her washy hand and pinned it tight in his. It felt frozen solid next to his skin. _Maker, did she ever warm up?_ Rubbing his body heat into it, Cullen sighed, "There was no one else, not between the years of Kirkwall and Skyhold, nor after you..." He swallowed, still unable to say the words. Fell felt too flippant for the sorrow he was trapped under, while died drove a nail through his heart. "I was not of the right mind to want to look. As if anyone could measure up," he tried to flip it into a compliment, but Lana's frown deepened. Did she not believe him? Cupping her cheek, he said, "That should put you at ease."

"No, it..." she crinkled her nose, "I don't know. I, I hate the idea that you were alone for so long. In pain, and because of me, unable to-to find someone else. And at the same time, I'm so glad that another woman didn't swipe you away. Given the way everyone keeps talking, your reputation grew in the years and it was already on the rise when I was in Skyhold."

She looked up at him, her melting brown eyes pleading for her words to make sense. Brushing his fingers back against her cheek, Cullen ran his thumb through the indent of her slowly fading scar. Lana cupped his hand tight to her skin and he felt a smile lift it high. Her ornery eyes darted up. "From the rumors, a part of me keeps expecting some woman to show up insisting you're the father of her child."

At that Cullen laughed and shook his head, "It's preposterous to consider it being fact, but that could still happen."

"Oh?"

"A few have tried, but far more over the years claimed the Inquisitor as the father of their baby. One even showed up on Skyhold's door."

"Inquisitor Gaerwn?" Lana asked, her face falling in shock, "Do they not know he's...how would that even work?"

Cullen parted his hands, "Miracle of Andraste herself."

Snorting, Lana covered her face, the joy brightening her cheeks. Maker's breath she was beautiful. He barely got any sleep before Satinalia with her resting in his arms, the light glowing off her skin and casting her tender features in a warm haze. While she murmured in her sleep, Cullen would dart a finger through her short hair, the tips skirting along her dewy skin trying to memorize each inch. Every time he touched her he couldn't stop his mind from trying to imprint the moment deep onto his memory for fear that...that it'd be the last.

"Cullen," Lana spoke, drawing him from staring slack-jawed at her.

"Yes?"

"How do you feel now that you're no longer with the Inquisition?"

"Lana," he shook his head, "I'm happy to be..."

"I know, I know," she smiled, no pain in her face. The easy smile drained his own perturbations, their first fight feeling like it occurred ages ago. "But it's a change, and changes take time to adjust to." She scoffed for a moment and glanced down at her frozen tea, "I still do things as if I'm in the Circle tower. Ever wonder why I'm always asking for permission?"

"I..." he shook his head, realizing that it hadn't fazed him because it, in turn, was second nature for the templar to be asked by the mage. That thought sunk deep into his chest.

"This isn't about me," she broke off her line of thinking, "Honest and true, good and bad, how are you feeling?"

He couldn't get out of it now. That was what he'd ask her when she'd start from a nightmare or face her personal demons. She'd hesitate, not wanting to worry him, but eventually her confession would slip out. He was working on not rushing to solve it each time.

"You're right, it feels...strange. To have no one to answer to, no one to command me, no one in turn to be commanded by me. An endless void can be terrifying," he gazed around the courtyard. Normally it was a palette of primary colors, but by the grey winter weather it looked stark and drained of life.

Lana tugged onto both of his hands, her thumbs rubbing the back, "Not if you find something to fill it."

"You have some ideas on that?" he asked with a smirk, but in truth, he hoped for an answer.

She tipped her head back and forth, "I'm working on it."

"Does that mean you have no intentions upon filling me in?"

"We'll see, it depends on how things go," Lana said while reaching for her no doubt cold tea. An impish smile began to crawl up her cheeks and Cullen couldn't help himself. Despite the public place, the nearness of the Grand Cathedral casting its religious shadow, and a dozen people glancing curious in their direction, he tugged on Lana's hand. Her teacup rattled, sloshing the cold brew across the table, but he didn't care. Cupping a hand against her jaw, he leaned forward and kissed her fully. She tipped her chin to line her lips up, that round nose of hers burrowing into his cheek while she pressed ever tighter to him.

As they broke apart, more than a few obvious glares directed their way. Cullen tried to ignore them while staring deep into her eyes, but when the coughing began he sighed and backed down to his seat. Smiling even brighter, Lana's cheeks lit up in a different kind of rosy glow. Whispering, she pointed a hidden finger at the rest of the patio, "Methinks they're a bit jealous."

"I..." Cullen blushed now, the faux pas sinking in, "I couldn't help myself. You're so, you know."

"I have a vague recollection," she smiled at his floundering before her voice dropped lower, "but I do enjoy hearing it reenforced from time to time."

He began to reach over the table to cup both of her hands in his when an elf dressed in black stepped up to the table behind Lana. "And what are we having over here today?" His voice bore a strange accent out of place amongst the nasally Orlesians, and upon closer inspection Cullen realized that he wasn't dressed in the standard black waiter wear but had on hearty leathers buried below a wool cloak.

"Nothing," Cullen said, waving his hand and hoping the man would get the hint.

"Ah, of course. And what of you Lania, is there any room in your diet for a crow?"

Lana's eyes lit up and she spun in her chair. "Maker's breath!" she shouted loud enough for the plaza to hear, "What are you doing here?"

The man smiled, his eyes only upon her. Perhaps it was Cullen's imagination, but he leaned nearer towards Lana, just within her personal space to make it intimate but not close enough to be off putting. "Where the wind blows so go I, you know how it is. Got to keep busy or I fear I'll grow moss upon my joints. But imagine my surprise to learn that the bella donna of my dreams pulled off the unimaginable once again, stepped across the veil itself, defeated death, and wound up in Val Royeaux of all places."

When he reached out and took Lana's hand, she shook her head and sighed in that "oh you" variety. For fear the blonde man intended to kiss her hand, Cullen sat up, "Excuse me. Who are you?"

His vast elven eyes darted away from the unkissed hand to Cullen who was trying very hard to maintain his dignity and balance. "I could ask the same of you. Oh, Lania, do not tell me you and he...?" Lana shrugged. "Fair haired. Sturdy," he assessed Cullen with a quick once over. "Another templar?" Now she bobbed her head, and guiltily glanced away. Sighing, the elf tipped his head back, "Ovviamente. You always did find your fun hidden within the chantry's rather strapping arm."

"Maker's sake," Cullen smacked his hand against the table, "who are you?"

"Ah, sorry," Lana blushed bright, "This is Zevran."

"Zev to my friends," he said, extending a hand to Cullen who didn't take it. "Which, I see where we stand on that fact. Very well." He retreated the proffered hand back to cross his arms instead.

Lana rolled her eyes, and scooted closer, "He fought with us during the blight. He's my contact in Antiva, the one I sent the letter to..." She pivoted in her chair to gaze up at the cocksure elf, "which should not have even arrived there for another month."

Parting his hands the elf beamed wider, "I am wintering in Val Royeaux this season. It's provided me with ample opportunity to keep my rather delicate ears to the ground." Cullen snorted at that non-answer. "You do not agree, templar?"

"Why does everyone keep calling me templar?"

"If the rather fetching skirt fits..." the elf taunted, inching closer to him.

"For the love of Andraste," Lana waved a hand between them. "Zev, focus please. How did you get your fingers on the letter that was supposed to be secretly mailed?"

"You know I have my tricky little ways, bella donna," he oozed. That was it, he had not just a voice or physicality that oozed, his entire charm was built upon rolling over its intended victim and slowly suffocating it to death. It was blighted Dorian all over again. "Imagine my surprise to open up this quaint little letter, with perfect penmanship I might add, and discover that my oldest and dearest friend is yet alive. Not only alive but in Val Royeaux where I happen to be staying. I simply had to try and track you down."

Lana's smile faltered and Cullen felt a surge of hope that this wasn't going to be another case of someone from her past who wound up intertwined in their lives. _Maker, she didn't sleep with him too, did she?_ Her eyes darted around and then she leaned closer to Zevran. "Did you now?"

"It seemed prudent given the current climate," Zevran extended his hand to the rather calm weather. "The deadliest storm is the one you don't see coming. And I wouldn't want my Lania to be caught ill prepared for when it breaks. Oh, I see you're wearing that scarf Leliana found for you."

"Zev..." Lana's voice dropped down to a growl and she eyed him up.

"Yes yes, we must all praise the Divine's enchanted eye when it comes to fabric, but I never thought blue was your color," his eyes languidly rolled around the room looking like a man without a care while Lana froze up, her shoulders tight.

"What's going on?" she asked in a whisper.

"Now is not the time," he said, making dead set eye contact with her. Then, as if it was all on accident, the elf leaped back to his feet and all but twirled in a circle. "There's still much shopping to be done. It's a near on steal to hit the shops after Satinalia."

"Understood," Lana bobbed her head. Her voice lifted to a conversational tone, "But I would still love to get caught up with you. It's been far too long."

"A lifetime, bella donna," he murmured, a cloud crossing his sunny brow. "Here," reaching into his coat, he pressed a scrap of paper into Lana's hand, "Meet me at my stately manor in a few hours. You'll find the address upon the card, in case you've forgotten it."

"Ah, yes, thank you," Lana studied the address as if it was a life saving spell.

"Lania," the elf stopped dancing and dropped to a knee as if he intended to propose to her. Instead, he only smiled, "it's been heart warming to find you here," his eyes darted over to Cullen once before turning fully upon her, "to some extent. Please, we must speak again."

"Of course, Zev. Soon," she smiled. Rising up, the elf bowed deeply before standing. Marching as if he hadn't a care in the world, he plucked a rose out of a vase on a table, inserted it into the buttonhole of his leathers and slipped away down the alley. Lana watched him from the side of her eye, her smile vanished.

"Well, that was..." Cullen began, before Lana extended her palm flat and fire burst upon the paper. Blackening from the flames, it curled inward as the heat increased until ash scattered on the wind. "What are you doing?" he tried to not shout, even as his eyes darted out to the other guests who'd no doubt notice a woman with her hand on fire.

Lana closed her fist, dampening the fire and stitching up the veil. Turning her hand down, only specks of white ash dropped from her palm across the table. "Making certain no one can follow us."

"What? Lana, that's..." he wanted to say foolish but the look in her eye paused his words. Any sense of calm vanished from Lana's face; the woman enjoying a trip through Val Royeaux was replaced by a person on the edge, expecting a knife from the shadows at any moment. "No," Cullen shook his head, no one knew about her. She was in no danger. Except the elf found out, and not from her letter to him. But still...

"We should finish our drinks and then go. Taking the long way to loop back around will make it rather obvious if we're being trailed. How's Honor's tracking skills?"

"Fine, for a mabari, when there's not food left on the ground." Cullen shook his head, "Lana, you're...I don't understand. The elf--"

"Zev."

"Whatever," he groaned, which brought a soft chuckle to her face, "what's so important we have to meet him now?"

"He was agitated, clearly under duress and concerned about eyes upon him, perhaps upon both of us." Lana snatched up her cup and in one quick breath, slid her frozen tea down her throat.

"How can you tell?" Cullen shook his head. None of this made any sense.

"Because," Lana wiped the edge of her mouth off, kicked her cane into her hands and rose, "he didn't hit on you."

 * * *

She made certain to memorize the address, 42B Rue des Oubliés, before burning the paper and thought that with her borrowed map of Val Royeaux it would be easy to find. That was proving a mistake as the three of them turned down the neighborhood that should have claimed the street and came face to face with one of many dilapidated areas in the capital city of Orlais. No signs existed, and the only markings for buildings came in the form of chalk marks etched along boarded up windows and rusted out barrels. They passed a few people, but Lana didn't want to ask them for fear that it'd be a give away to her either not belonging or worse, turning someone on Zev's hiding place.

Of course, Cullen was in no mood for any of it. "This is pointless," he complained in a continual stream from behind her. Lana kept a grip upon Honor who helped her stay up through the long walks of the city under the illusion of killing time. "You're better off finding a specific snowflake in a blizzard than a street in Val Royeaux. Orlesians favorite pastime is blanking out all their signs and guffawing at the dumb dog lord for not knowing where Rude es Criouche is."

She tried to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from chuckling, but was too slow. Cullen glared at her and she could offer no explanation. "I'm sorry, but you're rather adorable when you stew."

"Wonderful, I'm being adorable while I freeze to death in the decaying ruins of the no doubt plague ridden streets of Orlais. And Maker only knows how you're still going."

"Magic, and..." Lana paused and swiveled on her legs to look back at him. He was his own level of disheveled, his cheeks pink from the cold and the scarf that should have been knotted tight around his neck dangling towards the blackened snow. "Come here," she waved him near and waited. Sheepishly, he stepped closer. While Lana retied his scarf, winding it tighter to protect his fair features from the blinding snow, she felt his breath washing over her, hot and wet like a bull about to charge. "Zev's a friend, and if he's in any trouble..."

"Or about to put you in trouble," Cullen groaned, but the edge of his whine washed away. As her fingers drifted away from him, he reached out and snatched them up. Lana glanced at them, then his eyes which stared through the horizon. She knew that look, something was bothering him. "Lana, you'd tell me if, I'm only wondering how you and...the, um, you know."

She sighed, "It's rather cold out and I'd like to get inside soon, so please, spit it out."

"Were you and the elf, Zevran...close?"

"Close?" she wrinkled up her nose before it hit her. "Oh, you mean, have we ever...?"

"Please, do not elaborate," Cullen's throat bobbed as he swallowed in pain. She shouldn't be picking at him, but he was so damn cute when agitated. It was a curse of his own making.

"Would it bother you if we did?"

"No!" he cried, turning down to her. Lana only waited, her lips curling up in a smirk. "Fine," Cullen groaned, wiping his hand through his hair, "it would be unnerving to sit around speaking with another of your lovers. And I would like to know what I'll be facing. That is all."

Unable to take it, Lana patted his cheek, the scruff returning with a prickly vengeance. "No, Zev and I never did anything like that together. We're just friends. He's flirty with everyone he meets."

"Really? Everyone?" Cullen tried to not sigh in relief, but she could see it building in his chest. To hide that fact, he pinned her hand to his cheek.

"Oh yes, in fact the only ones I don't believe he hit on during the blight were Oghren, my mabari, and...that may be it."

"During the blight...but what about?"

Lana caught on to his train of thought. Dipping her head down, she felt a blush rising from the memory of that account, "Yes, he did try with who you're thinking of, and it went sailing over his head to an almost willful degree."

"Ah," Cullen sighed, sagging down from his precarious perch. "So, nothing of a romantic nature between you and this Zevran, even after?"

"Nope," Lana shook her head and pulled her hand away. She began to walk down the street towards another potential building, when she paused and said nonchalantly over her shoulder, "But he did sleep with Leliana, a couple of times." It was worth it to watch Cullen's foot hover above the snow as his balance raced to adjust itself before he crashed to the cobblestones.

After walking up and down the street for what felt like days and finding no hint of the entrance or anything else of interest, Lana was about to call it quits herself. "Honor, are you certain you can't sniff him out. Smells like antivan leather."

"I don't think it works like that. You can't just describe the scent to her, and then..." Cullen's words faded away as Lana sat up, an idea taking hold. _Maker, it couldn't be that easy._

Most of the street was made up of old shops burned and gutted from some ancient fire and never repaired, but across from them stood what looked like an actual manor house. Its buttress collapsed in on themselves, leaving half a wall exposed to the elements. A bit like a dollhouse with the fourth wall missing, if she stood up on her toes she could peek in on the pitted and moldy furniture exposed to Orlais' vengeful elements. But that wasn't what drew her attention. Sitting perched upon the stoop was a bird statue, about three feet tall. It was once black as night judging by the small hints of paint hidden below coatings of filth. And someone took the time to slice the head clear off.

Lana's fingers ran over the sword mark, clean and quick, but what drew her attention was the level of wear upon the chipped off neck. While the rest of the bird faded to a dingy grey, this was still black as onyx, as if it had happened recently. "This is it," she announced, glancing towards the manor's door.

"You seem certain..." Cullen didn't call her out deliberately, but she could hear his concerns. Maker, she could always hear his unvoiced concerns.

"Let's just say Zev left a hint." Balancing her weight on her cane, Lana limped up the creaking stairs towards the entrance. Despite debris covering up windows on both sides of the house, the door remained surprisingly clear, or perhaps someone took the time to free it. "Besides," Lana laughed, her fingers picking at the latch. It lifted without any give. Pushing into the door, it wobbled but even the hinges didn't whine. Someone was taking care of it. "If it's not the right one, what's the harm in trying it and moving on?"

Cullen scowled from his spot on the porch, but didn't have an easy answer. Smiling once at him, Lana crossed the threshold into the house. Dark as pitch, she couldn't make a thing out aside from the rotted corpses of the furniture. Holding a hand up to her mouth, Lana called out, "Zevra-"

A hand lashed out of the darkness to grab her from behind. She barely had time to turn to face it when a dagger glinted against her throat. "Lana!" Cullen shouted from the street, his shoulder down as he barreled towards her, but the assailant didn't slam the door in his face. He didn't drag Lana back further, only held her in place.

_Foolish move_ , she thought, slicing apart the veil, when the dagger nipped near her skin close enough the chill of the blade touched her but it left no bite. "Now now," Zevran whispered from behind her. "Let's not go throwing any fireballs around in here. Doubtful the wainscoting could take it in its poor state."

"Zev?" Lana gripped onto the steel forearm around her throat. Despite the dagger as a threat he hadn't made any move to hurt her.

"Put her down," Cullen growled, his eyes burning with the need to disembowel the elf. He carried no weapon, neither sword nor shield, but she feared he might try to rend Zevran limb from limb with his bare hands. Beside Cullen, Honor snarled, her fur in full on lift along her back.

"Everyone hold a moment, all right," Lana said, the one technically held at a knife point also the only one being calm.

"I'm holding quite nicely," Zev chuckled. He gripped onto her upper arm with his free hand and, with a force to his words she'd never heard before, asked, "Do you recognize the dagger? It's the same one you gave me during the blight."

Cullen lurched a step forward, testing Zev's resolve. The elf didn't make good on his threat, but he did yank Lana back further. Her legs cried out in pain, her arm adding in a bit too, but she was shaking her head lost in his question. "What dagger? What are you talking about? I didn't give you a...What is this, everite? Maker, we didn't have access to everite during the blight, much less enough to make a dagger. All I gave you were the damn gloves you're wearing."

The dagger dropped from her neck, his body folding off of her. He didn't push her away towards Cullen, but Zev stumbled back against the rotted wall. "Maker's breath..." Lana whipped around to face the stunned elf staring at the floor. "It's you," his startling eyes turned up to her and she almost thought she spotted a glare of a tear rising inside them, "you're alive."

Lana reached back to Cullen who had his hackles up. As her fingers crested across his arm, he didn't soften his stance in preparation of leaping at Zev and pounding him flat. Instead, he gripped tight to her to try and protect her with his own body. Looking over Zev anew, Lana sighed. She kept forgetting that her resurrection would be more than a shock for the people who weren't there when it happened.

"I am...Lanny Amell, at your service," she bowed poorly, unable to reach far in her sorry state. "Those gloves were like the ones your mother had, who was herself Dalish. And on top of them I also found for you a pair of boots made with rich, Antivan leather," her eyes darted down to his shoes. She frowned, "...which you do not seem to be wearing any longer."

Zev chuckled, "Lania, you expect boots to last for fourteen years? It is a wonder ours managed more than three months with the walking we endured."

"Maker, there was a lot of it," she bobbed her head.

"Wait, wait," Cullen interrupted between the two of them reminiscing, "you were going to kill her?"

"No, of course not. Never. Not to say I am without the means to," Zevran grinned wide with his boast which only got another growl from Cullen. "But when I heard word of Lania's rising from the ashes, I was concerned if you were truly who you claimed to be."

"What?" Lana scoffed, "You thought I was some evil trick of blood mages?"

"They have been known to pull off a surprise now and again," Zevran said, and a darkness drifted across his brow. She'd never heard anything of him fighting off blood mages, but...Lana had missed a lot of his life. A lot of her own, it seemed. His unarmed hand reached towards hers, but Cullen jerked forward about to slap it away.

Zev's eyes darted up and he wafted it away as if it was all in Cullen's imagination. Her master's mood traveled down to Honor who barked thrice at the assassin elf. Laughing, Zev jerked his thumb at the dog, "I see you continue to travel with ill bred mutts suffering under a case of not enough brains to back up their brawn..." pausing, he turned his cocky grin to Cullen, "and also a mabari."

Cullen's sneer reached level five, but his stance faded into a crossed arms and steady legged one. "Stand down, Honor," he ordered, "this one's toothless."

Smiling at him, Zev inched closer to Lana to whisper, "I admit this newer model isn't as rambunctious as the last and  tends to scowl more, but he makes it work. It's no wonder the women across thedas wished to snatch him up, the heat off that anger alone." Winking once at her, he turned his elfin grin at Cullen, "They no doubt intend to install you in the corners of their salons to stand there brooding for them all night and day. I dare say it'd increase the fertility rate in Orlais, at least."

She could hear Cullen's teeth grinding inside his jaw, but he didn't say anything. Lana cast a quick glance over at him to make certain he wasn't about to kick a wall over, then turned to Zev, "You know about Cullen?"

"The Lion of Skyhold? It is difficult to avoid talk of any from the great mountain fortress. Maker, you must have heard the songs."

"Songs, what songs?" Cullen interrupted, his fear of embarrassment tramping over his need to splatter the elf.

Zev ignored him, his hand lilting through the air. "Very popular with a certain subset of admirers. I daresay they're even playing it in Antivan caffés at this very moment. Catchy in that mind rotting fashion. Ah yes, and I did work with your little religious group for a time. You might remember me as that assassin who assassinated an assassin or two."

His reassurances did little to help lower Cullen's hackles, but in his eyes Lana spotted a vague recollection of what Zevran claimed, after he finished scowling from the description for the Inquisition. Stepping between them, because she was in no state to break up a fight and not in the mood to watch, Lana asked him the important question, "Zev, why are you here in Orlais? I thought you were working through the masters in Antiva. Unless one of the masters was here visiting in Val Royeaux..." she gasped, her mind coming to the logical conclusion, "attempting an assassination!"

Turning his luminous smile upon her, Zevran sighed in his lilting voice, "How could I ever doubt it wasn't you, piccola maga?" Glancing over her hair that was now blushing from Zev's pet name, he tipped his head at Cullen, "Does she do that to you? Trail away in thoughts and wind up five miles down the road?"

Cullen re-crossed his arms to drive home the point he had no intentions to be friendly, but added a begrudging, "Yes, often."

"It is as you already surmised with your dangerously overheated brain. I was in pursuit of a Crow, not the highest in the hierarchy but I wanted to give myself a little Satinalia gift."

"By killing a man," Cullen translated.

"By assassinating a man who had already killed a good fifty people in his lifetime. You'll forgive me for not weeping openly at his loss," Zev snapped up, his rare cockles breaking free. Few things got to him, but he never managed to feel an ounce of pity for the Crows in any state.

"Okay," Lana interrupted again, trying to get this all back on track, "if you were here in Val Royeaux on another mission, how did you find me? Was it pure happenstance?"

"No," Zev shook his head in emphasis, "our dear Leliana told me, in no uncertain terms, to not find you. Of course, at the time I had no idea you were alive much less inside the city, while she seemed to be under a different impression."

"I told her about the letter I was sending you and...how did you find me, then?" Lana began to slide back and forth on her exhausted legs, wishing she could pace to think.

"Lania, please, give me some credit. I tracked that creature you let slobber in your lap, and when that didn't work, the mabari there."

Before Cullen could groan or worse, Lana snapped open the veil and nipped a single spark across Zev's lips. He didn't leap back from her barely visible attack, but did try to lick the sting away. "Fair enough. It is my own fault for using the same joke twice."

Twisting back, Lana rolled her eyes about Zev's antics at Cullen but he wasn't enjoying the elf's obvious attempts at lightening the mood. Something else was keeping his back straight and his eyes hunting around the room. _What was...?_ Lana whipped back to Zevran, who was rubbing his lips with his palm from her sting, "You said Leliana told you to not find me. Why were you talking to her?"

"Because, upon ending the assassin I was after I thought I'd use my free time to take a little peek through his belongings, see if there was any coin I could donate to the cause. And in the process I discovered who was on his list of targets."

"Maker's breath," Lana groaned, catching on, "the bloody Crows were going to take out the Divine?"

"Why did we never call ourselves the Bloody Crows? Is that, as they say, a bit too much on the nose? A murder of bloody crows...nah, it is cumbersome. Yes, it is as you guessed in your delightful Ferelden colloquialism. He was sent to murder the Divine and I thought she might like to be informed of that."

"We must tell someone," Cullen roared, rising up at the risk laid out before them. Zev waved a hand getting a derisive snort from the Lion, "someone who has worth."

"Ouch. Lania, I think I prefer the funnier version of before. Well, funnier is a relative term."

"Not the time, Zev," she growled at him and for a moment regret drifted through his eyes. He knew of the first time Alistair hurt her but not the second. Perhaps it didn't matter.

"We should contact the Inquisition," Cullen continued, the commander rising from its shallow grave. "They will have the means to provide a defense and protect the Divine, not to mention any other Mothers on the list."

"Mothers..." Zev snorted, "who do you think hired him?"

That drew a glare from the lifelong Andrastian, "You know this as fact?"

Zev shrugged, "Not in particular, but if the vestment fits..."

"Cullen," Lana whispered, trying to pull him away from his fervor.

"The new spymaster doesn't have the skills of Leliana, but Charter's proven herself over the years. I think she-"

"Cullen!"

"What?" he ground to a halt and had to turn away from the support beam he was strangling to look at Lana.

"If Leliana told Zevran not to tell me about this, then that means..."

"She was well aware," he finished for her.

"By the flames of Andraste," Cullen sagged, dragging his shoulders lower. He dug into his eyes and began to massage away a, no doubt, three year old headache.

Reaching over, Lana rubbed up and down his arm, trying to bring some life back to him. "Was there anything else, Zev? Anything that in her 'telling you to not find me so you will' way did she add that she'd obliterate you from the face of thedas for informing me of?"

"Ah..." his eyes darted around the room, taking in the multitude of shadows in his makeshift home.

"Zevran Arini, we have known each other for over fourteen years. If you do not tell me now I can make your life...very uncomfortable," she leaned close to his face and cupped her fingers into a clenching vice.

He gulped a few times before nodding, "Very well, I acquiesce, but when my bloated corpse washes up on the shores of the White River you shall have only yourself to blame."

"I'll take that chance," Lana said folding her hand back into her coat.

Taking a few more breaths, Zev steadied himself. He hunted through the shifting shadows one more time before diving full in. "Things are moving, more than the usual strife, even beyond what I'd expect given all the upheaval of late."

"What's moving? What's going on?" Cullen interrupted, needing to find a problem he could hammer into place.

Zev glared up at him for a moment before honing in on Lana, "If I knew that do you think I'd be playing cat and mouse in a dilapidated manor that will most likely give me some fashionable disease? Lania, there are rumblings of a group, a new order of templars forming somewhere in the south."

"New templars, that's preposterous," Cullen scoffed. "No one would be willing to train them, barely any are left to form an army."

"You assume they need and or want training to become templars." Zev sighed, "Upheaval upsets the natural order, leaving those once with unearned power useless. Some men are looking for a cause to give them an excuse to gather in clumps and rattle their sabers high, any will do. And, at this moment, attacking mages who dare to flaunt their magic in the open is a growing cause."

Templars. No, not templars. Thugs dressed up in templar armor. It was as if someone took all the bad of templars, none of the good, and then amplified it by a thousand disenfranchised voices crying out because they never got their lot in life. They couldn't be stupid enough to attack the college openly. Not now, certainly not knowing how many battle hardened mages lived inside. But picking off a lone mage wandering the streets, it'd be as easy as predicting the sunrise. How many people would run to assist a mage's cry? How many would care to have another snuffed out?

"How loud are these rumors?" Lana asked, glaring at him from below her brow.

"Not above a whisper, yet. But..."

"People aren't dismissing them outright. People are talking about how they might have some good points," she could see it all across every tavern. Scared citizens with too much mead in their blood slamming a fist into the bar and complaining about all they'd lost in the rebellions, in the war against Corypheus, due to nature itself. All of which could be blamed upon one of the old standbys.

"Lania, I have a few contacts at my disposal. The less than savory type that would turn your bedmate's nose up, but they could..."

"No."

"Scusami?"

"I can't," Lana screwed her eyes up tight trying to drown the pounding in her blood. The rebellions didn't solve anything, anyone with half a brain knew that. All it did was delay each problem isolated across thedas until the next fire grew into an all out war. She could fight it, rise back up and do her damnedest to carve a real change for mages. It began for a moment after the blight. For a short time all of thedas was grateful to a mage for saving them. Do it again, do it ten times over, a hundred, and maybe it'd finally stick.

Biting her lip, she glanced over at Cullen. His face stricken wan, he narrowed his eyes and sneered. He knew too. Knew what it would take to change the world, how it was a calling not a life. And she already had her own Calling waiting at the end for her. "Keep your contacts to yourself, Zev," Lana said, patting him on the arm. "I...this is not my fight."

"Lana," she felt Cullen's hands slide along her shoulders, his strong fingers digging into her weak body. "Are you...I wouldn't want to, these are your people."

"Are they?" she swallowed, shaking her head, "No, it's...there comes a time when you have to know to step back, to let other people handle it. It's my time."

"As you say, bella donna," Zevran bowed. "I should not have told you, please forgive me."

"It's all right, Zev. I needed to know, and would have found out eventually. Maybe I can..." Lana shook her head to waft away the ill formed dreams. Smiling, she grabbed his hand, "I am glad you found me, I did write to you."

"And I look forward to reading it. You always had such delightful letters," his eyes lingered across Cullen before he leaned forward to whisper, "I pray these will be just as graphic as prior." Then that Antivan leer drifted up and down the commander's body so obviously even Cullen staggered back from it. Absently, he dug at the back of his neck which only caused Zev to sigh at Lana, "You shall have a bounty placed on your head by all the maidens in Orlais. Be wary."

Smiling smugly, she patted Zev's arm, "Good thing I know the best assassin in thedas. I figure he'll give me a heads up warning."

"Naturally," he beamed, "unless one of them hires me, then it might be a conflict of interest. It was a joke," Zev shouted at Cullen's dour turn, "do not pout. Actually, do pout and maybe flex your arms a little."

"Now there's the Zevran I remember," Lana laughed at the infamous libido. "With that settled, I say we sit for a time and talk about things other than assassins."

"Or magic," Zev smiled, wrapping his hand around hers.

"We could get away from this moldy mansion and head back to the plaza," Cullen suggested. He gestured out the door but paused, his eyes darting towards his biceps, which he promptly shuffled behind his back.

"I shall have you know, I've cleaned out a lovely sitting room deeper inside. This debris is left to keep solicitors from bothering me. Come, Lania. You have much to tell me about how you escaped death itself. Please tell me there was a game of chess involved."

"Not as such, no," Lana laughed, letting Zev lead her deeper into the house that warmed as they moved around the fallen beams. "And you must tell me of your exploits as well. A lot can happen in two years."

His charming Antivan smile beamed the full force upon her, "You have no idea. Let's see, there was this dashing brunette..."

## Chapter Twenty

**Future**

**  
**

"Commander," a head bobbed in his direction. He didn't catch the smile and wandering eyes until Cullen already passed the Sister. Fighting down the urge to whip around and glare, or stand rigid, he roughed up the fur on Honor's head. She dodged away after a moment, in no mood for his attention. Sighing, Cullen glanced fully down at his dog who was still trailing a small puddle of water all the way across the streets of Val Royeaux.

"Do not blame me for your state, you chose to go diving in the river." In response, Honor barked once and stuck her chest out, proud of her accomplishment. Chuckling, he sighed, "Not every stick needs to be rescued. Some seem rather happy to keep floating on by. You'd do well to remember that." Petting her fur once more and trying to slick off the more pungent river water, Cullen spoke to himself, "As would I."

"Afternoon, Commander," another person greeted him, this one of the rarer Brothers in the chantry.

He tipped his chin at the man who didn't look much beyond the age of twenty, no doubt someone sold to the chantry at a young age or as a babe. It was rare for men to rise so far so fast unless they had a lifetime behind them. "Brother," Cullen answered, accepting that he had no way of knowing who that was.

The man gestured at Honor, "May I?"

"Of course, she'd love it," he folded his arms and watched the regal facade crack as the young man dropped to the ground to pet the mabari. She, in turn, played with him, leaping about and barking in joy.

"Thank you," the Brother said as if Cullen just pulled him from the river. Bowing deep at the waist once more he said, "Commander," and then scuttled away.

Three months in Val Royeaux and everyone in the Grand Cathedral was aware of his presence, that the Commander of the Inquisition graced their halls. Except, he wasn't that anymore. He'd given up his commission, turned in his metaphoric sword and shield - the Inquisitor insisted he keep his actual ones. And yet, that was all anyone knew to refer to him as, his rank. It had been his identity for so much of his life. Duty, orders, following the chain of command and then, Maker help him, leading it himself.

And now, who was he? Lana'd been asking as of late if he had any pressing hobbies he'd always wanted to pick up but never had the chance. She'd make mention of a boat from time to time, as if that was the only way for a broken down soldier to retire. Threatening sea voyages were all in Cullen's past, if he could have his way. Even skimming across a lake put a dull knife in his gut, as if he was traversing Lake Calenhad again, heading out to the tower. He'd tried to suggest chess, but Lana scoffed at that as one, something that wouldn't take more than an afternoon's worth of time, and two, just more strategic planning. He had to have a life outside of war, but...

What if he didn't? The last hobby Cullen could remember from before he became a templar involved knotting together the hair of Mia's dolls. Which was probably not what Lana was thinking of. So much of his life was devoted first to joining the templars, then honing his mind and body to be the best, and finally, picking up the pieces of the order. Now the remnants he could save reseted safely inside a box, what was left?

"What am I going to do with my life?" he whispered at Honor.

In response, she sat down and brought her teeth to her hindquarters, giving them all a good scratch. "Yes, well, that will at best finish off an hour for the attempt and a day and a half of recovery for me. I think I'll keep looking in the meantime."

With a hand skimming along the railing, Cullen strode up the staircase to their apartments. How much longer would they be theirs? If Leliana had it her way, until Divine Victoria ascended to the Maker's side. She wasn't subtle about it either, now offering suggestions that they should offer up their own input for decorating. Though Cullen's suggestions to take the bed out back, douse it in holy water and then set it on fire with anointed flames, went ignored. He knew he should bring his concerns up with Lana, the depths of his soul telling him he didn't belong in Val Royeaux, but whenever the idea flitted through his mind he froze. What if she wanted to stay permanently? What would he do?

"You're lucky your only concerns are rescuing sticks and thieving treats from the far too kind Mothers," Cullen whispered down at Honor. "Do not think I am unaware of your nightly prowling up and down the halls, and how many of the clergy find the poor starved dog unbearably tempting."

Wagging her stump of a tail at the attention, Honor put on her begging eyes as if to say "Who me? I would never disobey an order." It didn't work well on the man who less than an hour earlier shouted at her to not get in the river, to not swim through the floating sewage, and then, to not shake said filthy river water across him. "Perhaps it is a good thing I've turned in my command. I can't even get a dog to obey my orders. I'm growing softer with each day."

Cullen cracked open the door to their apartment when he heard a voice welling up through the gap. Sung in a high alto, the words were crisp and clear and the tune bouncy despite the key itself being morose.

_"When the swords lay silent_

_The final cry sung_

_What shall remain?_

_Blood washing clear_

_By tears in the rain."_

Edging inside without making too much noise, Cullen silently shut the door. He'd never heard Lana sing this tune before. She tended to hum under her breath and mostly chantry songs everyone knew. On occasion, a rather bawdy tavern song would tumble out, in particular if Leliana had recently been by to visit, as if Lana couldn't break it free from her ear. This one carried an edge in her voice he didn't expect.

_"Lion of the sky_

_Hold firm against the end_

_Breech comes for us all_

_But you are left to stand."_

Cullen paused, his shoulders tightening as he realized two things about this song. One, he had heard it before, usually in Orlesian and two, it was blighted about him. Again. He'd tried to stamp the one out from before, a song that made liberal use of the easily reached sword innuendo, but his attempts only amplified its attention in what Josephine came to call the "Cullen Effect." Anything he railed against became an instant hit across thedas, in particular if it had anything to do with him.

Somehow this song passed him by. He knew that other people referred to him as a lion, for varying reasons, but he never felt that proud roar of the beast, nor its unshakable dominion over its territory. Not to mention he wasn't bloody Orlesian. If anything, he should be a mabari. Turning, he caught sight of Honor licking the walls.

Perhaps not mabari either.

_"Empty, forlorn_

_Final roar cries_

_Victory for all_

_In the lonesome hour_

_Who answers the call?"_

As he turned the corner he spotted the singer's silhouette malformed by the oddly shaped glassware piled up on the table. Glass tubes twisted and bulged in angles, each of them dipping to form a funnel, of sorts, that had a slow drip of clear liquid plopping into what he recognized as a potion bottle. Unaware of her audience, Lana had her palm cupped under one of the fatter tubes. Her eyes were screwed tight as fire lapped from her fingers to boil at the liquid inside.

_"Lion of the sky_

_Staring down alone_

_Through the tears of heaven_

_Awaiting an empty throne."_

The final word faded away through her voice, and she drew her fingers from the flask before twisting open a rubber stopper. Liquid poured out of one glass tube to another, steam rising up from her work to cloud the second flask. Humming under her breath the same tune, her beautiful eyes darted up from her work and she smiled at him. "You're back."

"And you're...making a potion?" Cullen asked, sliding closer. He'd been around enough of the alchemists when they were in the full throes of work to know to never get too close. Fumes were dangerous, as could be any unanticipated explosions. One could always spot a well trained alchemist by the state of their eyebrows.

"Yes," Lana smiled again, but he caught a hint of a blush rising up her cheeks. She didn't anticipate him catching her working. "It's, well, I don't want to give it away until it's finished. I admit, I was never a master distiller, certainly not of the skill of the tranquil. But this protocol was easy enough to follow," Lana gestured at a sheet of vellum she nailed to the wall for quick reading. Three green fingerprints circled around the edge. "The real challenge was in finding the right glassware. Seems a lot of it was broken during the rebellion, and no one bothers with specialized pieces anymore with the circles gone. Mostly gone."

"That song you were singing...?"

She flinched for a moment, "Heard that, did you? I'm not much of a singer. I'd never make it far as a bard for various reasons, but it..." Pointing at the blistering hot glassware that she'd magicked, which of course looked the exact same as the cool glassware, Lana explained, "I don't have any timers that are exact enough for the length of time necessary to boil during the final stage. Well, final boiling stage. There's a cool down, ethanol extraction and...never mind. I found that if I sing that song two and a half times it's just the right length for boiling."

Cullen nodded as if that made much sense to him. He could grasp the basic concept of using a song to keep track of the minutes, he'd done the same from time to time as a templar. "I understand, but why that song?"

"Oh..." her embarrassment at getting caught singing flipped around to an ornery grin, "figured it out, I take it. Leliana was so damn certain you had no idea."

"I didn't," he sighed, "not until I heard it from your lips." It hadn't struck him before, the poetry haranguing him for keeping himself aloof from people -- especially people who had a romantic interest in him. But it was different from her, the one who knew better than anyone why he favored solitude, the only one who could break him of it.

Lana tossed a wadded towel upon the table's edge and skirted close to him. Her fingers drifted around his waist, heat trailing the palm that boiled away some aspect of the potion. Cullen was about to comment on that, when she pushed up on her toes and kissed him. The heat from her lips scorched whatever fire erupted off her hands. Off balance, Cullen grabbed onto her cheek, pinning himself in place so he didn't topple over at her hunger. Barely hiding her smile, Lana slipped away from his mouth but not his body.

As her arms wrapped around him, her cheek brushing against his chest, he noticed she was wearing an apron. Not the typical leather one mages wore when doing anything alchemical or for rune crafting. The apron favored by chefs strained at the high point of her breasts, tensed to the point it seemed like a deep breath could rip it. Cullen blinked in surprise to find that idea very enticing. While he cupped the small of her back, he felt the knot of the apron's ribbon tied into a lopsided bow.

"Lana," he asked, "how are you able to scrounge up this much mage equipment? Wait, let me guess, Leliana."

"Not entirely, no..."

He felt her cheek darting up and down against his chest. Cullen tried to pry her away to stare into her eyes. "You are not in contact with the mage college."

"I couldn't find what I needed in Val Royeaux. Which surprised me. I thought it'd be easy but apparently not. Don't make that face, yes, that one, where you hunch your eyebrows together as if someone hung a weight off your forehead. I _myself_ haven't been in contact with anyone at the college."

"What name are you using?" he asked, catching on to her subterfuge. Leliana either knew about it, or would go fully spare when she did. To himself, Cullen decided that the Divine need not know about everything occurring in her Cathedral.

Lana shrugged, "Marguerite. I, I don't think she'd mind."

"Are you, don't you think someone might notice, or wonder?"

"The circle in Ferelden was a mess, with the malifecarum attack and then the blight. Mages scattered to the four winds. It's doubtful there's anyone remaining in the college who'd remember a mage that died fourteen years ago," Lana tried to smile through her response, but he spotted her bottom lip puckering out and her eyes watering.

Wrapping her tight to his chest, he cupped the back of her head and buried his chin in her hair. "I remember her a little," Cullen said.

"I remember her a lot," Lana said. "It was funny, all that time after the blight and I did my damnedest to not think about the tower, about the people who remained behind, or the people who didn't." Her words faded and he felt her crying against him. There were no audible sobs, that wasn't what she did. The most Lana ever loudly cried was with a gasp or two, that was quickly smothered to silence. Gently, Cullen swayed with her in his arms. He felt her grief plucking at his own, trying to drag up all his friends who died in that massacre, but he buried it deep. It wasn't the time.

Lana released a hand around him to pinch at the bridge of her nose and wipe away the tears. Returning to hold him, she sighed, "After the fade, I...I keep thinking about them, about my time with them. Margie, Michael -- that mage she had a terrible crush on, even Jowan. Maker, Jowan drove me mad half the time!" she gasped, a laugh on the end before it faded to a whisper, "But, he was the mage I knew the longest. We, we became friends the first day I entered the tower."

"I knew that if I spotted him, you'd be near," Cullen said, his own vision turning hazy with memories.

"Right," Lana smiled, "so many people assumed because we were opposite genders and friends we simply had to be a couple. It grew rather tiresome to hear the snickers behind covered hands, in particular from templars."

"I...I don't know if it was Jowan they were snickering about regarding you." Cullen couldn't bury the blush creeping up from the depths of his late teenage years. He heard them himself, usually from the likes of handsome people like Frederick who found it hilarious to think someone like Cullen -- devout, duteous, homely -- would fall for one of the prettiest mages in the tower. Sometimes he'd receive suggestions on how to convince the Apprentice Amell to slip into the stacks with him, most of which made certain he kept the templar helm on at all times. It was a wonder his ego didn't fully wither and die before he reached the age of twenty.

Lana's fingers circled around the small of his back, dragging him from his dark thoughts. Blinking away the past, he glanced down at those beguiling eyes that would often trail him in his dreams. He felt the sneer on his lips fade to a grateful smile. Pushing a finger along her forehead, he curled a stray hair back in place. Those luscious lips he'd dreamed of kissing a thousand times before he dared to try lifted up in their own grin.

"I was aware of those rumors as well," she breathed.

"Oh?" he swallowed trying to not feel like a young man who had his crush chase him down and ask why people kept talking about them. It was idiotic, but sometimes the past lingered like floured palm prints.

Lana ran her fingers up his back, her nails scratching a path that ignited him. "I would blush for a good five minutes straight after I heard one. You wouldn't believe the amount of grief Margie gave me for it. She thought I should go for it, but, of course..."

"It wasn't proper," he filled in.

Lana snickered, "And I was scared shitless. Maker, what would I do if you didn't like me? I mean, how awkward would that be?"

"That," Cullen dipped his head until his forehead skimmed across hers. Slipping his eyes closed, he sighed, "that was my fear as well."

Opening his eyes, he stared deep into Lana's golden halos. They sparkled as she lifted her hands up behind his neck. Knotting her fingers through his curls and gently tugging back, she twisted her head to the right. He prepared to kiss her, but she paused. Taking a breath, Lana whispered beside him, "For Margie," before diving in for the kiss. Cullen's hands moved up her back, trying to pin her tighter to him, to support her while Lana performed her innate magic.

As she slipped down, she paused and shifted her shoulders, "Did you...untie my apron?"

"I, uh..." he lifted his hand away to find the apron's string knotted up in his fingers. It came so naturally to him, he didn't realize he was doing it. "I seem to have."

Shaking her head with a laugh, Lana tugged it off over her head and tossed the apron onto her work bench. "You only needed to ask."

"I fear that was more my body working without my mind," he admitted, flinching at the implications. Lana didn't react. She turned towards her little experiment, dipping down to her knees to take in the bottle filling to a quarter with the clear liquid.

"How are you doing today? Is it a Wednesday?" Glancing up at him, she watched his reaction.

"No, I'm doing quite well," Cullen admitted, wanting to feel her in his arms again and hoping that was enough of an invitation.

But Lana's face fell and she glanced back at the bottle, "Oh."

"What? You hoped I'd be in a bad state?" he shook his head.

"No, no," Lana shot up, then grimaced, "Well, I...that sounded bad, but I meant kind of. Because..." picking up the clear bottle, she held the liquid near Cullen's nose, "I wanted to test what I made."

"On me?"

"On your withdrawal symptoms," she smiled wide, waving the bottle closer. For his part, Cullen picked it up but watched it with a wary eye.

"You created an untested potion to help with lyrium poisoning?" He glanced down at the clear liquid, "Why isn't it red?"

"Health potions are only red because they cut in berries to mask the flavor. In reality, most potions are naturally clear. We color code them so it's easier to pick one out fast in a battle. No messy reading the label to make sure you don't accidentally dose yourself with a poison," she explained in an exasperated voice so quickly it told him she'd mentioned the fact often in her limited alchemical history.

"Where did you even get the idea for this?"

"That was easier than I expected," Lana said, gesturing at the piece of parchment she pinned to the wall. "I, at first, assumed I'd have to be chasing after current alchemical theories that weren't damaged or lost in the rebellion, but it turns out when the templar order was first created the chantry was concerned about lyrium addiction. They wanted to find a way to alleviate symptoms, having lost their better templars to the mental decay, and mages put some of their better minds to it."

"I'd never heard of that," Cullen mused.

"It took some digging on my part, and access to the restricted chantry library," Lana said, her head tipping back and forth. "Surprise, surprise once the chantry learned it could use the addictive nature of the lyrium to control templars they abandoned all research. Add on the mages growing chafed under their being treated as lap dogs and it was no wonder that the research fell into rot and decay. No one's aware of it; I only stumbled across it by accident."

Excited to show off her find, she pointed at a stack of books, "One of the old tomes I found made a vague reference to a lyrium potion. I assumed it was the one we use for drawing energy from the fade, of course, but it made mention of an herb that had no place in a lyrium draught. Those are lyrium and ethanol with a bit of castor oil for viscosity's sake, nothing more."

"Do not tell me, this herb was adder's hiss?" Cullen smirked, his eyes darting up to the plant that was already expanded past its pot and crawling along the ceiling.

Lana opened her mouth wide, then smiled, "Ah, no. That would be very dangerous, especially in such concentrated doses. It was the prophet's laurel, in fact. A rather humorous take, to think one of Andraste's own flowers could help heal a hurt done in Her name. It was easy acquiring some, southern Orlais is flush with it. My greater challenge was in finding the described glassware." She jerked her head at the piles of tubes, some of which he saw now she had to tie and tape in place.

"This is amazing," Cullen blinked.

"I wouldn't go that far. This was the early days, when templars only took lyrium under extreme need. We're talking about walking back from a few minor aches. Anything of significance will require more research, study, retooling of the methods..."

Her words trailed off as she watched him. Cullen ran his fingers across the words nailed to the wall. One half were in an ancient script, barely legible over the years and cramped. The other was all done in Lana's hand, her careful and manicured penmanship flowing around the page as she had yet another thought. The same hand he'd held in the deeproads, at Halamshiral, while storms raged through Skyhold, before Adamant, and as he pulled her out of that grey warden prison. The hand of a mage trying to save a templar.

"Cullen," she whispered, her fingers running up his shoulder.

Startled, he turned back to her. "Lana, I...I have no idea what to say."

"It's all right," she said. "It's the first step of many. An idea. We'll have to test it by and by, have controls and...Maker, I'll need to find access to other templars." Her musings faded as she smiled and shook her head. Cupping the bottle, she pulled it away from his fingers to place it back upon the table.

"Should I not take it?"

"No," Lana ran a finger over the glass before sticking a cork stopper deep into the neck, "no, it's best to save it for a bad turn. I doubt its effects will be noticeable until then. After that, we'll have to see."

"Love," he whispered, his voice caught in his throat. He wanted to tell her he loved her, that she was amazing beyond description and captured his soul all over again, but all of it smashed down into that compact, solitary word. Lana smiled at his fumble and she slipped her hands across his cheeks.

"My honey eyes," she sighed, tugging him down for a kiss. Cullen was happy to oblige, his hands wrapping around the small of her back. This time he focused to make certain he didn't unknot anything he shouldn't. His heart smiled at her tenacity as her tongue danced with his. Lana pushed her breasts tighter into his chest as she moaned in the back of her throat. About to break away for a breath, she paused herself. Gripping onto his biceps, she dug in for a moment before following them down behind her back to try and reach for his hands.

"You got my apron off," Lana said. He missed the smirk from a shallow regret climbing up his stomach, but it vanished at her next words, "What about the rest of it?"

The chill off the stones upon the wall did little to reach through her palms spread across it for support. Lana's body was an inferno bursting alive thanks to the man thrusting deeper inside her. She couldn't see him, but she knew those calluses cupping over and under her breasts as he steadied himself. Smelled that heady scent of his earthy sweat melded into the piquant musk that only sex could conjure. And was biting down a groan deep in her throat from how her entire lower half pulsed with pleasure; his magic and hers working in harmony.

"Dear Maker," Lana gasped, her hands flailing further apart to take the pressure. She sat on that cursed edge, begging for its end now in hopefully a spectacular fashion, but every time she almost reached it, a pain slithered up her legs. Feeling the flinch, Lana tried to shake it off before Cullen noticed, but of course he did.

"Do you need to stop?" he asked, each word broken up by a breath. Flames, his voice -- like wood crackling upon a bonfire -- lost in the depths of passion was almost enough to do her in.

Biting her lip and trying to turn her rising mana dump into healing instead of setting the room on fire, Lana shook her head madly. "Don't you fucking dare," she growled.

His voice breathed into her ear, tickling it awake as the warmth ran straight down through her core. "As you wish," he chuckled. Slowly, those indomitable fingers dropped off her breasts. She gasped at the pull upon them, now free to swing to their hearts content. Cullen gripped onto her hips and taking her weight into his hands, he thrusted far enough in to kick off her chain reaction.

"Maker's sake," Lana cried, her cracked fingernails digging into the mortar of the wall. Tremors pulsed from her vagina down her legs and up through her stomach. It was such a fast switch of pleasure claiming her body she wasn't certain if she was going to pass out or throw up.

Catching on that she came, no doubt from how tight she was constricting around his cock, Cullen growled deep in his throat. Tugging her hips upright, Lana had to adjust her stance to the very edge of the footstool. She felt herself start to wobble, the soles of her feet clinging to the cushions. It was worth it. The widening was enough for him to thrust all of himself inside of her with a veracity she'd thought unthinkable a month ago. His hips smacked into her ass, causing Lana to hang her head down and suck in air through her mouth. Her body was trying to ramp up for another round, but she doubted she'd survive it.

Knocking closer and closer to the wall with each rapid thrust, she prayed she wasn't about to slip and fall or put her head through the stones. Flames, at the level of pleasure rampaging through her body a slight concussion might be worth it. She thought he'd pop off fast, but Cullen wanted to go for both distance and speed. Pinching her finger and thumb together, Lana braced herself on the wall with one arm while rolling the vibrating spell against her clit. Or so she planned.

Her own strumming knocked Cullen free. Nails digging into the flesh on her hips, he stuttered something, his thrusting slowing. She could feel him pulsing from orgasm through not only herself but her fingers as well. Her body began to slide back from the abyss, in no mood for round two, when Cullen -- still in throes of his own pleasure -- skimmed his teeth across the skin of her shoulder and bit down.

"Andraste's Ass!" Lana cursed, the pain transforming into instant pleasure which opened up the floodgates anew. Spiraling into the warm abyss, Lana felt her body slump down when a hand clasped against her stomach. Even with his body exhausted beyond reach, Cullen kept her held tight to him. Dipping his hips down, he slid out of her and then wrapped both arms tight to hug her back.

"That..." Lana panted, shaking her head to try and reach the sense part of her brain. At the moment all of it was sparking in abject joy. "I forgot how good that felt."

"'The right side of pain,'" he quoted. His lips brushed against the back of her neck, for once in easy reach without her having to balance on tiptoes.

Chuckling, Lana's voice rasped, "Something like that. Did it..." she tried to glance at him over her shoulder but Cullen was hiding in the middle of her back. "Was it too strange for you?"

"No," hugging tight once more, he released his hold and slid back. Slowly Lana turned on the footstool to face him, while Cullen helped her maintain her balance. "I dare say I even enjoyed it."

"Really?" She was surprised. He'd been skeptical of the idea when she suggested it.

Shrugging, Cullen tried to wipe a hand through his matted curls but the sweat glistening across his body only smooshed them to the other side. "I suspect your reaction had much to do with it." Lana laughed at that, some of her blood finding its way up to rush to her cheeks. "Here," Cullen noticed her standing awkwardly on the footstool, "let me help you down."

Rather than offer a hand, he rolled his fingers across her back and dug each palm into an asscheek. She giggled madly as he lifted her higher into the air, barely able to palm her luscious backside. After placing her gently to the ground, Cullen's hands roamed upward, locking in tight around her waist to keep her weight.

Smiling, Lana reached both her arms out to snuggle her cheek against his chest when she paused and gasped, "Maker's breath, you're coated in sweat!"

"Imagine that," Cullen chuckled, swallowing to try and wash away the rasp in his voice. Lana didn't slide away from the sweat glistening across his chest, but she did slick some off before laying her head down. After cupping her shoulder, Cullen whispered near her ear, "It is all your doing; you have only yourself to blame."

"If so, then I do good work."

"The best," he sighed. They were being silly, it was the middle of the day, they were naked and standing beside the breakfast table where anyone could burst in on them. They should both dry off, clean up, and dress, but Lana wanted to melt into his arms. She felt a deep urge to spend the rest of winter hibernating on top of him.

Smiling wickedly, she glanced over at the footstool they'd kicked out of the sitting room. "I've never been able to do that standing before," she admitted, "the mechanics don't quite work out right." Lana tried to mime matching two joints together with an insurmountable height differential. Watching her, Cullen laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"A first then, for both of us."

"A good one," she said, then licked her finger and pretended to write something in the air, "I'm adding it to the list." After putting away her imaginary quill, Lana glanced down at the aid that made it all possible. "Do you think Leliana would mind if we sort of stole that footstool. It's the damn near perfect height..."

"Stole?" Cullen asked. "Do not tell me you intend to repeat that performance all across the Grand Cathedral. I fear the Mothers would have me walk the streets of Val Royeaux naked if they caught us."

"What about me?"

"You're the Divine's mistress, they're certain to go lenient on you."

Lana snorted at the idea, as if she wouldn't be boiled alive and her juices used to make a pudding for such an infraction. Sure, Leliana could use those rumors to her advantage but the moment anyone got a whiff of them being false, or worse -- assumed Lana's attentions turned elsewhere -- it would be a mess of epic proportions. People either marked her as Ferelden or those with a good ear, Marcher. The Divine's not-Orlesian mistress stepping out with a Ferelden man would probably mean war because Orlesians loved any excuse for it.

_Maker, why was everything in Val Royeaux so damn hard?_

"Lana," Cullen startled her from her thoughts, "I know we haven't spoken much of the future, of your plans, of even my plans, but..." he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is not the time, not while we're both unclothed and undone."

"Are you sure...?" she ran her fingers across his chest. Something in his tone struck her; there was an edge hiding below the easy banter.

"Yes," Cullen forced up a smile.

"You promise we can talk later," she began, worried that this might become like the Alistair issue and blow up in their faces if left alone too long.

"Of course, always. I," he paused and wrapped his arms tighter against her, as if he was suddenly afraid she might disappear on him. "I fear my mind is on other things at the moment."

"So I noticed," she smiled, her fingers drifting down his stomach to curl around his wet cock.

Sighing in his throat, Cullen pressed another kiss to her head, "And you are about ready to pass out. Don't argue, I can tell when I have nearly all your weight in my arms."

"Are you calling me fat?" she said in mock outrage, but he deftly dodged it.

Digging into her ass, Cullen lifted Lana up off the floor. She yelped in surprise before knotting her fingers behind his head. Pressing a kiss to her lips, Cullen carted her towards the bedroom. At the threshold he paused and whispered, "I love you, you know."

"I do," she stared deep into a cauldron of joy and anguish bobbing in his eyes. Lana wanted to examine both, but Cullen turned on his smile and lifted her onto the bed.

"Good."

## Chapter Twenty One

**Return**

**  
**

Water lapped against the boats clustered across the river, every mast tipping and waving as another gust of wind bobbed them along. Beside him, Lana pointed at something far in the distance, gesturing at a part of boats that she found interesting. Cullen's focus, however, zeroed in on her. Flush with excitement and being free of the Grand Cathedral's walls, Lana'd been smiling nearly the entire day. It certainly helped that the northern winds blew away the chill of winter, rising the temperatures to a light cloak comfortable range.

He'd feared after the fire that she'd prefer to remain sequestered safe behind chantry stone, yet Lana all but champed at the bit to get free and drug her feet when they had to return. Either she was beginning to go stir crazy or his own wandering needs were transferring to her. In his heart, Cullen knew he had to say something. He was free of the Inquisition, and it was time to move on to the next stage of his life. But what did that entail? Would she... Lana mentioned wanting to be with him, except where would that be? What would that lead to? Could either of them honestly retire? Leliana was correct, without a cause Lana was likely to spark from one idea to another until she burned out.

Then it was the question if now was the appropriate time to be discussing his future, her future. They didn't talk about it, but more than a few nights Cullen would wake to her cries in the darkness. Concerned, he'd wipe away her mana, the attack causing Lana to whimper but slip back to sleep. He hated it, hated having to drain her, to hurt her, but he feared what would happen if he didn't. What would she do if he wasn't there to stop it? He'd seen mages run amok, split in twain as a demon erupted from their skin, every spell at their disposal pouring from their fingers. And Lana, she wasn't just any mage, she was trained to be beyond the best. She was honed to twist her body and mind beyond its limits to take down armies. She had to be.

"You look a million miles away," her voice called to him. Shaking his head, he turned away from the bobbing boats. Lightly, Lana traced her finger across his forehead, curling up a free hair that'd been tickling his skin.

"I was contemplating the boats," Cullen said, his eyes darting down to the ground.

Pursing her lips, she cocked a single fist onto her hip, "Right, then what's a schooner?"

"A type of pastry," he threw out, "only eaten during the middle of the day."

Lana chuckled, her hand curling up over her stomach as she bundled it warmer into her coat. Her other hand gripped tight to the cane, while Honor took up guard watching it. Neither of them were certain why she decided it was her job, but it seemed to make the mabari happy when there was no food to pilfer or children to play with.

After shaking her head, Lana turned back to gaze out at the river. "I like being on water," she said, her eyes trailing a small rowboat crossing under the bridge they sight-saw upon. Three people crowded inside it while only one worked the oars. The other two were having an involved discussion about the quickest route to Antiva, loudly enough anyone a good mile away could hear.

Cullen settled in beside her, his fingers gripping onto the railing. "Oh?"

"It feels like home, I suppose," she said. Nearly fifteen years she lived inside that tower surrounded by a lake, sequestered from the rest of civilization for the sake of the people inside, for the safety of the people on the outside. Taking the boat on and off the island was a slog, requiring such red tape most templars didn't bother. And yet Kirkwall, with ships constantly passing too and fro through the locks was ten times worse.

"That's probably why I hate being on water," Cullen whispered aloud.

"I didn't...I'm," Lana started, her fingers pressed to her lips to hide her frown.

Cullen screwed up his nose at his slip, "You did nothing. I'm not made of glass. I can mention the circles, talk about them. To some extent."

"So you'd rather live somewhere landlocked?" she said, trying to switch the subject.

"And you prefer a seaside resort. I'm certain the Divine has access to a few of those," he tried to play it off with a smile and a shrug of his shoulder but Cullen felt the words trip and plummet to the ground.

"What's been bothering you?" Lana asked, turning her back to the water. Her eternal eyes honed in on him, darting across his face as she reached out for his hand. "You said you'd tell me, remember. Promised."

"I..." he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose I did." He knew he had to talk to her about this, but by the Maker did it have to be now while surrounded by curious Orlesians? Lana loved him, he knew that, but...but what if that wasn't enough? While he could serve out his time as some diplomat for the chantry or another fancy do-nothing position the Inquisition dreamed up, Cullen knew in his heart he wouldn't. For the first time in his life he was free of a yoke he shackled on himself at thirteen. He could go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wished and the single fact reverberating through his mind was that this wasn't where he belonged. Orlais was not his home, and it never would be, but what of Lana?

Would she want to return to the Free Marches? It was her birthplace. What would they think of him, the Knight-Captain who let his Knight-Commander destroy the circle. Ferelden had been Lana's home country as well, perhaps more than any other. Would she want to set up roots in Denerim? Maker, could he deal with having Alistair that near at all times? Or there was Amaranthine itself? Would she and the king work some noble magic to install her once again as an Arlessa? In all that where would it leave Cullen?

These thoughts were what kept him up at night, when he wasn't worrying about Lana, about her magic, about the chantry, about the veil, about the state of thedas, and just general background worries. He knew he was working himself up into a lather, that a single conversation with her would solve it all, but...

What if she chose something he could not follow? By the Maker, how could he live with himself if he gave her up, if he walked away?

"Cullen," Lana spoke, breaking him from his internal torment. She reached her arm around his back and tugged him closer. Shuffling on his feet, he wrapped his hands around her for a tight embrace. Placing a kiss to her forehead, he heard a sigh rattle in her throat.

"I don't want things to linger between us, to get out of control," Lana explained. Her eyes darted up to his and she winced, "I'm still trying to figure all this relationship stuff out."

"Me too," he smiled, bumping his nose against hers.

"You can talk to me, and we'll figure it out. Whatever it is. I promise," her hopeful eyes gazed up at him, begging to release whatever catch he put on his tongue.

Maker's breath, he was being foolish. Cupping her cheek, he kissed her. "You're right. I...I've been thinking--"

"Commander!"

Without releasing his hold on Lana, Cullen glanced over his shoulder to look for the voice. A young man pumped his hand through the air as if he was trying to snag a carriage. Smiling brighter than seemed possible, the man hurried up his step and, as the afternoon sun lit up his features, recognition rose. "Lieutenant Darby?" Cullen stuttered.

"We've been trolling up and down this blighted city in hopes of spotting you, Sir!" Darby paused before them. If one could somehow transfer a pup into the body of a twenty something fair skinned, fair haired, and fair eyed man you'd have Darby. Over exuberant, impossible to sting, and friend to all he met, he was beyond memorable in his years serving the Inquisition. It's hard to forget someone who began, of all things, as a piss boy to a dead master who plucked up a sword and ran head long into the army.

"Hoping to spot me?" Cullen struggled quickly to keep up, "Wait, what we?"

"Ah, coursen that's me, forgettin' my own foot in places." Spinning around Darby waved behind him and shouted, "Eh! Fellas! I found 'im afor the rest of you!" The chipper Ferelden's cries rung across every mast and brass fixture in the area causing three more heads to rise from the crowd and begin to slide towards them.

Sporting the infectious grin that never left, Darby jabbed a thumb at Lana, "Seein' you ain't alone, neither."

_Flames!_ Cullen felt a blush struggle to race up his skin as he realized he had his hand cupped against Lana's cheek. He tried to un-awkwardly remove his hand and slide away from her without making it look like he did it on purpose. Darby, in his fashion, either didn't catch on or didn't care.

Extending a hand to Lana, he smiled, "Nice to be making your pleasure, Miss...Or, is it Mrs.? Hopin' it ain't the last one or I'll be, oops, gettin' you into a bit of trouble on my own--"

"It's Lana," she interrupted Darby's tripping tongue as the rest of the pack arrived. Sure enough, Cullen recognized some of his close circle soldiers, a few of the lieutenants who kept track of their various battalions, the dwarven captain who ran between him and the other advisors, and...

A dreadful lump lodged in Cullen's throat as his eyes landed upon the woman with her braided hair tossed over her shoulder. "Addley," he said, trying to shake off the squeak.

Her eyes darted over to Lana for a moment, down the nearness of how her hands rested within reaching distance of Cullen, and then focused fully upon him, "Commander."

"The way I hear it, that title's been passed on to you. Rightly so, I'd add," he tipped his head to her. Addley's face flickered for a moment before she smiled, bowing her own head.

"I'm happy to try and live up to what you began, Ser." The burn increased from the way she smiled at him, a familiar one Addley would flash during meetings or the few downtimes they shared after.

"An' she's doing a right bang up job at it too," Darby inserted himself, slugging into the dwarven captain's shoulder. She sighed but laughed at the eternal pup's enthusiasm. "Sometimes more bang than not given what happened with the Avar."

"The Avar? But I'd thought we'd brokered a truce with them..." Cullen began, stepping right back into his old boots. Guilt of a different kind rose up through his stomach and he glanced over at Lana. She'd thrown on a patient smile, but her eyes kept darting over the faces trying to see if any would recognize her for who she truly was.

"Oh, aye aye, it ain't like that. Well, not entirely like it, but seein' how..."

"What the lieutenant is driving at is there was a small scuffle between one of their warriors and an Inquisition soldier, but the matter was solved," Addley interrupted.

"Yup, all done up shiny and quick. The weddin' was lovely too, lots of axe throwings over the happy couple."

"Axe throwings...wedding? Whose wedding?" Cullen shook his head, struggling to find any sense. He hated to admit it, but every time he reconnected with someone from the Inquisition he felt put off by all that he'd missed. Life kept on whether he was at the helm or not.

"It was Lyle and..." Addley began before sighing, "I'm afraid the story takes some time to tell properly."

"There were about a dozen giants involved at one point," the dwarven woman, Binla, spoke up.

"And a lake of mead!" Darby waved his hand through the air to try and conjure it up.

Cullen stampeded in the middle of it, "The giants were in a lake of mead?"

"Nah, nah, twas at the weddin'. Shame you missed it," his eyes wandered away from the Commander to Lana beside him. "Course, we may be getting an encore..."

"I heard nothing about this from the Inquisitor, or any of the others I met with," Cullen mused, complaining under his breath. He glared at the ground, not mad at any of his people but the trickle of time itself, when he felt a hand slide against his.

Turning, he spotted Lana, a whisper of a smile upon her lips, "You have plenty of time to catch up with them. Go on, have a drink, talk, carouse."

Ignoring the mob of soldiers -- his soldiers -- beside him, Cullen turned his full focus on Lana, "Are you certain? I wouldn't wish to put you out..."

Reaching over, Lana cupped his cheek before dragging her thumb across his lip and down the scar. She leaned closer to him to whisper, "I know what it means to check back in with old friends and those who shared with me. Besides," Lana slid away and raised her voice, "there's all of Val Royeaux to keep me entertained. I will be beyond busy."

Cullen wished he could tear himself in two, send one half off with his soldiers to speak of the old times and the new, while the other stood wrapped around Lana watching the ships list in the waves and plan for their future. He curled his fingers around hers, struggling to find a way to explain it, when her thumb rubbed against the back of his hand. The move was enough to shore up his heart. Smiling, he bumped his forehead into hers and whispered, "Very well, but take it easy."

Nodding at his request, Lana mouthed, "You worry too much."

"It's what I'm best at," he answered back in kind. Breaking away from her, Cullen glanced down at the dog sitting in rapt attention. "Honor, protect your mistress." Barking a few times, the mabari rose to her legs and slipped beside Lana, waiting for the woman to pet her head.

Sliding her cane under her, Lana brushed a few fingers over Honor's head before smiling at the crew. "It was a pleasure meeting you." They in turn nodded at her, doing their best to try and not gape at this unknown woman in Cullen's life. Glancing over at him, Lana gave one last order, "Cullen, I trust we can rendezvous later at Honor's bakery." He nodded, happy to sweep her up later.

She began to limp away, but turned and called at him, "And for the love of the Maker, do have fun."

The soldiers waited until Lana was around the corner, all of them standing at rapt attention. Of course it was Darby who broke the silence, "Well, that answers that."

"Answers what?" Cullen interrupted, worried that they'd all recognized Lana. He could swear them to secrecy but the fewer people who knew a secret the longer it kept.

Darby banged his fists together, "We been scratching our heads tryin' to figure out what was mighty enough to keep you from us. Now I gets it. Hey," he spun around to face down the rest of the crew, "who had that in the pool?"

"What pool?" Cullen tried to barge in as the rest of the soldiers fell to whispers.

Addley shouldered past the group forming an envious wall to keep their old commander out as they debated the winner's identity of their betting game against him. "Commander, I see Orlais hasn't fully ruined you," she smiled, tipping her head.

He felt foolish for feeling foolish. They'd never done more than exchange a few sentences here and there outside of work, played a handful of friendly chess games. But Cullen swallowed at Addley's not quite pained look skipping past his shoulder to where Lana turned a corner. Digging into his neck, he shrugged, "Given the change, perhaps it's best if you call me Cullen now. That goes for all of you."

The chittering about this pool and who won it paused as every eye darted over their once Commander, then back to the new one. Addley tugged at the end of her braid and lifted on her toes, "That will require some adjusting, I fear."

"Don't I know how that goes," he chuckled and the laugh darted through each of the soldiers sliding to ease at their old commander folding back in with them.

Addley smiled over her soldiers, and then slipped on the commanding presence she rarely wore outside of work, "People, we are thirsty and need to find ourselves a dark, dank, hole in the wall to invade for the next few hours. I'm talking the kind of place that'd give your mother a black eye for walking into it. You have your orders." Clapping and some half hearted hurrahs broke from the group followed by suggestions for the filthiest pubs and taverns they knew in Val Royeaux. Moving like a phalanx about to take the field, the soldiers fanned out into the streets taking their Commander's orders as seriously as any given out during war.

Smiling at them, Addley paused beside Cullen. "You're doing great with them," he praised her.

"I..." her crisp eyes darted up to his face before she turned back to watch them. It had to be his imagination that a flush broke over her cheeks. He put her in charge of the insurmountable often, from Kirkwall to the Inquisition itself. Picking up the pieces after the Inquisition changed hands to the Divine seemed a natural fit for her.

"Ser," Addley stuck out her hand and Cullen took it. "I'm glad that you've found happiness."

"Ah," any guilt in his system at abandoning them vanished, "thank you...Commander." That drew a bright smile to Addley's cheeks.

Dropping his hand, she turned back to her soldiers. "Shall we? I should warn you, Darby's discovered Diamond Back."

"Delightful," Cullen murmured, happily worming back in with the old group - at least for a few hours. When the tales were spun, the drink topped off, the no doubt naked Darby fished out of a well, he had Lana to return to and a future bright enough to seem unimaginable.

Shouting with enough fury half of Val Royeaux had to hear, Darby turned to Binla, "Are we not supposed to talk about the ol' Commander's little girlfriend?"

"Ancestor's right thumb, Darby," she groaned, shoving into his shoulder.

"What? She's pretty. Shorter than I'd have expected. I'd think the ol' Commander woulda gone for someone big 'n' strapping like the Seeker. Looked kinda familiar too."

"Do you ever shut up?"

She was happy to let him spend time with his soldiers. Maker knew there were moments at night Lana wished she could speak with her wardens again. To laugh at the same old inside jokes, fall into the familiar patterns, and... Lana shook her head, trying to wipe away the sting clinging to her brain. Every memory of her wardens was clouded by what happened to Nathaniel, to all of them at Adamant and beyond. There was nothing Lana could do that would make up for how she failed them, how she failed herself.

Honor barked and dropped a soggy ball at Lana's feet. The mabari pulled her from her maudlin memories back into the present where a dog waited for someone to throw the 'borrowed' yarn ball already. Sighing at the slobber soaked into the brown yarn, Lana picked it up and tossed the ball across the street. It skittered against an awning, bounding off a few tables in the distance where Orlesians sneered at the sight. When a good 70 pound mabari pummeled past their legs, knocking over empty chairs in pursuit of the ball, they all leapt away. Perhaps she should have felt bad to disrupt their lunch but the Ferelden part of her secretly laughed whenever Honor barreled through instead of around.

Maker, maybe she was spending too much time with Cullen.

"Excuse me, my Lady..."

Lana turned away from Honor, who was now trying to lap her ball out of the fountain, to find Detan standing behind her seat on the bench. The elf looked frazzled, her normally pinned and coifed hair splintered into tendrils. "Funny running into you here," Lana began, but the elf didn't focus on her. Detan's eyes kept dancing through all the denizens of the plaza as if hunting for someone specific.

"Do you, if you are of a mind to share, happen to know the location of the Commander?" Detan pivoted back and forth on her shoes, the end of her sentence almost fading away. It was as if she didn't even want to ask the question.

"I'm afraid not precisely, no," Lana admitted. "He met up with some of the soldiers from the Inquisition and they are more than likely heels up at one of the seedier pubs in Val Royeaux. As seedy as one gets here, anyway."

"He is not alone, I..." Detan blinked rapidly and swallowed. Bounding with all the happy force of a freed mabari, Honor skidded across the cobblestones to plop her ball in Lana's lap. "You have the dog with you," Detan narrated as Lana plucked the ball up with her bare fingers.

"Yes," Lana hurled it away from the people and down an alley while Honor renewed her chase, "he seemed to think I required an escort." She smiled at the mabari's exuberance before turning to Detan, "Is there something you need?"

"I...am, um," she bounced her hands that clung to piles of parchment but no clipboard, "have a few letters and other correspondence for the Commander to read. He will meet up with you later, then?"

"Most likely," Lana said.

"Do you know when?"

Lana shook her head slowly, "If these are a matter of grave importance, you could leave the documents with me. I'll get them to him." She reached out for the papers, when Detan reared back.

"No, they are...it is not vital they be attended to at the moment. I merely...spotted you and thought the Commander would be nearby. As that is not the case I shall return them to the office for later."

"Are you certain?" Lana asked, "If you're worried it'll get you into trouble I can cover for you. It's my fault he's wandered off, sort of."

"Cover for..." Detan's lips parted and she stared slack jawed at Lana as if she'd never seen the woman before. The moment passed instantly and she shook her head, "No, no, I require no covering. It is not a matter to concern yourself with. I...thank you for your time, my Lady." She bowed her head deep with that.

Lana began to rise from her seat so she could turn and ask if something was wrong, when a clattering and a scream echoed from the alley. Running without a care in the world came Honor around the corner. As she skidded to a stop beside Lana, she plopped what was clearly not a yarn ball in her lap. "Honor..." Lana began, lifting the dog's gift up to her face. "Return this hat to whomever you stole it from." Barking as if it was all part of the game, Honor's teeth bit into the brim and she scampered away, her tail proudly wagging.

After laughing at the dog's antics, Lana turned to resume her conversation with Detan, but the elf vanished. Mentally, Lana made a note to mention her erratic behavior to Cullen. He spent more time with her, perhaps he knew if she was having family or personal issues.

"You stupid dog!" cried out in Orlesian, a man in a soggy hat shaking his fist and trying to chase after the mabari returning to her mistress.

As Honor skidded to a stop before her, Lana sighed. "I suppose it's time we moved on. Silly girl."

## Chapter Twenty Two

**Ice**

**  
**

After walking some of the market while watching Honor draw many into her charming web, Lana spent the rest of the afternoon waiting at the bakery. Her baker friend was busy for most of the day, but he'd take a few moments here and there to thrust some new treat upon both mage and mabari with a wink and an insistence they tell him if it passed. Of course Honor approved of anything short of a five day old dead rat - and even that was optional - while Lana's palate was about as sophisticated as a finger painting. She couldn't tell the difference between a pork medallion covered in truffle scrapings verses pork butt smothered in mushroom gravy. It was all good as far as her never ending appetite was concerned.

Having nearly eaten the poor baker out of all of the remnants of his stall, the day was lengthening towards the fall of the sun when Cullen stumbled around the corner. Smiling up at him, Lana set aside the dog eared book Honor pilfered for her, "Finished already?"

Cullen tipped his head, his cheeks rosier than when she left him. Sliding in beside her, he moved to plop a hand onto the table for leverage but missed. Lana grabbed onto him before his miscalculation caused his chin to smack into the wrought iron. Laughing while hoisting him up, Lana said, "I'm guessing there were more than a few pints consumed."

"You could..." he shook his head, trying to clear the no doubt happy blue birds circling it, "something like that. Turns out there's an Orlesian whiskey that's far too smooth for the kick you get about ten minutes later."

"Oh dear." Lana'd never seen Cullen drink much. There was the bit here and there with dinner and after, of course, but he wasn't the type to snatch up a bottle and race to see who could finish it first. The poor man seemed ill prepared for the effects of whatever did him in, though the happy smile plastered upon his cheeks lifted her spirits without requiring any alcohol.

"It's...what was it called?" Cullen staggered back up, his hand absently reaching for a sword hilt that hadn't been upon his hip in over three months. "Petite Morte?"

"I, uh," Lana caught the curious glances turning towards the inebriated man who bellowed those words through the crowd, "I rather doubt that was it."

"Why?" his questioning face was so achingly naive, she didn't have the heart to explain.

"Just a thought," Lana began to reach for her cane, when she shook her head. "I'm not certain I can help guide you and myself back to the Cathedral."

"It's not an issue," Cullen tried to dismiss her concerns away and nearly stumbled backwards into a stationary chair. "I have it perfectly over control."

Stifling a laugh as the fearsome Commander turned upon the threatening chair and waved his brave fist at it, Lana slid forward and grabbed his slack one still struggling to find that missing hilt. "Regardless, allow me to help." Barely threading apart the veil, Lana slipped a small sobriety spell into his veins. Not enough to dampen the buzz he worked valiantly to achieve, but it cleared away most of the motor function issues.

Gasping as if he broke the ice diving into a freezing river, Cullen twisted his head while clarity rose in his mind. With a better control of his limbs, he stood up high and gazed about at the Orlesians curious into the drunk man's going ons. "By the void," he cursed.

"Sorry," Lana said, lifting her cane up and rising to her feet, "but I doubt I could literally drag you home and I feared you were about to reach that stage."

"No, no," Cullen worried the palms of his hands against his eyes, scrubbing them clean to face the real world, "it was appreciated. I'm...I cannot believe I let myself reach such a state of--"

Lana ran her fingers over his arm and gripped tight, "You were having fun, with your people. It's allowed."

"Not as the Commander...which I'm no longer," he smiled. "That will--"

"Take some adjusting, I know," Lana patted his cheek, fluffing up the hairs that could technically be called a beard. "Aside from seeing who would catch the nug king first, how was your visit?"

Cullen took some of her weight in their joined arms, so Lana only had to rely partially upon her cane. Trotting beside them was Honor, for once without her nose buried in the ground. Val Royeaux drifted off towards its dinner hour, the streets clearing of horses and most of the personable people. Soon it'd be the riffraff, trolling the night for their own fun in whatever form that took. But for now between night and day, it was peaceful, calm. A perfect ending to a long day.

While Lana guided them towards the Cathedral, Cullen regaled her with the stories from people she'd never met about lives she'd missed out on. She smiled and gasped or laughed when appropriate but had little to add. Regardless, it was nice to see him happy, relaxed. Cullen did his best to pretend when nothing was bothering him, no doubt out of fear that in her weakened state she couldn't handle it, but his avoiding the problem only made her grow more anxious. He'd been worrying holes in priceless rugs with pacing and pitting stone floors without noticing lately. In her heart, Lana wondered if he wasn't regretting his choice to turn over the keys as it were. But after having spoken with this Addley who took his place and the rest of their crew, he seemed more at ease than she'd seen in a long time, perhaps ever.

"Commander Addley and you seem to get on well," Lana said, realizing a silence fell after Cullen finished another of his stories.

"Ah, uh, you did? I mean, I suppose so, we've known each other since...she served in Kirkwall."

"And followed you to the Inquisition?" Lana asked. They'd limped their way away from the main thoroughfare down one of the windier streets, no doubt first laid by cattle driven to market. Now it was cobbled though they were chipping and pitted, with houses looming above them high enough to shadow all who walked it.

"Yes, I guess, we...she, I mean was loyal. Very loyal," a blush rose up Cullen's cheeks, his eyes darting around the sagging roofs festooned with laundry to dry in the northern winds.

Lana paused in her steps and turned to face him. Slowing his own steps, Cullen didn't glance down at her, but he did gulp a bit more. "Of course she is, she's yours."

"She...what? My what?"

"They all are, your people," Lana smiled, cupping his cheek. Cullen's wandering eyes snapped down to hers and a grateful laugh echoed in his throat. Sliding up on her toes, Lana whispered, "It's not hard to see why people would be fiercely loyal to you." Holding to his cheek for balance, she pressed her lips to his, tasting the remnants of this petite mort or whatever it was actually called. Sweeter than mead, Lana didn't taste the burn until she slid back from Cullen.

Butting his forehead into hers, he sighed, "You're the only one I want to be fiercely loyal to me now..." A panic lifted his eyebrows and he rose away, "That, uh, sounded better in my head."

Unable to stop her chuckle, Lana patted him on the hand, "Yes it did, but it's still sweet. What is it, Honor?"

Their dog paused in walking to plop on the ground. Her teeth gnawed up and down her foot not in the usual scratching way but as if something was bothering her. A whimper rolled through her nervous biting, and Cullen slipped free of Lana's hand to inspect it. "What's the matter girl? Step on something?"

In a moment's breath, Cullen dropped to a knee to help his dog when an arrow flitted through the air. It shattered apart against the cobblestones. If he'd been standing it would have embedded into his skull.

"What the...?" was as far as Cullen got, rising up to a sure footed position.

Instinctively, Lana yanked apart the veil and a barrier rose to cover all three of them. It locked in place just as another assassin's arrow flew through the shadowed air. Lana jerked her head back as she stared down the shaft that'd been aimed for her eye, now hanging suspended in the air. Yanking it in his hands, Cullen growled through the night air, "Archers along the walls!" Snapping the shaft in his fist, he threw it aside and moved to unearth a blade that wasn't at his side.

Footsteps echoed down the alley and from the rooftops, no doubt where archers were stationed. _Well good luck piercing this barrier._ Lana trailed her fingers through the fade reenforcing it, but that wasn't all. Rolling deeper than she'd dared reach since leaving the fade, Lana threaded a spell across her fingers in preparation.

Hissing backwards, Lana reacted when another arrow embedded into her barrier. As mana poured through her body into the world, the arrows caught ablaze charring to ash before they vanished on the wind. "They're coming from ahead of us," Cullen called, gesturing down the alley.

Atop the roofs, the sun crested from the clouds just in time to lance upon one of the archers drawing back the bow for another shot. Barely twisting her hand, Lana drew upon the frost that never left her side. She need not give any actual movements in real life to complete the spell, but with the archer's eagle eyes beaming down on her, the mage lifted her hand up and a spear of ice lanced up off the roof, impaling through the archer's chest and piercing out the neck. Blood gushed down the crystal clear ice, slowly melting it to free the twitching body, but it need not bother. Lana yanked it back, drawing the power through her to lance another against the second archer. This one was quicker than her contemporary and darted backwards from the attack, flipping in the air.

Too bad she forgot to account for the slick roof. Lana washed her hands down, coating the roof in ice and the not so sure footed assassin fell. Her head knocked against it before the rest of her body tumbled off the three foot story building to land like a rag doll on the ground. Both archers dead before they had time to even break through the first level of her barrier. Some assassins...

"Lana!"

Cullen shoved her away as a sword sliced towards her head. He had no weapon nor shield to defend with, but he faced off against the armed man, the assassin's face obscured by a rag knotted against his mouth. Whoever he was, he wasn't well trained, as he heaved his long sword too far forward, throwing off the balance. Cullen drew back a fist and pounded against the guy's jaw. His head snapped back, the kerchief flying up and half blinding him, but in his shock he snapped the sword up and it bit into Cullen's arm.

Blood splattered through the dirt, Cullen rearing back to avoid the mad swings of the man. "Drop down!" Lana screamed. Cullen didn't pause, only tumbled to the dirt without a second thought as fire of a thousand degrees spurted from her fingers over top of him. Every loss, every pang, all of her self hatred burned through her body into the man screaming as the mage immolated him alive. His shrieks echoed through the narrow alley, the assassin begging for anyone to save him, but it was over before it barely began. Charred to a crisp like fat dropped into the fire, the man's body slumped down and tumbled backwards, the blackened skin sticking to the wet cobbles.

Lana shook off her flames, drawing as much mana back into herself as she could before limping over to Cullen. Grabbing onto his arm, she spotted blood welling up over his tunic, the one without any armor under it because for the love of the Maker, they shouldn't need it. Not anymore!

"It's bleeding, but not life threatening. I can heal it..." Lana said, dragging her fingers over his arm. Cullen nodded, gritting his teeth when both of them turned from his wound to look down the alley.

Walking towards them dead center as if he owned all of Orlais was a man dressed in ill fitting armor. The pieces looked like they were all swiped from a different set, gaps evident where they should have been covered by chainmail. But what caused Lana's mouth to dry was the emblem someone took the time to paint across his chest - the sword of mercy surrounded by flames. The templar symbol. Folding out of the doors came another three people, two of them women, the last impossible to tell. Two carried bows aimed at them, while the last...oh Maker, had a staff.

Cullen sneered and reached for the charred man's sword, but Lana yanked his hand back. "It's too hot," she whispered, eyeing up the hilt of the sword that warped and melted from her fire.

Growling at that fact, Cullen parted his hands. "I'm unarmed, what am I to do?" She gripped onto his shoulder, then darted her eyes around hoping a solution would present itself.

"I'm afraid it had to come to this," the false templar said, striding closer towards them. Lana redoubled her barriers, but despite the notched arrows none of the others moved to advance.

"What do you want?" Cullen shouted. He glanced over at an unattended sweeping cart and imperceptibly began to slide towards it. _What was he doing?_

The false templar paused within hissing distance to them. He was young, perhaps the same age Lana was when she became a Warden, with features far too large for his face. Features he had yet to grow into. Chuckling under his breath, the man shook his head slowly. He gripped onto the sword barely notched against his thin hips and drew it free. The blade glimmered by the sun's setting rays.

"It won't matter to you what I want. Kill the Commander and his pet mage."

Every man and woman behind him screamed, a primal feral roar that they no doubt practiced to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies. But they weren't taking down random street merchants struggling to make a living. Lana growled at their attempt and, digging into her reserves, she threw up a barrier that could stop a trebuchet. The first round of arrows bounced harmlessly off it, scattering at their feet.

"What else ya got?" she jeered, trying to drag them out and throw them off. Glaring at the set, she dared both to make a move, when an archer drew her arrowhead across the ground and launched it quick. _Shit!_ Lana didn't have time to think; drawing back her hand, she flung a fireball at it fast. The arrow exploded harmlessly in the air, shrapnel raining down through the clouds. Glancing at each other once, both archers lined up more of the exploding shots, attempting to fire together.

"Cullen..." Lana called. He had to know she couldn't both defend them and attack at the same time.

Still chuckling as if the world was his by right, the false templar strode forward towards the mage with her eyes upon the sky. Lana was flinging every fireball she could at the arrows, popping them off one by one, but if she missed just one it could be the end. _How many of those blighted things were there?!_ She didn't watch the man walking towards her, the one with the sword aiming for her chest with plans to cut her down for no good reason.

The man drew back his sword, a prayer of all things dripping from his lips, and he drove it forward when Cullen caught the blade against the handle of a broom. The cheap steel skidded off the thicker wood, slicing it up, but Cullen kept hold of his makeshift weapon. He must have grabbed it out of the street cleaner's pile. Slotted against his arm was a bucket which he used to fend off the templar's next attack. Lana had to trust him to manage it, she had the rest of the company to take down.

"Honor!" Lana ordered to their mabari who'd stood at attention, "kill."

Once the word slipped from her lips, Honor bounded towards the templar. She tried to bite through his cheap armor while Cullen attacked from the front, leaving Lana with the archers first. Twisting her head, she drew up from deep inside of her an old spell that few mages knew any longer. Certainly not the kind to go throwing around at a moment's notice.

Parting her hands, she squeezed out the mana from her veins and a rain of hellfire thundered from the heavens to splatter against the archers. They dodged the first few, but Lana increased the tempo. She could hear their own explosives popping off from the extreme heat, flames dancing off the no longer wet cobblestones, while smoke buffeted through the alley. Blinding and stinging her eyes, Lana couldn't see her victims through the black haze as more of her fireballs caught upon the streets themselves. But there was no way anyone could walk away from that much power. It was like walking through a volcano itself. She caught sight of a fireball lighting up the roof of a house and directed her fade energy to put it out, when an arrow flitted inches above her head.

_No!_

Lana dodged down and redoubled her barrier. Another two arrows flew where she'd been before sticking in the air and both archers leapt out of the smoke. Ash stained, but otherwise unharmed, they aimed anew at both the mage and the man fighting off their leader. _How was that possible? How did they know to be prepared against fire?_ Instinctively, Lana reached back to find her ice but she faltered. _If they were resistant to fire, then would they be against ice as well?_

Stepping forward, Lana knew one spell in her repertoire none of them could stop. Drawing not from the primal fade but the darkness in her heart and the depths of her mind she feared to touch, Lana poured the eternal despair into the first archer. The woman's bow dropped from trembling fingers and she crumpled up as if the hand of the Maker himself squashed her like a gnat.

The second archer cried out for the first, but before she thought to turn on Lana, the same wall of death hit her. A horrific scream erupted from the second's throat, as she doubled up in agony. As energy drained from her body, Lana sagged against her cane, clinging tight to keep upright, but she had to keep going. The archers were down but not out. Summoning the force of nature itself, Lana lifted up her hands and drove them down. A sickening crunch echoed through the alley, drawing all attention to the two mutilated bodies, shattered bones splintering through skin and muscle, broken beyond repair. Blood, so much blood ran through the streets.

Lana staggered over, exhaustion curling up her legs as she surveyed the remainders. Using his broom as a staff, Cullen caught the false templar's swings well, deflecting each with it or the bucket. Honor leapt back and forth, mostly getting in the way, but distracting the templar enough he couldn't get in a proper thrust. When the mabari bit deep into his back leg, the man screamed, throwing his arm up, which was when Cullen barreled into him with his shoulder. The thin templar flew backwards, landing flat on his back while Honor hopped out of the way.

Cullen wiped blood off his cheek, his eyes narrowing upon the leader scurrying to get away. Nodding once at Lana, Cullen moved to finish the job when his steps faltered. He shook his head as if in pain, the bucket clattering first from his fingers followed by the broom. Making one step, he surged forward until his entire body crashed to the ground.

"No!" Lana tried to run forward to him, but she could at best hobble. _What happened? What could have...?_ In the distance she spotted the mage whipping away his hands. "Honor," she caught the mabari's attention before pointing at the man in robes, "kill that one." Bounding towards the man, the mage tried to throw every skill it had at the dog, but Lana reenforced a barrier and resistance upon the mabari. She watched while Honor leaped off the ground, jaws snarling as seventy pounds of pure muscle flattened the man to the earth. Teeth ripped into everything it could find, robes offering very little to stop that unbridled power.

Lana was so engrossed in helping Honor, she barely had time to notice the sword glittering towards her. Twisting her body, Lana lifted up her staff and fired a bolt of energy at the false templar. Except, it wasn't a staff, it was her cane. Fire burst from the end, charring over the man and sending him flailing back a moment, but canes weren't designed to hold that kind of power. The entire stick exploded into splinters, wood splattering through the air embedding slivers into Lana's hands and arms.

Without the balance, she tumbled forward onto her knees, pain jarring up her body and rattling her teeth. Blood dripped from her hands and down her arms where what was once her cane bit into her skin. Slowly, the false templar stepped closer to her, his sword extended down towards her beaten body. "All that effort," he tutted as if he had the upper hand, "and for what?"

Lana glanced over at Cullen laying behind her. He wasn't moving but she caught the shallow rise of his chest. _Thank the Maker for that. There was still time._ Turning back to the man, she glared up at him towering above her. He snickered at that, "Do not tell me you think you will still win. You can't even rise off the ground." Drawing his sword back, the man aimed for her head, "Foolish little mage, you weren't even supposed to be here."

He sliced his sword through the air with all the power in his ropey arms, but an inch away from striking Lana's skin it paused, hanging in the void as if it shattered into an invisible wall and stuck. Slowly, she lifted the edge of her lip up and chuckled a mirthless dirge at him. Paralyzed from the tips of his hair down to his puny toes, all the man could do was gaze forever at the woman slowly killing him. Knotting her fingers together as if in prayer, Lana rolled her final spell sending the man into spasms as she unleashed crushing prison upon him knotting up every organ in his body. It wouldn't kill him, but he'd wish it would.

Watching to make certain he was near death but not at it, Lana yanked her magic away. The false templar crumpled into a heap on the ground. She tried to reach to disarm him, but her spent and useless body refused to rise. "Honor, fetch his sword," she ordered. The bloody mabari trotted over and picked up the blade in her teeth, her stump of a tail twitching.

Satisfied that he wasn't about to cause any trouble, Lana turned back to Cullen, every healing spell at her disposal dripping from her fingers. She crawled along the dirty and blood stained ground, unable to move any other way, but needing to touch him to know he was okay. Almost gracing across his hand, a whistle blew from the end of the alley.

"Stop, in the name of the Empress!"

_No, she had to heal him..._

Lana ignored the order, reaching to feel for a pulse, to watch his breathing, when an armored glove wrapped around her thin wrist and yanked back. Shrieking in pain, Lana's body rolled forward to the dirt and the guard pushed down upon her back, digging her chest tighter to the stone.

"Shit, that's the Commander of the Inquisition!"

"No..." Lana gasped, "stop, let me help him." Her cries went ignored, the breath barely making it past her lips. Fingers dug into her limp body and yanked her up off the ground.

"What do we do?"

"Get a damn healer over here for him. Last thing we need is losing one of them on our watch."

"Honor," Lana wheezed, glancing over at the mabari trying to trail after the woman being dragged through the streets, "guard Cullen." The mabari paused, no doubt torn between who to follow, but dutifully trotted back to the man laying crumpled on the ground.

"What about the survivors? What do we do with them?"

Exhaustion crawled up through Lana's depleted veins, cottoned her weary brain, and slowed her thudding heart. With her head hanging down, she felt her hands being pulled by the man tossing her around, and heard, "Same thing we always do. Finish the job."

## Chapter Twenty Three

**Rebellion**

**  
**

Shame lodged in his stomach like a satiated serpent while a woman in white clucked her tongue and over bandaged his arm. A sleep spell; of all things it was a Maker cursed sleep spell that took him down. Sure, he was grossly out of practice, was distracted by that amateur swordsman - often the most dangerous to take on - and had enough alcohol left in his system to amplify the spell through his veins, but he should have shaken it off. It was what templars did. Disoriented, Cullen woke shielded behind a hastily tossed up curtain. Judging by the stack of crates overstuffed with plucked feathers for his medical bed he'd guess he was near the butchers, an upholsters, or a particularly strange Orlesian fashion house.

"Hold still, Commander," the woman fussed, winding even more of a never ending roll of linen around his arm. It was futile, the cut barely a scratch. All it needed was a splash of alcohol to clean the wound and one or two stitches. He'd done worse by hand after Haven fell when they were short on everything. But he wasn't just anyone now, and people with fancy titles got the best medical treatment whether they asked for it or not.

Cullen's free hand draped down off his lap to skim over Honor's head. Apparently, she'd stood guard over his body all but shoving aside anyone  who'd dare to hurt him. In truth, Cullen was surprised he didn't wake to her sloe eyes shoved in his face as Honor perched upon his chest. For being a great war hound, she seemed to be under the impression her true calling was as a lap dog.

"All right," the healer snipped off the end of her linen. Cullen was grateful that was over, his arm was padded enough it could probably take a mabari bite without feeling anything. Pushing her scissors into an apron pocket, she smiled, "I think one more roll should do it."

"NO!" he cried, then dropped his voice, "no, it's quite all right. I'm good. Thank you."

"Hm," the woman pursed her lips. Despite having the constitution of an elderly woman she looked at most fifty, her face only puckered around the eyes and mouth. "You were out for awhile there. Can you feel any damage done to your brain?" She knocked a finger against his skull as if flicking a fly. Instinctively, Cullen snagged her hand in his, earning him a glower. More of that shame kicked up in his gut, and he slowly lowered her fingers away from him as he sat up.

"If there was any, how would I know?" he said sliding his feet to the floor. Someone took the time to yank his boots off while he was under.

"Word is there were blood mages about," the woman said while fishing some other tincture out of her apron, "Did you feel any of them poking around in your mind?"

Trying to not flinch, Cullen didn't ruminate upon her words. This was not the place nor the person he'd want to remember his traumatic past with. Instead, he rolled an eye over to her jostling a bottle free of her apron, "That has no effect."

"Nonsense. Elder Jessup's Legendary Tonic," she read off the label as if he couldn't see it in its magnificent sized font stretching around the amber glass. "It'll cure any blood mage taint right out of you."

He'd heard that bandied about before, in particular during and after the blight. In that case, that magical elixir was supposed to cure anyone of the darkspawn taint. After Kirkwall fell, it transformed overnight into the only way to free yourself from a blood mage's control. And when that wasn't your greatest concern it also acted as a baldness and impotence cure. The most versatile potion in all of thedas. Cullen would often load crates of the damn things into the trebuchets to calibrate them. Lies did no one any good, certainly not against blight or blood mages.

Shoving aside her offered hand as gently as a breeze, Cullen smiled, "There were no blood mages in attendance." The woman looked about to argue, so certain she was with her information, when he threw down his cards, "I was a templar, after all. I know a blood mage when I see one."

"As you say..." she began, when a commotion drew her to glance through the white sheet. "Oi, we're healing back here. No one's allowed in."

Two guards stood at attention during her ministrations, mostly in that slouching, not certain why they needed to be there attention, but now they snapped upright and rigid. Hands drifted towards hilts, until a woman dressed in truly pristine white barreled through them.

"Your Worship!" the healer paled, dropping to a knee. Honor barked in recognition at Leliana while Cullen only patted his knees and kept looking around for his shoes.

"Maker's breath," Leliana sighed, "I just heard. What happened?"

"Ambush," Cullen said, sliding one boot on and reaching for the other. "Not the prettiest fight, but we..." He paused, and whipped his head up at the Divine, the solitary Divine. "Surely Lana would have told you what happened."

"Lanny? She's not with me. I only received word a moment ago and raced over here to find you."

Cullen grabbed onto Leliana's hand and towered above her, "What you mean she's not with you?!" The sound of metal drawing from a scabbard slithered through the air. Slowly, he released the Divine and slunk an inch back holding both hands up to show he meant no offense, but his heart pounded madly. A fear dried out his tongue dried, sticking it tight to the roof of his mouth and he stammered through it. "I woke alone, no one else here but Honor. I assumed Lana was with you, waiting for me to wake. I..."

Maker, saying it aloud he realized that never would have happened. She wouldn't have left him alone, not unless she had no choice. Not unless... "No," Cullen shook his head. He'd assumed that Lana won, she was the Maker damned Hero of Ferelden. Surely she took down the rest without a second thought, and then... His eyes met Leliana's and a gurgle swallowed down his throat. _Where was she?_

Leliana spun on her heels and marched up to the guards, "Were you at the disturbance?"

"Yes, Your Perfection."

"There was a woman there: short, dark skin, wearing a blue dress. What happened to her?"

"I don't know, Ma'am."

The holy Divine, shepherd of all of southern thedas, wrapped her hands around the soldier's collar and tugged him into her wrathful face. "What do you mean you don't know?"

He gulped, his eyes widening in terror as he struggled to not make any move against the Divine. "We were only supposed to watch him," he nodded his wobbling chin at Cullen, "carry him to safety. The other guards, they handled the clean up."

Cullen bullied into the middle of them, "Clean up?"

"Yeah," the second spoke, "it's standard procedure to do clean up. Take everything away so the population don't get panicky, ya know."

Tugging the beleaguered guard out of Leliana's hands, Cullen's fingers dug deep into the man's shoulder. He yelped as his thin plating pinched tighter into a nerve. Drawing the man close to his eyes, Cullen breathed, "Where do you take them?"

Gasping like a suffocating fish, the man laid out the address in fine detail before Cullen dropped him to his trembling knees. Snatching up anything of his he spotted, Cullen whistled to Honor to follow and stormed through the privacy sheet. "Come on, we have to find her..." he began before Leliana stepped up beside him.

She placed a finger into her mouth and whistled. A pair of horses drew up almost instantly, their breath steaming in anticipation of a run. "Let us get there quickly."

 * * *

He expected to draw up next to a jail of some sorts, at least a building the city's guards could house law breakers in until deciding their fate. The address given to them led not into the bustling crowded section of the city but a field rotted with broken sections of old buildings prodding out of barren soil. Some fire or disaster having wiped away what was one there and never deemed worthy of rebuilding. As the horses drew up beside it, a numb chill wrapped through Cullen's gut that had nothing to do with the misting rain. Leliana pointed a finger at a pair of uniforms standing guard above a drop in the land. He leapt off his horse first, boots skidding in the mud as Honor turned the far corner running to catch up. Barely bothering to grab the reins, Cullen extended a hand to Leliana to help her down but he needn't bother. The Divine plummeted off, giving no attention to the muddy ground assaulting her holy hemlines.

Wiping off the fine sheen coating her face from the rain, Leliana puffed out her chest and used her Divine voice on the guards. "You there!"

The pair stopped chattering among themselves and turned a terrified eye upon the Divine. Both glanced behind to make certain she was speaking to them before touching their chests as well.

"There was a disturbance earlier in the Cantique d'espor district."

"Yes, your most Divine," the first guard spoke, bobbing a helmeted head downward to glare at the mud soaking through his boots.

"We're looking for someone that was involved," Leliana continued, folding her hands up. "She's short, dark skin, wearing a blue dress." Every time Leliana summed up Lana the pounding increased against Cullen's temples. It seemed impossible that so few words could describe the light in his heart.

"Oh, well, you can take a look," the guard turned around and pointed at the ditch behind him.

_No._

No, that had to be wrong.

It couldn't be...

The guard turned back to Leliana who was stumbling to keep her face neutral. He smiled at her and added a jolly, "But it's a right mess down there."

Slowly, as if walking to his own pyre, Cullen slid towards the edge of the small ravine. No, not a ravine. It was a mass grave dug out by erosion and rains, then helped along by a few shovels tossed to the side. Bodies lay crumpled in a pile at the bottom, each one tossed unceremoniously over the edge, no doubt by the two guards trying to strike up a conversation with the stricken Divine. He tried to glance down, hoping to look quickly over the corpses and not find any proof but it was impossible to tell. The murky world of dusk combined with rain wiped away almost all color from the world. Mud splattered across the few visible inches of skin, rendering them all featureless.

No.

_Maker, not now. How can You be so cruel?_

He couldn't lose her now.

Anger stampeded over grief, and giving no heed to his damp clothes, Cullen slid down the incline. It was so steep he had to lean into it, coating the front of his tunic in mud as well as the bandage. None of that mattered, a red haze rising behind his eyes as he surveyed the corpses of those that tried to kill him. That might have killed...

_No._

Dropping to his knees, he yanked over the first body to reveal a pale face, the eyes rolled back in a never ending horror. Scarlett blood coated the clothing, clots clinging to the tattered holes where snapped bones prodded through. Sneering, Cullen tossed that one aside and moved to the others. Each one looked much the same, pale and haunted. One had an obvious broken neck, the head flopping about like a broken puppet. Probably who Lana caused to slide off the roof. None of them her, none of them could possibly be her.

He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but there was the last body. The skin wasn't brown but black, charred to a crisp. Sections ripped free as the garrison drug it towards its grave, revealing crimson sinew and muscle below, all of it stilled forever. The damage was so severe it was impossible to tell who the corpse was before.

"Cullen..." Leliana's voice echoed from above him, the most haunting sound he'd ever heard from her. The Left Hand, the Inquisition's spymaster, was too terrified to peer in and see for herself.

"I don't see her," he said, and the Divine sighed in relief. "But, there's a corpse here that's unrecognizable. Fire destroyed it, which could have been Lana's doing or..." He detached himself. He had to. Cullen couldn't think he was pulling apart a pile of bodies searching but not wanting to find the woman he loved. It was the only way he could get through it without withering to the ground in agony.

A solitary sob echoed from above, Leliana jamming a fist in her mouth to keep from breaking down. Cullen dug across the charred body's hand, searching but hoping to not find the ring Lana wore. "I'm not, I..."

Andraste, what was he doing?

The hand plummeted from his own to return to the corpse's resting place, but flakes of the scorched skin stuck to his own flesh. Flakes that could have been Lana's.

Maker, no. Please no.

Not after everything. Cullen dropped to a knee, exhaustion or worse dragging him down to join the dead. Suckering into the mud, he sank deeper, his hand splaying out beside the impaled throat of a woman who'd tried to kill him only a few hours earlier.

_Why?_

"If um," the guard spoke, knocking his hands together, "if you can't find what you're looking for, they might have it down at the precinct. They took three capture."

"What?!" Leliana spun on the guard, the full wrath of the Maker thundering from her as she cried, "Capture? Alive! Why didn't you say that earlier?!"

"Ah..." the man danced back and forth, inching closer to the pit of death to try and avoid the Divine's rage. The temptation to say 'because you didn't ask' danced around his obvious tongue but he held it in check. "Not certain, Your Perfection. Sorry. They're down that street, take a left then beside the..."

"Yes, yes," Leliana waved a hand through him, "I know the blighted way." Reaching over, she stared down at Cullen who staggered to his feet.

_Alive. There was hope._

Trying to scrabble up the incline, Cullen grabbed onto Leliana's proffered hand and rose away from the bodies. His clothes suckered to his body, the mud slick as ice from the increasing rains but none of that mattered. Nodding once at Leliana, he snatched up the reins of his horse. She did the same, already saddled while he was working his foot into the stirrups.

They turned their horses around, the Divine taking the lead again as she knew the way, when the second guard spoke up. "Ma'am, you should know one of the captives they took in was a mage."

Leliana and Cullen shared a look, hope blooming bright.

Staring between them, the guard continued to relay her news, "The injuries on that one were severe and they tried to save 'em, but..."

Without another word, the wind rushed from Cullen's lungs. He sagged downward, folding in on himself until his face skimmed near the horse's mane. But... Maker, no. How could he had failed her? She was winning when he last saw her, before he...he failed. His weak body broke down from a damn sleep spell leaving her alone, vulnerable. _No!_

Something tugged his horse forward and he rose up to watch Leliana sitting rod straight in her saddle. She glared at the guards yet didn't speak to them.

Her voice only thundered in Cullen's direction. "We must head to the precinct. If not to find her, to..."

Rippling with the wrath of a fire hotter than anything a mage could conjure, the anger took control over Cullen's body. Yes, if they lived, the ones who...who hurt her, they'd pay. Snatching up his reins, he dug into his horse's flank and drove it into a gallop. Behind them the rains washed away the names of those fallen assassins.

* * *

Water dripped down the walls to pool in a divot upon the pitted floor, green mold sprouting from its attention. Lana tried to stretch away from it but her body was beyond her reach, every inch of her skin enflamed from her constant mana pooling, pain rattling the fibers of her soul. Gently, she drug her tingling fingers across the cold ground causing the manacles around her wrist to rattle. When was the last time Lana had been chained?

Sure, she'd been imprisoned a fair bit over the years. Usually while undercover for the grey wardens or other reasons, but people rarely had the gall to shackle up the Hero of Ferelden. Even when she was trespassing upon pain of death they preferred to kick her into a deep, dark hole and secretly wait for her to break out instead of dealing with the headache of finishing the job.

Ah, yes. It was Drakon. When she woke from their capture to screams of Loghain's torture victims to find Alistair... Lana couldn't stop a foolish blush from that memory. They could have died, were facing Maker only knew what at the hands of Loghain, his turncoat daughter, or one of Howe's goons. And yet, she couldn't take her eyes off him stripped of everything but his underclothes. Andraste, why did he had to wear such small, well, smalls?

Returning to the tower after was awkward not just for her, but the new King as well. They'd barely spoken a word to each other while chasing after the archdemon, their greatest work yet ahead of them, and Lana still stewing over Alistair's decision to cut her from his life. But there was a moment when they both spotted the door that led back to their cell, the one they lied their way through to freedom that Alistair's eyes landed upon hers and she almost saw regret.

The guards who snatched her up this time and manacled her hands - as if that could stop a mage - hurled her into a cramped cell upon her stomach. She landed onto the stone floor, her remaining breath bursting from aching lungs while water dripped near her face. In the corner, she spotted a stack of straw for sleeping but Lana was beyond crawling to it. What she needed was to rest, to recuperate, and to try to dampen down the headache burrowing through her skull.

Which would be much easier to accomplish if it weren't for the man in the cell beside her and his constant jabbering. The false templar had carried on and on from the moment he woke up to the point Lana wished she'd severed his vocal cords during the fight. A never ending diatribe perforated her ears whenever she tried to shut her eyes and chase the fade.

"What are you doing, mage?"

Sighing, Lana plopped her hands down on the stones extended from her face. Without any true templars, they'd left a random guard in charge of 'watching the mage and making sure she didn't do any spell casting.' Since he had no concept of true magic or what puncturing the veil looked like, he assumed her slightest movements were cause for concern.

"I am breathing," she said, struggling to roll to the side. From her vantage point, all she could see of the guard were his shoes - worn to the near breaking point with a toe prodding from the top - and up to his knees. The uniform was better tended but covered in mud at the hems and wet. Most likely it began raining sometime during her capture or perhaps after. She'd been a bit in and out of it as her mind tried to shelter her from the pain shattering her veins.

"Fine," the guard harrumphed, "but don't go throwing any fireballs around here."

"As you say," Lana said trying to part her hands. With the crushing weight upon her gaunt wrists she could barely move them. Blinking, Lana struggled to lift her head, "Ser, could you tell me? Do you know if Cul...The Commander, did he survive?" She gritted her teeth, terrified of the answer while needing to hear it.

But the man didn't damn her heart or lift it. He stomped a foot and snarled, "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yes, that is why I asked..." she began when the damn man in her sister cell piped up in his raspy scream.

"He's dead. Destroyed. Broken, as the chantry shall be! The Inquisition's traitor templar destroyed. It will be war, you sheep who cower in your little homes. You'd rather collar yourselves to the whims of a few robes than face the truth. Let them build their college, let them destroy the very fabric of society we built! Not anymore! The war is coming." He giggled, so certain of his prowess. "The war is coming."

"Maker," Lana groaned, her eyes rolling skyward, "if You don't take him, at least take me."

The guard seemed to be sick of it as well, having to overhear the same basic idea for the last hour and half. Templars good, mages bad, reigniting war only hope. He liked to throw around sheep often as well, which made Lana dream of stuffing a ram in his cell and seeing who got out alive. Darting ahead quickly, the guard slammed a hand against the bars causing the shrieking man's thought to vanish.

"Quiet down!" the guard shouted gruffly before sliding back to watching over Lana as if she was the real threat. She snickered in the back of her mind; in truth she was, but not now. Give her time for feeling to return to her fingers and the mana to shore up her body and she could easily blow a hole through the wall. For now, laying on the ground was preferable, and with the jabbering idiot silenced it seemed possible.

"You're going to die."

Or maybe not.

She hadn't spoken a word to the idiot since he woke, preferring to leave him to the machinations of the Val Royeaux guard force. But seeing as how they only knew to toss both of them into cells and ignore it, her options were limited. Glancing once over at the guard leaning back against the cell across from her and in no mood to silence the man, Lana spoke up. "Is that so?"

"How long's he been keeping you, like a pet? Poor little lap mage that barks when ordered at the big templars whims and for what? You're gonna hang for his death."

"So will..." she scrunched up her nose, struggling to keep up with the man's madness. "Wait, I thought you loved templars and hated mages."

"He was no true templar."

Oh, Maker. Not the true templar argument. This man was truly beyond reason.

"No templar would allow mages, known malifecarum to walk free before his nose. He would cut them down before letting their shadow fall upon him."

"Is that so?" He knew nothing of templar or chantry law, she was certain of that. Which made it an even bigger question of what was driving these people.

"All mages should be corralled, controlled, brought to their knees to either serve the cause or be eliminated."

"Right," Lana shook her head, placing her cheek tighter to the cold ground.

She saw it before they yanked her away, Cullen's chest rising in a breath. He wasn't dead, not when she left him, couldn't be. But what if... No, Lana shook her head, they would have brought in the best healers in Val Royeaux to help him.

If they weren't fast enough...

A twang, as if a lute string stretched too far, snapped inside her mind. Digging her fingers into the ground, she imagined that chattering man's neck beneath them as he gasped for breath. The only thing keeping him alive right now was the fact she knew nothing of Cullen's fate. If he...Andraste preserve her, but if that bastard did manage his goal then he would wish she'd have killed him on the streets. Their entire false templar order would pay, everyone who ever worked for them, who passed information. She would tear the entire structure down one by one, leaving them jibbering husks as a warning to the rest.

You want to pith mages, well mages can do it right back.

"Mage..." the guard warned.

The red haze around Lana's vision faded and she spotted sparks dancing across her fingers. She hadn't meant to split apart the veil like that. It called out to her, through her mind without a thought. Even out of practice and with barely the ability to stand, mana sang to her, the fade itself percolating through her blood.

"Sorry," Lana muttered, trying to tap down on vengeance stringing every nerve in her body. It would have to wait. She needed to take inventory, time, prepare before unleashing the full wrath of the Hero of Ferelden.

The chittering idiot kept up, thundering how soon he'd hear the lamentations in the streets. People'd call for the extermination of all mages for taking down the Inquisition's templar, the chantry would fall in ruins. She tried to drown it out, humming a song under her breath to combat the blood rushing through her ears. Lana didn't even realize what the lyrics were, each one echoing louder in her scratchy throat, until she all but screamed "Lion of the Sky!" at the wall.

Silence broke, the false templar's chattering fading in surprise. It wasn't the heartbroken woman who cried out the song devoted to Cullen, but wrath itself given form. She snarled the final syllable, her throat rasping in anger to lift her from the depths of despair and aim it all to a purpose. The energy faded as soon as it struck, and Lana flopped back to the floor, her bubbling emotions costing her. Water from the rains outside dribbled against her face, trying to clear away her own salty tears.

"Mage..." the guard began.

"I'm not doing anything," Lana said, shoring any whimper out of her throat. She was in no position to show weakness, perhaps never again.

"Stand up, mage!" the guard ordered, his feet slotting to attention.

Lana snorted, her fingers splashing in the puddle, "Shall I pluck a star from the sky while at it. It's about as likely to occur."

"I said..." the guard hissed, when a new voice growled over top.

"Show them to me, now!"

Bolting up, Lana ignored pain in 97% of her body at that voice. That dusky, occasionally awkward voice etched across her soul. "Cullen..." She staggered upon her hands and knees, crawling towards the door, hope dragging her onward. Unable to stand, she stared up muddied boots, pants, and a barely evident green tunic to find his face. Maker, his beautiful, living face. Cullen's deep scowl shattered to be replaced by a grateful shock. He patted his fingers against his mouth before grabbing onto the arm of the guard who'd been harassing her all day.

"Open the damn door," Cullen shouted. Fumbling around with the chain upon his belt holding only three keys, the guard attempted to do as ordered while casting a glance back at Leliana.

Lana spotted her friend out of the corner of her eye, but her full focus was upon the man who lived. "You're..." she reached her fingers through the bars needing to touch him. Cullen seemed to feel the same, as he caught her hand and held it tight.

"Move back, prisoner!" the guard ordered, before a deadly glare from both the Commander and Divine fell upon him. Squeaking, he added, "Please."

"That isn't necessary," Cullen shoved the man aside and, in one quick move, yanked open the door and swooped Lana up off the floor into his arms.

Maker, she melted into his embrace, singing praises to the prophetess for guarding him. Mud suckered to her clothes, Cullen coated in it, but she didn't care. "I was so scared I lost you," Cullen whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Me too," she admitted. Lifting her weary arms, Lana tried to wrap her hands around him, but the manacles snagged together, keeping her bound between their bodies.

Cullen glared down at them, then yanked the guard towards her. Hissing, he ordered, "Take those off of her, now."

"Ah but Ser, she..." the guard started before swallowing deep.

"She what?!" Cullen dared, burning upon the shrinking guard every power at his command.

Yelping once, the guard picked up Lana's heavy wrists and tried to insert the key into them. His hands trembled so, the key skipped back and forth missing the lock each time before Lana grabbed his wrist and guided it in. Whispering a prayer under his breath, the guard unclasped the manacles and yanked them away. Freed of the unbending weight, Lana glanced her fingers across the pain upon her wrists before wrapping both arms tight around Cullen and burying her face in his chest.

"They wouldn't tell me anything, I didn't know if you..."

"I had no idea what happened to you. They said a mage died, and I feared..."

"Never do that again."

"Never do that again."

Both laughed at their synchronized order, tears dripping through the relieved chuckles. Cullen framed his hands around her cheeks when his thumbs glanced upon a sore spot and Lana winced. "My cane, it exploded when I...I'm going to need a new one," she felt like a child requesting another blanket because she accidentally burned the last one.

Leliana laughed, her fingers clinging to Lana's elbow, "Anything you need. It's no bother. Blessed Andraste, we were concerned."

"Concerned?" Cullen scoffed. "I was terrified and..." he mashed his forehead against Lana's even while holding nearly all her weight in his arms, "Feared my heart was going to give out."

"Don't you dare," she ordered, waving a finger near him.

"Never, not while you need...not while you want me." He didn't kiss her, not while all the guards they no doubt blew through to find her looked on but Cullen brushed his fingers across her lips and she gently pressed against them. He tasted of mud and a bitter ointment, but it was Cullen underneath and that was all that mattered.

Wrapping his arm around her waist, Cullen began to walk Lana slowly out of the jail and towards the door. She struggled, barely able to move as she shuffled against the filthy floor slowly filling with leaking rain water. Leliana rubbed her back for a moment, her own grateful smile in place before she snapped it away to stalk ahead. The Divine was going to shove any onlookers away to give Lana and Cullen freedom to leave unhassled. Lana limped away from her cell, her fingers digging into Cullen's shoulder when her head turned and she spotted _him_ \- the man who nearly crushed her happiness. His limp fingers clung to the bars, wide eyes watching the proceedings.

Rage enveloped her body, knocking away the pain. Faster than anyone thought possible of the broken mage, Lana snarled forward, her fingers knotting around the false templar's filthy tunic. Magic poured out of her, dragging the man further to the ground until his knees buckled. Hissing like a mountain lion about to rip out a throat, she hauled him tighter to the bars, pressing his nose against it.

"Pathetic worm. I know your kind, I can see it in my mind. Weak, worthless, incapable of creating anything of your own. You think your only way of making a mark is destroying what others have. What others have worked their hands to the bone to create, to preserve." Heat gushed out of her, wrapping across the man's body. At first a flush charred his cheeks a bright red, sweat pouring free, but as she kept holding him the fire ramped up, burning across the first layer of his skin.

"What are you...?" the guard began, but the Divine snapped up at him, cowering him back to the corner.

"You have failed. Everyone you commanded is dead by the hand of that pet mage you couldn't tame. The one unable to stand. Dead, broken, and all that remains is you. Do you know why I left you alive? Because you weren't worthy of killing. You'll bear the blame for attempting to kill the Commander, while your little rebellion is smothered in the crib. You have nothing to your name, nothing to your arm, your little group will burn from inside, all will scatter like ash on the wind, while you hang stretched by your neck before a jaded audience that won't even bother to know your name."

As the smell of burnt hair reached her nose, Lana released her hold and the man fell backwards, trying to scatter away from her vengeful stare. So cock certain that he'd won even after being captured, his entire world crumbled before him while the tiny woman he'd taken as nothing glared victory down at him. Her eyes traveled down to a puddle rising up beside his boot. "Look upon the great iconoclast who wets himself before dancing to the gibbet's tune. None shall remember you, none shall care."

Having finished her diatribe, Lana turned from the man who tried to take everything from her and all her rage vanished. She buckled towards the ground, but Cullen scooped her up. Unable to even manage part of her weight on her abused legs, he pulled her fully into his arms snuggling her tight his chest. Lana pushed her face against him as she began to tremble, the anger and heartbreak retreating quickly from her body. Walking crisply, Cullen carried her past the other cells, most empty, to the front room. He whispered a soft question into Lana's ear, "You didn't actually look into his mind?"

"No," she admitted, shaking her head, "I only said that to scare him. He was ranting and raving for hours before and it didn't take much to size him up." Cullen didn't physically sigh in relief, but she watched him sag a moment.

"Your Worship," one of lead guards stood before Leliana and tried to catch her fingers to kiss a ring, but she kept them wound up tight to her elbow. "Forgive us, we had no idea that this was a friend of yours."

"And that gives you fair excuse to mangle her, leave her nameless and alone to freeze upon a water logged floor?"

"Leliana," Lana cut into her friend's anger. "Let it go, please." She sneered once at the guards, all of them cowering, but obeyed Lana's wishes. More than exhaustion and pain beat against Lana's body and heart; the despair she'd destroyed the others with lapped across her own soul. Burying her face into Cullen's chest, she whimpered, "I want to go home."

"There's a carriage outside," he said, his lips pressed close to her forehead, "it'll take us back to the apartments."

"No," Lana shook her head against him, "I want to go home. To Ferelden."

"We...uh," he glanced over at Leliana who bit her lip and glared at the ground, "we'll do our best, but right now we should get cleaned up. Okay?"

He clung to his nursemaid routine, but she could hear a crackling in his words, a tremor to his lip. Cullen was clinging to a thread himself. Cupping his cheek, Lana stared into those amber eyes she nearly lost and smiled, "Of course it's okay."

Without saying a word, Leliana threw open the door only to be greeted by the mabari forced to wait outside. Honor tried to bark but a stick, easily four feet long and a good two inches thick, rested in her powerful jaws. "Where did you...?" Cullen began.

"It seems Honor found me a new cane," Lana said.

## Chapter Twenty Four

**Betrayal**

**  
**

Leliana opened the door to the apartments, perhaps her first time turning a knob since she became the Divine but Cullen had his hands full helping Lana. Not balking for a moment at having to perform a moment of manual labor, Leliana ran her fingers across Honor's scruffy head. She'd driven the carriage as well, nudging over the patient driver and often glancing back as if to make certain Lana was still alive.

Taking her time, Lana filled Leliana in on what she could remember of the attack, how both organized and sporadic it was. For her part, the once spymaster only nodded grimly and said little beyond asking for clarification. No doubt, she intended to keep her findings away from Lana for fear of endangering her friend or causing a relapse. That idea caused Lana to smile internally to herself while she clung tight to Cullen's hand. They both held each other without letting go, as if they shared the same fear that either could vanish in smoke at a moment's notice.

With the use of Honor's stick, Lana hobbled into their room, her eyes upon the divan. Cullen kept a hand softly smoothing up and down her back as he guided her. She tried to ask about the wadding of bandage around his other arm, but he dodged the question, barely pausing to take account of his pain in favor of hers. Leliana entered first, widening her arms and smiling. "I don't know about you, Lanny, but after the events of the day I could use a stiff drink."

Lana snorted, "Tempting, believe me, but with my mana so low it'll not end well." She felt her friend's eyes watching her limping across the floor, trying to gauge how deep the scars reached this time. It was exhausting at times to have her friends know the price the full fury of her magic could cost, but Lana wouldn't trade their love for anything, even if it did reach beyond overbearing.

"As you say..." Leliana said watching Lana and Cullen slide together deeper into the sitting room. "But I happen to have a bottle of Tevinter gin that might change your mind." She smiled wide at her friend, that old bard wickedness drifting across her face when a soft cough drew both their attention.

Detan stepped out of the bathroom, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She bowed once to the Divine before speaking, "I drew the bath as you requested, and I left as many ointments and salves on hand as I could find upon the counter."

"Thank you," Leliana said, tipping her head to the assistant as well.

"Do you..." Detan's murky gaze drifted over the pair of people who scraped by with their lives before focusing back on the Divine, "require anything else?"

"I'm not certain," Leliana turned back towards the pair of them. "Lanny? Cullen?"

"A long rest is all I intend, perhaps for a few days," he grumbled. His hand slipped away from Lana's back to dig into his eyes, mashing the mud stains nearer to his waterline.

"Hm..." Lana wrapped both hands around her stick turned cane, and in an exaggerated fashion she limped towards Detan. "Let me think..." hobbling closer, Lana smiled at the elf nearly her same height. She leaned back upon her heels and glanced heavenward, as if contemplating before snapping her fingers, "Ah yes, I know."

Swiping her stick fast, she smashed into the back of Detan's knees causing the elf to buckle. Cullen and Leliana both shouted a moment in surprise, while Lana grabbed onto the back of Detan's hair and yanked. Shrieking, the elf tried to claw herself free, but Lana gritted against any attack. With a force aided by both magic and seething hatred, Lana jammed Detan's face against the counter. She did it twice more until a crack reverberated through the suddenly still air only to be replaced by the elf's whimpering cry.

"Lana!" Cullen shouted. "What are you...what's going on?" He tried to reach out to free the elf from her grasp, but Leliana waved him back, her lips twisted up in thought.

"You almost got it right, Detan, or whatever your name is," Lana hissed near her ear. She tried to struggle, but Lana shoved her broken nose flatter against the counter causing pain to silence the fight. Blood pooled across the marble top, staining it for life.

"I," Detan swallowed, then coughed out a spray of crimson, "I don't understand." Her words were rimmed with tears, no doubt genuine from the pain burrowing through her sinuses and into her brain. "What's going on? I did as you asked."

"Yes, you did, exactly as asked. And then you sold us out."

"What?" Cullen struggled, shaking his head. "What happened?"

Lana didn't look over at him, all her wrath was focused on the traitor squirming below her fingers. "She knew your schedule, your movements, and they'd planned to attack today in, I'm guessing the square. Hundreds of people around to cause a panic ensuring that the assassins can fade away and the blame is passed to, who else, but mages come to murder the Commander of the Inquisition," Lana summed up, her spittle slapping against Detan's pointed ears. "But something went wrong."

Now she turned away to Cullen, "The soldiers you met up with, they changed the plan. While you were off with them, this one," she wrung her fingers tighter against Detan's hair yanking strips out in her anger, "approached me in a fright wondering where you'd gotten off to. She needed to know where you were located and quickly."

"That doesn't..." Cullen began, but as his eyes washed over the scrabbling spy his confused face melted to a sneer. "What did you do?" he hissed not at Lana but the elf.

"I did nothing, your..."

Lana pounded her head flatter, her chin splitting open against the edge. "Lies are getting you nowhere. She was the one who warned them to prepare for a mage with fire and ice capabilities."

"Maker's breath!" Cullen cursed, beginning to pace in agitation at being tricked.

"But..." Lana leaned closer, putting all her weight against Detan's back, "for all your clever tricks, your playing along, bobbing and bowing, offering discretion when needed, you missed so much."

"You weren't supposed to be there," Detan hissed. "Alone, unarmed, unaided. That was the deal."

Lana twisted her fist, ripping out more hair and causing Detan to shriek. "How dare you! How dare you fucking act as if what you were doing was a mercy? Only one needed to die? Tell that to your friends, all of them save one pulverized and burned to a crisp, by me. That mage you ignored." Her anger mutated into a raspy laugh, "Right in front of you the whole time and you missed the obvious."

"The obvious what?" Detan gurgled, but Lana didn't answer her. If she couldn't see the Hero of Ferelden under her nose then she wasn't such a great spy after all.

"I should kill you now," Lana hissed. "Do you know how many ways I could? Form a spike of ice upon my fingers and drive it up your bloody nostrils into your brain. Collapse your ribs, each jagged bone popping your lungs as you slowly suffocate, aching for a breath." The anger of betrayal folded with the depthless fear of losing Cullen, each pushing Lana to seek the most depraved vengeance she could manage. Casting an eye upward, she caught a duplicate hatred in his face. He thought he'd lost her the same as she feared losing him. Both wanted to burn Detan alive.

Luckily, there was a cooler head remaining. "Lanny," Leliana whispered, her fingers glancing across her shoulders.

"Let me finish this..." Lana said, trying to roll her friend's hand off her.

"You already have."

Slowly, Lana's shoulders dipped and the fever in her soul broke, leaving an ache in its wake. She knew she could kill Detan without a thought, assassins and spies deserved little, but it wasn't her call anymore. Leliana nodded her head at Lana, spotting the change in her demeanor. She didn't release her grasp on the elf but did lift her face off the counter enough so the Divine could look the traitor in the eye. Blood smeared across Detan's lips like rouge out of control and pooled down her throat from the gash in her chin.

Barely flickering at the gore, Leliana leaned into her face, "What you have done to me, to my friends, to the chantry and the Inquisition is inexcusable."

"I..." Detan's head folded downward, unable to take the Divine's disgusted stare.

"What say you for your actions? For guiding the death of a man who fought to save the world from destruction, for caring little of a woman who..." Leliana gazed over at Lana who pursed her lips and shook her head. Detan didn't deserve to know the truth, "who did nothing to harm you?"

Detan sucked in a watery breath, blood bubbling as she blew it out. She could have spat at Leliana, coated her white robes in a crimson stain, or cursed a storm, perhaps raged the same way the false templar did. Instead, a whimper rolled up her throat, and tears washed the blood off her cheeks.

"I see," Leliana grabbed onto the elf's arm, the strength of a woman who fought for her place every day pinning her tight, "for now you will reside in our keep, until we decide what to permanently do with you."

Dragging Detan with her, Leliana whistled and the two guards who always accompanied the Divine appeared from outside the door. She barely gave any orders beyond telling them to lock the woman up in their thickest chains. Dejected and broken, Detan's head lolled about staring at the carpet. Cullen slid closer to Lana, wrapping his hands around her shoulders. Exhausted, she nearly pitched forward now that the danger was abated, but he caught her, steadying her as they watched the traitor be hauled away. For a second Detan's eyes glanced back at the two, almost as if a whisper of an apology flitted about her lips, before she shook it away and faced a future of little hope.

* * *

Cullen clung to Lana's arm as she leaned against him for support. After making a sweep of the apartment, some of Leliana's better trained guards declared nothing amiss left by the spy in their midst. Lana sneered at them even looking, whispering with certainty that if she survived, Detan knew she was made. How could he have been so blind? To miss all the signs and in the process risk her to...

Warm fingers ran up his arm, and he turned to fall deep into her eyes. "How are you doing?" she asked in a gravel voice.

"Me?" Cullen started, shaking his head. He was tended to by Orlais' best like some spoiled brat while Lana lay upon the fetid filth of a dungeon. Cupping his palm around the curve of her face, he noticed skin slit open and filthy upon her cheeks and forehead. "These should be cleaned," he said. His thumb lightly brushed near one when Lana grabbed onto his wrist and tugged it down, her lips twisted in pain.

"From my cane going boom. There's probably some splinters of wood embedded...Maker only knows where." She wrote her injuries off as little more than a hangnail but Cullen winced. Lana wasn't supposed to be caught in that crossfire, the terrorists wanted only the Commander. Because of him, she got hurt.

Laying her makeshift cane down, Lana grabbed both her arms onto Cullen and began to hobble towards the bathroom. He followed, feeling weak and useless. The Divine glanced up from the blood stains she'd been staring at, the ones scattered over the counter where Lana confronted Detan.

"I'm going to have a talk with our spy," Leliana said, all emotion wiped clean from her words, but when Cullen glanced back he saw the same pain etched across her face. If she hadn't brought Detan into their lives, Lana wouldn't have been hurt. Wouldn't have nearly...

For her part, Lana nodded at her friend before slipping into the bathroom with Cullen right behind her. Their bathroom contained more or less that, a great porcelain tub resting up upon brass dragon talons. Water steamed up to the gold lip, while a trio of towels rested in a white wicker basket beside it. Lana ignored the tub and began to lean over for their more modest toilette. A sunken in washbasin, easily removed to dump the cold water out the window, was flocked by a dozen bottles. Her fingers aimed for a healing ointment, the contents inside the bottle nearly crystal clear.

"Let me," Cullen interrupted her laborious movements and snatched it up. She huffed once but let her head slip down in acknowledgment that he was right.

Pulling apart the wound linen, Cullen doused a handful in the balm before touching the wad to Lana's face. She crumpled her nose, flinching when it touched but didn't say a word. Clear liquid dripped down her filthy cheek, washing away blood and debris to reveal a thin welt below. "I don't see a splinter in there," he announced.

"Good," she nodded, her teeth gritted. Lana lifted her face up fully into the light and Cullen gasped at the full damage. A good dozen red welts, some bloody and all coated in grit ran from her forehead and down her cheeks.

Swallowing down his own pain at the sight, Cullen dumped nearly half the bottle into the linen and began to try to soothe her aches away. He nearly lost her, in an instant the Maker could have taken her away from him...again. And because of him, because someone out there wanted to kill him, to make a point to...it didn't blighted matter what they wanted. He'd have been the cause of her death. If he'd had to have lived with that...

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, holding the linen still, and Cullen started from the darkness clenching around his heart. Slowly, Lana released her hold and wiped her thumb across his cheek, catching tears he'd barely noticed. "I..." he stuttered, always bumbling around her, never certain about anything. That was his curse. His hands fell to his side and he sneered at the ground. "I thought I'd have to comfort you," he whispered, peeling open the inner thoughts rattling around in his soul.

Sighing, Lana cupped both her palms around his cheeks and brought his forehead down to hers. It chilled his flushed skin burning hot with rage, shame, fear. "I suspect you will have to, later," Lana whispered back. His eyes opened, focusing on her. "It takes awhile to catch up with me. Always has, sometimes weeks."

"I suppose that helped during the blight." Cullen tried to lift his hands but they felt like dead weights.

Lana snorted and she rolled her dry eyes upward, "That one's still catching up with me."

"Lana, I--"

"It's not your fault," she interrupted, already knowing what lurked in his heart.

"How can you say that?" he whined. The evidence was clear; if she'd not been with him, not known him, not loved him then she'd never have gotten caught up in it.

Taking a deep breath, Lana rolled her palms against his cheek, dragging mud through his hair. "Because I want to blame myself even though I know that's not right either. We all missed it, and we all share some or none of the blame."

"I thought, I..."

"I know," she sighed.

"When I woke without you, I was certain you were all right. You'd gone off in pursuit of them, were assisting the guards, or even you were with Leliana planning, and the whole time you..." Cullen swallowed, his lips whiffling as breath barely passed though. "I believed you invulnerable."

A sob broke in her throat and he looked up to find tears running down her cheeks. "If they'd killed you, if I hadn't...saved you. Maker, I was already making plans to find them all. Destroy them. It's..." She dug her fingers into him, pulsing the tips against his flesh as she repeated a mantra, "You're here, you're alive, it's over."

"Is it?" He knew that one man down, even the handful they finished off were nothing compared to the nest hiding underground. It'd take time, effort, resources to smoke them out and even then another could pick up the mantle and carry it ever onward. It never ended, not as long as people rattled their sabers in the darkest of corners.

Lana huffed, air blowing out her cheeks. "Cullen, don't...I need that, to cling to. It's the only way I..."

Wincing, he folded his hands around her waist and tugged her tight. "No, you're right. I'm alive, you're alive. We're good."

She hooked her fingers into his biceps and in a stripped, questioning voice answered, "I suppose so."

Cullen broke from his tight hug to look down at her. She'd stopped her tears without any troubles, but the ointment he'd inelegantly doused across her cheeks dripped down her clearing skin towards her dress. "Oh, Maker, I..." he ran his fingers over her collarbone, trying to capture the liquid before it stained anything.

Smiling at his ineptitude, Lana began to slowly unbutton the top of her dress. As she revealed the eternal depths of her cleavage, he felt a flush race across his body only to be replaced by shame for letting lust take over now. Cullen turned away, his vision focusing on the closed bathroom door to give her privacy, when Lana's fingers gripped onto him.

"It's okay, you can look," she insisted, an almost laugh in her voice. It wasn't that he was trying to be chivalrous, though some of that clung to his bones despite how often they'd been intimate. Cullen feared the reaction his body would have to gazing upon hers. This wasn't the time, not when she'd, when he'd...

Her fingers wrapped around his stomach, tugging him towards her until she nestled her face against his back. "I should get clean," Lana said, and Cullen nodded, prepared to walk out, "and so do you. We can kill two darkspawn with one fireball."

"Lana," he rotated in her arms to find she'd already stripped off her dress leaving a structured slip behind that suckered tight to her skin. "I don't want to, if you need..."

"What I need is a bath," she said, her beautiful eyes staring through to his soul. "And I think, what you need is me."

Cullen flexed his fingers, his head dropping down. She was right, but the burning winding up his bones tugged him down into despair. Twisting away from her face, but not her embrace, he shuddered apart the ice floes crowding out the surface of his pain. "Loss is...it was a part of the life, my life," he spoke to the door, watching his nails claw the air. Black bits of the burned man's flesh had worked under them, as well as the mud of their mass grave, while he dug through the corpses praying to not see her face. "People die, during war, or in service, even-even not sometimes, and I..." He pinched his nose high, trying to shake it as if he bit into something bitter.

Her lips pressed against his back; he could feel her smooshing her face tighter to him. "It's different this time," she said.

Like slitting the string, his head lolled towards his chest. "Yes, it is. I don't know if I can...if I'm able to face up to," his sentence floated away, unable to speak the words building to bursting in his throat. He was trained for this, to enter the field of battle, ignore the loss, the fear, and do everything within his power to make certain his side came out victorious. No matter the cost.

Two years of grief warped that in him, burned away his failsafes, and froze solid his ability to disconnect, rendering it as unreachable as a griffin's nest. Cullen's filthy hands grabbed onto hers holding so tight to him. He couldn't do it, couldn't watch her run head first into danger not knowing in his mind and body if she'd return or what her falling would do to him. Endure, that was what'd been etched across his soul for as long as he could remember. He'd built himself to be untouchable, unbreakable, aloof beyond measure. And in one moment, all that steel armor shattered away leaving him vulnerable and, yes, scared. What could he be with that fear crawling under his skin? What could he become for her?

"Cullen," she whispered, drawing him out of his bottomless self-hate. Slowly, Lana tugged her fingers free of his grip which he let fall. She didn't yank them away but leaned her cheek against his back while speaking. "Let me help you." Delicately, Lana's aching fingers reached up to undo the first button on his tunic. As she moved down the row, popping every one off with more tenderness than he ever managed, Lana pressed her lips against his back.

While stripping off the shirt and letting it tumble to the floor, Cullen felt more naked than he thought possible. Everything he'd strived for, every choice, every decision to make the world better and to what end? People only wanted him dead, for their own means. Did he truly help anything? Unaware of his internal torment, or perhaps because of it, Lana skirted her fingertips across his chest. Down the scar from Haven when he had to kill his own templar, across another gained at Kinloch facing the same, trailing the mage fire from Kirkwall that burned away his certainty, the roadmap of every time he locked his heart further away inside his chest for his safety, his sanity. Lightly, she trailed down not to his breeches, but the bandage wrapped upon his arm.

Pursing her lips at the wad of linen below her fingers, Lana whispered while inspecting it, "How bad is it?"

Cullen felt insolence rise at how much attention he received for it, "Not at all."

"But it's..." She began to unwind the bandages, strips of linen trailing across the floor like bunting. They could easily decorate the sanctuary of the Grand Cathedral in what tumbled off Cullen's arm. "Maker," Lana sighed, still unwinding, "how much of this is there?"

"I fear the healer in charge was rather proud of her bandage collection," he sighed.

A whisper of a chuckle broke from Lana at his impertinence and he in turn felt a smile twitching up his lips. "It's very thorough," she said, finally reaching towards the end as a bit of his own blood stained the tan bindings.

"Yes," Cullen sighed, putting a whine in his tone he didn't truly feel in his heart, "thorough enough I suspect my arm would have withstood a mabari bite."

She smiled at that and finally pulled free the final end to reveal his gash courtesy of a terrorist's blade. "Hm," Lana ran her fingers above it, lightly waffling his arm hair, "it's done well. Cleaned, stitched, I rather doubt there'd even be a scar." Her eyes drifted up from his failure to dodge and he fell into them.

"Maker," Cullen gasped, cupping her bruised and maimed cheek, "if I'd lost you..."

Tears welled up in those comforting browns, but Lana blinked them away. She patted his hand against her cheek, then gestured to the tub. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to get all the filth of...everything off of me."

His head hung low, Cullen's vision skirting over the thin underclothes clinging to her body. Rotating his forehead against hers, the contact soothing him, he sighed, "You're correct."

Lana patted him once on the cheek before sliding back. Despite only having a pair of trousers left to tangle with, she managed to undress faster than him. While folding up her shift and keeping it far from the muddy dress, Lana kept up a conversation with herself about some other person she knew who adored bandages and would find any excuse to get one, particularly the ones with hearts painted on them. Cullen didn't answer much, but he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering over the curve of the small of her back, the glisten of her beautiful skin, the rolling fullness of her breasts as she bent over, the delicate fingers sliding down her stomach.

'It's okay to look,' he repeated her permission in his head. While he could never deny how he craved her body, in that moment as he canvassed every inch of her from those daisy yellow toenails up to her sheered locks, gratefulness enveloped him. When he slithered out of his own breeches, and began to yank free the socks, he felt Lana's curious gaze traveling over his body. She seemed to need to look too, as if to make certain that it wasn't all some fevered dream. They were both real.

After tossing his socks towards the door, Cullen turned back to find the tips of her teeth nibbling against her bottom lip. That was enough to shatter what little resolve he could manage around her naked body. Absently, his hand moved towards his crotch, as if he could hide the fact from her, but Lana chuckled and snatched his fingers away. "Here, help me into the tub, please. I can't lift my leg high enough."

She guided his hand to curl around hers and tugged him closer to the water. After shaking away the foolish embarrassment, Cullen slid nearer to her. Holding tight to her hand, he slid his spare one around her naked waist, the cool skin puckering as he helped her upwards into the tub. Water sloshed over the side, heading for his hastily tossed trousers as Lana paddled towards the edge of the tub and an ornery smile twisted up her lips. Patting the water with her hand she urged him to join her.

While she drifted to the northern end, Cullen hopped up over the rim of the tub. Scalding water tried to pry off his flesh and he sucked in a breath waiting for his weak body to adjust. Standing half up in the tub, he heard a gasp from behind and glanced over his shoulder to watch Lana's famished vision staring meticulously at his back end.

"My eyes are up here," he coughed, already feeling a blush rising to his cheeks, both sets.

"Perhaps," she chuckled, "but your ass is demanding all my attention."

Unable to withstand such concentrated focus, Cullen turned around and flopped into the tub. Waves undulated from his addition, water slopping up to Lana's sunken chin and more splashing over the tub's edge. Ignoring the heat of the bath, Cullen slid his back down the slick wall of the tub and stretched his feet out. The left one surfaced beside Lana's face and she looked over at it.

"What is this doing here?" she pouted, increasing her faux exasperation for dramatic effect.

Feeling a grin rising in his stomach, Cullen popped the right next to her and said, "Floating."

"Maker's breath," she groaned, snatching one up in her fingers. "You don't see my feet waving in your face!" Even as she admonished him for it, Lana kneaded her fingers across the balls of his feet triggering a soothing wave of pleasure from his beleaguered toes up to Cullen's calf.

Andraste's pyre, his tongue slackened from how she massaged away the knots in his feet, paying attention to the toes gnarled from years butting up in armored boots. When Lana paused, moving to the next, Cullen managed to get a sentence in. "Forgive me for being tall."

"You're forgiven," she smirked, working her skills upon his other foot. "But only because I'm generous." Finished plying him apart and back together, Lana let his feet rest but they hung right beside her shoulders, pinching into her if he shifted. While she fit perfectly into the tub, he had to keep himself scrunched up to fit, or sometimes didn't bother at all.

Cullen leaned forward to grab onto Lana's hand. He missed her fingers but caught around her wrist. At first Lana smiled, already sliding closer, but when he tugged on her wrist she gasped in pain and curled inward. Dropping his grip instantly, Cullen scooted towards her. "Are you...?"

Shaking her head she rose from her forehead skimming near the water and slipped on a half smile. "It was the manacles, they...you know."

Despair dropped into his gut, scraping him hollow from the red welt rising up against her thin skin. As if he was scooping up a baby bird to return to a nest, Cullen palmed her wrist in his hands. She watched him wash water over it, the refracting light causing the swelling to sparkle almost as if she was wearing a bracelet tight against her skin instead of...

Softly, he placed his lips against the thin skin of her wrist, trying to wipe away the damage from fear and hatred with a touch of love. It was stupid, he knew that in his mind, but some silly part of his heart for a moment thought it might work. Cullen lifted away from her wrist, his eyes opening to find that the welt remained, and probably would for days. Failure overflowed his skin, when Lana pulled her hand away from his. He expected her to slip back to her side of the tub, but wet hands burst from the water to grab onto his hair. Guiding him down to her, Lana pressed a kiss so tight to his lips, Cullen slid until his back bumped into the tub's wall.

Heat rose through his body, tempting his fingers to canvas her hips and slide back around to her luscious ass. Lana's hands drifted down from his curls to land upon his shoulders. Using the leverage she pushed herself up to break the kiss, but those beguiling eyes rolled open and she smiled so perfectly he yearned to draw another one from her.

"I love you," tumbled out of his throat with such breathy lust, it was a wonder it didn't come out "I need you."

Lana swallowed, a flush rising to her cheeks, and she dipped her forehead to his. Her lips worked through a few words she never said before gently plucking a single kiss from him. Before Cullen thought to return it, she turned around and settled into his lap.

No longer feeling ashamed of his reaction to her beautiful body, Cullen savored the sensation of her buoyant backside bumping into his excited state. Wrapping his hands tight around Lana's stomach, he buried his mouth against her shoulder, planting soft kisses across her radiant skin. He nearly lost the ability to do that, to hold her, to kiss her, to curl a finger over the scar across her right hip until she broke into ticklish giggles. All because of him.

"I can't do it," fell from his mouth.

Lana stiffened a moment below his arms before asking, "Do what?"

"Be what I was anymore," he groaned. "Run headfirst into battle and damn the consequences."

Sliding downward, Lana's relaxing body slipped lower until Cullen could bury his chin in her sheared hair. She smelled of the prison they threw her into, fetid mold and stale urine rolled together into the scent of eternal despair. Cupping his hands, Cullen dropped a small cascade of water over her head. Some of it rolled back towards his mouth because he couldn't break from her even while trying to wash her. Only the sound of water slapping against skin and pooling back into the tub echoed through the room. On occasion, Lana would sigh in pleasure as he massaged across her scalp with the special soap bar before trying to wash it all away. Every dump of his hands cleared away more of the filth from the streets and the prison, but it didn't vanish into the ether. It dispersed through the tub, the sludge clouding all the once clean water it touched. He almost choked at the ham fisted metaphor before him.

"I can't do it either," Lana said, breaking the silence and his concentration. Her fingers lifted from the water to wrap around his. Tugging them back to rest upon her thigh, Lana traced up his forearm, following a deep gouging from mage fire, a scar he barely noticed anymore.

"No, I know I can do it. Could leap back into that world, flush out those who would hurt others, put them to a gruesome death and still barely sleep at night. I nearly..." her words trailed off as she shook her head. "I don't want to."

"Did you mean it?" he asked, his breath trying to dry her sopping hair.

"Mean what?"

Cullen screwed his eyes tight and asked what'd been sticking in his gullet, "About returning to Ferelden?"

Turning in his lap, Lana's fingers drifted through his scruff pulling his eyes to hers. "Of course I do. It's my home. It's your home. I..." she sighed. "I know Leliana wishes I'd stay here where she can protect me, but I don't want to be the princess locked away forever in a tower for my own good. I need to do _something_. And, Maker, I miss Ferelden so much -- the feel of winter winds chilling through the thickest coat. Sounds of dogs barking at each other from across miles. Andraste help me, even the food." Tears welled up in her eyes and she bit into her lip. "I wanna go home."

"Me too," Cullen said, brushing off her tears and lightly tracing her lips with his thumb. "It...that's what's been on my mind as of late. What I wanted to talk to you about, been worrying myself down to a nub over."

"Cullen..." she wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, pressing her perfect chest against his. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because, I...I was afraid of the answer. Of what it would mean if you didn't want to, if you couldn't--"

Her fingers brushed over his lips, silencing the stutter in them. A certainty filled her eyes, returning her to the imposing woman who slew an archdemon, "I am never giving you up, not without a fight."

A thousand worries burst to life and died from the conviction in her words. Butting his forehead into hers, Cullen breathed out, "Me neither," before kissing those lips that'd trailed his thoughts and dreams since he was eighteen. Lana's fingers dug into his hair, splashing more of the suds into the knotting curls, while her beautiful breath danced with his. "What now?" he whispered beside her mouth before placing a soft kiss to the edge of it.

She smoothed her thumb over his cheek, rubbing it in concentric circles to try and break up the mud. "I suppose we need to find somewhere in Ferelden to settle. Amaranthine is out," Lana shook her head, a bitter frown warping her soothing features. She exhaled a staggered breath, her eyelashes fluttering from all the loss she suffered there. Cullen's hands burst from the water to envelope her waist. Slowly, he tugged her against his chest until her warm cheek suckered tight. The scents of rosemary and juniper wafted from her washed hair, which she happily rubbed across his still filthy body.

"What of..." he began, swallowing down the burr in his throat, "Denerim?"

"Oh no," Lana stated with absolute certainty.

"Thank the Maker," he gasped, tipping his head back against the rim of the tub.

"Denerim's not the worst place, by a long shot, but far too many people know me there and...Why are you so concerned about that one?" her sly eyes rolled up to try and catch his. Cullen tried to wipe away the guilty look but he was too slow.

A chuckle rumbled up her chest, bouncing her freed breasts and momentarily distracting him. "Do not tell me you honestly thought I wished to live in the palace?"

"It..." Cullen struggled to find an answer for his worries. "It's not beyond the realm of potential."

Placing a wet hand upon his chest, she broke from snuggling to him so he could watch her lift an eyebrow. "You've never had to live with Alistair. I'd give it a month tops before we would get into a shouting match across the entirety of the palace that would rival dragons fighting over territory."

"He's your friend," Cullen tried to wipe away any venom he felt towards the king in his sentence.

"No, he's my potential friend. We're still working on it. Maker's sake, Cullen, I would never put that on you. The eternal awkwardness alone... And, I suspect keeping a country's breadth away from Alistair will work better for our embryonic friendship."

A breath burst through his lungs that cracked off the vice he'd kept upon them for the past months. "I am such a fool," he sighed, ending in a soft laugh.

Lana's finger tripped over his chin, tracing the imperceptible indent before she smiled, "No, you're not." Her calming words drew his attention, the blush fading away at her lips half turned up in contemplation. Cullen's hand parted down that soft cheek, her enticing neck, across the tempting acres of her chest, and down to her stomach. Nipping her lip, Lana shuffled on her legs, when he fished the soap out from between their bodies at the bottom of the tub. She laughed at the small splash and pulled it away.

Rotating back, Lana began to lather up her arms, scrubbing all the filth until she was made anew. Cullen pinned both hands to her stomach, waiting patiently until it was his turn.

"If we play our cards right, we could probably get some land out of Alistair."

"Land?" he started, shaking his head, "What are you planning that you need so much land the crown gets involved?"

"Oh," Lana smiled slyly over her shoulder, "you'll see."

## Chapter Twenty Five

**Moving On**

**  
**

Four boxes waited in the apartments, each packed tight with special focus given to the one marked "Glassware - if you break it, you answer to a vengeful mage." Lana clung to her new cane, one with a silver and cobalt vein swirling through the wood. A gift from Leliana, who was watching Cullen struggling to slide the gilded armchair back to where he found it. For nearly four months they stayed inside this apartment their burgeoning life growing into something more. Her eyes traveled over to the comfortable divan where they'd often sit, Cullen massaging her legs until she could risk walking and then she in turn holding him as he fought through the lyrium's song.

The chair rattled out of Cullen's hands, landing close enough to its starting point. He dug a hand through his hair, smooshing up the curls with the help of his sweat. "I think that's where it belongs," he began. For a moment, his eyes glanced up at Lana and the sweet smile strung a chord in her heart. Shuffling across the floors they'd trudged upon a hundred times, and once - after finishing up the sherry - danced together on, Lana slipped into his waiting arms. They shouldn't fit; mage and templar, two people opposed by duty, by birth, and a world always tearing each of them in twain. His lips pressed into the top of her head.

"Mmm, your hair's getting much longer," he mused, thumbing up the pitiful half inch it managed in the time.

"You are a terrible liar," Lana laughed, rolling her fingers across his stomach and rising up to kiss him. Cullen met her halfway, as he did on everything. They shouldn't work, both shattered to pieces by loss and tragedy; barely stitched back together like two broken pots glued to make one.

"Is this all of your belongings?" Leliana asked, causing Lana to turn away from him.

"Yes, though I have no idea how we accumulated so much while here."

"There's still the matter of my things left at Skyhold," Cullen mused aloud. They had something of a plan in mind, though it'd be months to a half year until they managed to settle anywhere permanent.

"How much can the austere commander have to his name?"

He tipped his head and a free hand moved to the back of his neck. "You would be surprised. Two years and...people enjoy giving us gifts. Sometimes strange ones."

"Oh Maker, we're not going to unbox something at your sisters and have an old Tevinter fertility statue fall out, are we?"

"No! Least, I don't think so..." his rubbing increased, causing a burn to rise up.

Chuckling, Lana tugged his fingers down to wind about with hers. "It's okay, we'll say it's a coat hanger." His glower only made her giggle more.

Embarrassed, or perhaps overcome by the rising tide of emotions, Leliana slipped back, her eyes upon the rug beside the breakfast nook. "Is that a stain?"

"Ah..." now Lana's face flushed and she shared a guilty glance with the man who helped to create said stain. Rather than own up to it, he wrapped his hands tight around her stomach and buried his mouth into her hair. Against her knotting curls, she could feel him trying to silence his laughs.

They shouldn't love, trauma coiling through their every breath, on bad days dragging both down to insurmountable depths. Trying to cover over for their reconciliation stain, Lana pointed at the ceiling. "Oh, we can't leave behind my plant."

Cullen released his hold on her and with his greater stature easily stretched up to unhook it. "Are you certain you don't wish to leave my blunder behind?" The adder's hiss fanned out beyond the breadth of his shoulders, making it unwieldy even in Cullen's great hands.

"Yes, it's mine and I'm keeping it," Lana insisted as she pulled it away from him to overflow out of her smaller arms.

Smiling, he curled a hand around her back and slid behind her, ready to protect and support her should she need it. They shouldn't fit but they did, the strapping, pale templar folding to embrace the tiny, dark mage. They shouldn't work, but whenever Lana's reach was too short, Cullen was there to extend it. They shouldn't love, but when he fell to darkness she was there to overfill his heart with everything inside of her.

"Are you certain now is the time to leave?" Leliana asked. She wasn't in her Divine robes, nor the old Spymaster gear. Instead, her best friend wore the same first set of splint mail Lana gifted her after they left Lothering. It was a strange but touching move. "I only worry, given your injuries, and it can be a long climb to recovery."

Lana slid away from Cullen to reach her friend. Her usual sweet smile, honed by the bardic arts, flipped downward as Leliana glowered at her hands. Lana gripped tight to one, "Leils, this isn't the last you'll see of me. And I'll write, all the time. You know that."

"I do," she smiled. "But I worry about you so far away." Leliana wrapped her hands around Lana's back and tugged her into a crushing hug.

"I worry about you too, you know. I'm not the one with a target painted on my back," Lana slid back from the hug, holding tight to her cane. "What's happened to that false templar I caught? Are you safe?"

"Hanged until dead. There was very little debate about his sentence, particularly with the Inquisitor's insistence," her eyes flickered over to Cullen for a minute and he nodded his head, a sneer lifting up his scar.

"And what came of Detan?" Lana asked. "Dead as well?"

Leliana pursed her lips, "She is being put to use for us, with her intel we hope to trace these terrorists back to their hiding holes."

"Assuming she doesn't betray you first," Cullen sneered and Lana bobbed her head with him. It seemed the most likely outcome.

"I do not think we need to worry about that occurrence. In digging, we discovered some facts about her background that the Order of Mercy, as the new templars call themselves, were using to..."

"I don't care," Lana cut her off. Everyone had a sob story, a reason to turn on their fellows, to twist trust until the edges frayed leaving nothing remaining. It didn't matter. In the end, Detan made a choice and she was paying for it. More than likely, if the templars didn't finish her off, Leliana would use her up until she became a liability. That was the way of this world.

"Lanny, are you okay?" Leliana whispered near her. She understood her concern, they'd both traipsed down this same path before. Weigh the consequences, think of them not as people but collateral. It was the only way to keep going, to rise in the morning fresh to begin again. Lana used to convince herself she was different by keeping the names of those lost carved into her staff. Now...now the only thing she knew was that she didn't know anything.

Wrapping an arm around Leliana's shoulder, Lana sighed, "As okay as I can be."

"You may remain here still. Decoys would slip out and fool the masses into thinking the Commander's returned to Skyhold..." Leliana's idea drifted away as she stared at Lana's set jaw.

"We don't belong here," she said, for the first time feeling a waver to her words.

But Leliana didn't try to crack them open. She closed her eyes and sighed, "No, I suppose you don't. You were always Ferelden down to your core, both of you." Releasing her hold on Lana, Leliana reached over to Cullen and extended her hand. He took it with a question darting over to Lana.

"You have been one of the best things to ever step into Lanny's life, Commander," Leliana said, a rattle breaking through her throat. "And if you love her just a tenth of how much she loves you, then..." she paused and glanced over at Lana who felt her cheeks burning at the attention, "yours is a romance for the storybooks. Keep her safe. No, keep each other safe."

"I will," he pronounced as if giving a vow.

"Where will you be staying on your trip to Ferelden?" Leliana asked.

"Ah, I believe the itinerary has us stopping through a few of the smaller towns," Cullen answered, getting an eye roll from Lana. He knew the answer down to the anticipated hour they'd hit each one. It kept him busy for the week while they packed and prepared, slowly giving their limited goodbyes to the people who'd bustled in and out of their lives.

Leliana's lips turned up revealing that old bardic smile. "There is a lovely hunting cottage at my current disposal and it would be the perfect place for two people to slip away to without risk of being disturbed for a week or more."

Cullen looked about to insist they didn't need it, but Lana caught her friend's wicked edge, "Leils? What's going on?"

"A cleansing that shall shake the dusty cobwebs from every arm of the chantry," she smiled with a razor sharp edge. "It is a long time coming, and I would prefer both of you be far from any reverberations in the web."

That was nearly her life: intrigue, false smiles, knives in the dark. Lana could feel it rippling below her skin, how she could fall back to the days of her working through the shark infested waters of politics. But that wasn't what she wanted. Wrapping her hand around Cullen's, she stared up at him. That wasn't what he wanted either. Her time was limited, everyone's was by the discretion of the Maker, and Lana intended to spend every moment she was allotted making up for what was lost.

"We should take it," Lana said, "give your sister time to prepare, and...keep the Commander away from anyone's pinchers."

His eyes slipped shut and he nodded. "You're right. Thank you, Leliana."

A bark echoed from the middle of the boxes and Honor trotted out of her napping place. Hers were the saddest goodbyes of all, every person on her daily walks offering up their favorite mabari treats, pets, one even tied pink bows around her collar. Tatters of the ribbons dangled free, the mabari not having much use for the Orlesian finery, just like her masters. Proud of her minimal accomplishment, Honor stuck out her chest before barreling face first into Cullen's leg.

"Silly girl, what do you want now?" he sighed.

Behind them, the door opened, revealing a trio of nearly identical dwarves even down to their red beards. "We're here to haul your stuff down to the carriage."

"Of course," Cullen sighed, wrapping a finger around Honor's collar and pulling her out of the way. He gestured his head at the four crates, "That would be all of them."

"Right," the leader of the dwarven moving company nodded and the three of them hauled up the first. Lana jerked at the sounds of glass shifting below their fingers, prepared to tell them to be careful, but the third pointed out her sign. Slowly, three sets of crystal blue eyes swiveled towards her and each gulped. As if carrying a priceless statue of Andraste, they eased towards the door, murmuring how they were being extra super duper careful.

"I suppose that's it," Lana said. "By nightfall, we should reach the town of...?"

"Hamsville," Cullen groaned, struggling to not roll his eyes. She'd made an interesting game out of finding the strangest named villages across Orlais, and talked him into stopping at a few of them.

Cupping his fingers in hers, Lana squeezed once. Any perturbations he bore vanished at the touch of her skin. Smiling with his whole soul, the man who matched her step by excruciating step, pressed a whisper of a kiss against her forehead. It hadn't been an easy road, and Maker knew it wasn't about to lighten anytime soon, but she couldn't imagine having to walk it without Cullen. Dropping his grip, Lana hauled up the adder's hiss in her arms.

She glanced once more over the apartments gifted to them, searching to see if there was anything else they missed, when Leliana's hands wrapped tight around Lana's shoulders. Tears rarer than any gemstone dripped down Leliana's cheeks as she hugged her friend close. Lana struggled to return the affection, the plant holding her arms hostage.

"Promise me you'll keep alive this time," Leliana whispered.

"I'll do my damnedest," Lana said back, her own emotions bubbling over. They hugged tight to each other as the dwarves slipped back in, mumbling how that glass sure was secured safe, eyed the Divine wrapped up with the little mage, and yanked up the second box quickly.

"Thedas isn't the same without you," Leliana said, breaking her arms free. She glanced towards Cullen for a moment who nodded his head solemnly. "And for the Maker's sake, please write often. I have very few eyes in western Ferelden."

"Leils, I will not be your spy," she laughed, shaking her head.

"I meant to watch over you," Leliana whispered. "But," she wiped away her tears and extended a hand to Cullen, "you have that well covered. Both of you, live well. Live happy because all of us are happy for you."

"Maker, you make it sound like I'm walking to my death. Ferelden isn't that bad," Lana said, waving a finger under her friend's nose. Her mocking tone worked to diffuse the humid emotions rising in the room.

"As you say," Leliana answered, the Orlesian born woman patting Lana in the back. With one hand upon her cane and the other arm wrapped tight around her expanding pot, Lana slid next to Cullen. He offered to take the adder's hiss from her but she sighed and glanced down at Honor who was straining to make friends with the dwarves climbing up and down the staircase. Together, they surveyed the apartment one last time. It was strange, for being such a brief respite in their lives, so many memories of their coming together and building something new rested inside.

Turning up to Cullen, Lana smiled, "Let's go home."

## Chapter Twenty Six

**My Love**

**  
**

_9:44 The Dales_

Rubbing sleep out of his eye, Cullen tried to sneak down the stairs but every slip of his cautious foot caused a creak to moan through the entire hunting lodge. He couldn't remember who it technically belonged to, and the Divine waved his questions away with her enigmatic smile. Regardless, it seemed unlikely there'd be any unexpected visitors soon judging by the rain sleeting down the windows. Someone must have sunk almost all their coin into insulating the lodge as he couldn't hear a single drip of the water against the roof and panes of glass.

Sliding down the last of the stairs, he ignored the multitude of trophy heads glassily staring off the wall - Cullen only had eyes for the woman haphazardly strewn across the chair. Fire roared out of the hearth despite the rain slicking down the chimney, probably because the flames were blue. Ever since the fade, she hadn't been able to sleep without some light in the room and relied on veilfire throughout the night. She was never far from the blue and teal flame, the light washing over her and the chair like reflections off the sea. The chair itself was one of those monstrous things favored by Dukes and Counts of a certain disposition. With a high back carved to mimic a deer's antlers gouging off the sides, it imposed in the impractical way, trying to start up a conversation no one wanted to have. Rather than sit properly in it, she rested sideways, both of her elbows upon one arm while her knees dangled off the other. Legs bare despite the rain's chill, her feet kicked up and down displaying the toes painted in every color of the rainbow.

It was a new experience for him watching her Most Holy, the Divine squeal while painting twenty toes in all the options available to the two women. After weeks, chips of paint cracked off most of the nails from their travels, but she didn't mind. She said spotting the remaining colors brightened her up.

"I thought you were going to wake me from my nap," Cullen spoke while trying to comb his curls out of their wadded knot.

Lana slipped a finger in her book and turned in the chair to find him. A sweet smile twisted up her lips as well as his stomach. Maker, he'd do anything to see that smile every day for the rest of his life. "I couldn't. You were so exhausted when we arrived and...adorable when you sleep. There is warm tea if you'd like." She waved her hand towards a kettle resting on the end table beside her elbows.

Shaking his head, Cullen placed a hand against the metal anticipating what he'd find. "Cold," he chuckled.

"Oh dear, I forgot to return it after I..." she turned to her cup, nearly full, and probably just as cold.

Pulling up the kettle, Cullen placed it upon the hearth to warm up, "You have a terrible condition when it comes to tea."

"I know. I always think it'd be nice to sip some while reading, then I become engrossed and completely forget about it," she watched him prod at the logs not being consumed by the veilfire. Maybe he should try a real one. The blue light was useful, but true fire put out more heat. A soft sigh broke from her, and Cullen glanced over his shoulder to find her eyes, thick with hunger, traveling down his back.

"Hand me your cup as well?" he asked, breaking his spell over her. Reaching blindly behind her, she scooted the saucer and cup towards him then settled back into the chair.

"I'm afraid I'm bollocks at multi-tasking," Lana continued to list her faults, "unless it's on the battlefield."

Cullen smiled impishly, "Or in bed."

"That, uh," she tugged on the collar gaping around her neck, "I suppose there as well." Instead of her usual tunics or robes, she wore a wool sweater that could easily fit another one of her. The loose neck drooped down exposing her shoulder while the bottom hem reached past her upper thighs.

"Is that my sweater?" Cullen pouted, crossing his arms. "The one my sister knitted for me?" Which never fit because Mia seemed to be under the assumption he should be another fifty pounds heavier. Lana picked up the hem as if she'd never seen it before, exposing more of her tempting thigh. The cream color offset her skin so beautifully she looked both cozy as home and also ethereal beyond imagination.

"Perhaps," she said, laying the hem flat against her silky skin, "besides, I thought you were a true Ferelden man. They don't wear sweaters, they run out into the dead of winter bare chested with their fearsome mabari." Lana gestured at his fearsome mabari huffing in sleep on the rug beside the hearth. Even dogs grew weary during long trips.

"We Fereldens get cold," Cullen leaned down closer to her until those sweet eyes beamed into his, "it's why we have someone warm to share a bed with." His lips glanced across hers, intending only a soft kiss, but Lana lifted up her chin drawing him deeper into her web. Her fingers drifted down his shoulder and across the resting arms to squeeze his bicep.

"Mmm, I love when you sleep shirtless."

"Even if it leaves me cold and shivering in an empty bed?" he whispered to her ear.

"Perhaps I'd have stayed if you also slept pantsless," her fingers drew down his chest struggling to reach towards his stomach while her voice purred in anticipation.

Cullen laughed, "It'll never happen." After so many years fearing an invasion marching through his door at any moment, Cullen couldn't sleep without at least a pair of breeches on.

But Lana was not so easily persuaded, "Give me time, I've changed stubborner minds."

"That I would believe," he pressed his lips to her forehead and staggered back up to stand. His back screamed at him for even trying to stoop down to her for so long, but Cullen ignored it. A little pain was worth it to kiss her, to touch her, to skim his fingers across her warm skin and remind himself it was real. He gestured to her hands and asked, "Good book?"

"Ah," Lana flipped it around as if realizing it was yet in her clutches, "depends upon your definition of good." She displayed the cover _All This Shit's Weird_ by Varric Tethras. Cullen tried to bite back a groan while Lana shrugged, "I thought I'd try and catch up on what I missed. Seems he had very definite thoughts on a certain Commander of the Inquisition."

"The dwarf was maddening in every sense of the word," Cullen grumbled. "How bad is it?"

"Oh, the prose is purpler than my pinkie toes, and he seems to employ punctuation like a hammer, but the plot trucks around without getting bogged down in..." Lana smiled at him, "You mean how do you come off? Quite well. Stern, appropriating, grumpy, a killjoy of all fun - dead on really." She chuckled at him and Cullen couldn't maintain his growl. Hearing her laugh even at his expense lightened him beyond reason, he felt he could float through the air each time. "There was a section about you and your multitude of admirers at the Winter Palace Ball. He seemed to find that occurrence hilarious enough to include it three times."

Cullen ran his hands across the back of his neck, struggling to work out the kinks from a day sleeping on a foreign bed. What he needed was to sit for awhile, let his bunions rest before they renewed their trek east in a few days time. Smirking, he turned to Lana who was still flipping through the dwarf's book trying to find other passages to damn him. Her eyes lifted from the pages as he dropped down, placed one hand under her knees, another under her back, and scooped her into his arms.

"What are you doing?" she laughed, wiggling her feet in the air as he took all her body in his hands. Thank the Maker, she felt solid in his arms, no longer the paper thin muscles dangling off brittle bones from before. Time and more than a few hearty chantry dinners placed weight back upon her, weight he almost teared up in joy to hold onto again. She felt whole.

Twisting around while clinging to the woman he loved more than seemed possible, Cullen sat down in her chair. He released his hold on her legs, but kept the one around her back to hold her steady in his lap. Lana laughed a full one, her head dangling back off the chair's armrest. With his sweater smoothed out across her chest, Cullen spotted the dark hints of her nipples below the cream wool cupping against her temping breasts. He ran a hand up and down her legs, her calf muscles drawn out from where they'd faded away like knotted rope before. She was coming back to him.

"This is silly, you know. I'm over thirty, that's old maid territory. Spinsters don't sit in a gorgeous man's lap."

"Well, madam," Cullen helped her to curl up towards him so he could peck a kiss upon her lips, "you are the most beautiful matron I've ever had the pleasure to hold in my arms."

Her hand burrowed into the back of his shoulder as Lana rested her head against his chest. Through the sprouting of her returning hair, he felt the warmth of her cheek pressing against his own naked flesh. Maker, there weren't enough proper thank you's he could give to have Lana returned to him, to wrap his arms around this woman -- the only one to ever fill his heart -- and hold her tightly to his chest. She was his, he was hers, and it seemed almost impossible to imagine.

Those thick lashes fluttered against his skin. It felt as if she was painting his chest, the brush strokes erratic but lovely. Then her lips pressed against him, following the line of his pec as it dipped downward. Each hot breath after the kiss warmed him against the freezing rain sheeting across the windows. Gently, Cullen's hand massaged up and down her legs -- the same way he did when she first returned to him from the fade. Before, it was to bring blood back to her depleted and underused limbs, now it was to feel the pulse of her muscles as she curled her toes up. Lana was real, he reminded himself as he did every time he woke up and found her tiny body slumbering beside him.

His fingers slid higher up her thigh and he wondered aloud, "No breeches, but does the matron of the house dare to lounge around without any smalls on?" He skirted under the hem of the sweater, his fingertips skimming the top of her thigh and almost reaching above to test his theory for himself.

Lana sighed in pleasure, and she paused in her kisses to grin. "Wouldn't you like to find out?"

It was Cullen's turn to moan, anticipation stirring him even harder than having her in his lap did. Before he reached above her thighs, Lana locked both arms around his neck and pulled herself higher. Her nose bumped across his and he lost himself in her eyes, the golden ring around her pupils amplified in her mischief. She twirled a finger around his curly locks, trying to encourage them to curl more for her, then she dipped down. Lips parted for a scorching kiss, she danced her tongue deeper into his mouth, her flesh hungering for his. Cullen melted into her machinations, his exploring hand forgotten as he lifted it up to cup her cheek, pulling himself further into the kiss.

Lana broke away for a breath then pecked a few more kisses against his burning lips. "I love you," she whispered, leaning her head back to expose her neck. Cullen needed no more invitation to draw first his fingers, then his mouth down the side of her tiny neck. Soft, sweet kisses that'd leave no imprint pressed against her, trailing deeper towards her birthmark. Nearly sixteen years, and touching it, tasting her skin, running a finger across the drooping petals pushed every button inside of him. He wrapped his arms around the small of her back and leaned forward, trying to get a better taste - which caused Lana to giggle at his ferocity.

"I've missed you more than I can ever..." Tears stung her words, and Cullen's lust addled brain broke. He swept his fingers across her cheek, against the scar running down it, to mop up the fall of sorrow and regret.

"I know, because I've missed you just as much," he whispered.

"I wish I'd-"

"Lana," he placed his forehead against hers as his thumbs wiped away her fall of tears, "you're here now. That's all I need."

Light flashed from outside the windows, drawing both of them away. Cullen counted, waiting for the roll of thunder, but none came. Instead, the lodge's fixtures rattled in their hinges without a single sound booming across the rainy land. He turned a confused glance at Lana.

She smiled and waved her fingers, "Dampening spell. When you were sleeping, I didn't want the sound of the rain to wake you or worse so I, um... Is that all right?"

She did it because she was worried about him, because she wanted to protect him, hoped to help him, because she loved him. Cullen wrapped her tight against his chest, "It's sweet. Thank you."

"I love you."

"You already said that," he chuckled, trying to thread apart her short hair. Lana hated how it was growing in pieces from her self imposed cuts, so he'd often smooth down whatever errant section he found.

"I know, but...I want to make up for all the lost time."

"We do have a lot of it." He meant to play it off light, but the severity of the words struck them both. At the age of eighteen, he fell harder than he thought possible for that little mage - the one with the piles of curly hair and smart ideas. Twenty six and the one that slipped away returned to him, chose him, took him to her, only for both of them to give it up for duty. Then at thirty one, when the impossible happened, there she was again - needing him in a way he tried to understand. Now, by some will of the Maker, at thirty four he had her in his arms professing her love as easily as she'd ask for a cup of tea. It was like breathing to her, the way it had been for him for 16 years.

He moved to kiss her, when his wrist banged into the book in her fingers, "You're still holding that?"

She rotated it up to her face and smiled, "I intended to read it, until I was so handsomely interrupted."

"You know, I've never actually read it. How does the Hero of Ferelden come off in Master Tethras' mind?"

Lana smiled, "Shall I read you some?" Flipping open the book, pages riffled past until she landed on a certain passage. Coughing in her fist, Lana read, "'The Inquisitor stepped into the smuggler's cave expecting ambush, but he never could have prepared himself for the icy fists of winter.'"

"Icy fists of winter? I've never heard of a spell like that," Cullen interrupted.

"An author's liberties I suppose," Lana sighed. "'An ice spear flung off her palm, the blue crystal embedding a foot deep into the rock wall. As we blessed our asses that it didn't go through our skulls, the attacker stepped into the light. Eyes blazing like the frozen wastes of the Kokari wilds, with hair blacker than the deep roads, she raised her fists at us and shouted, "Who dares to disturb the Hero of Ferelden?'"

"I am assuming none of that happened."

"Varric does like to go on in a direction perpendicular to reality. Later he describes me as vengeance incarnate when I obliterated half of the grey warden army by myself. With...give me a moment. 'Fire trickling from her eyes, she drew forth from the places of mages and shattered lightning through the air. The beak of a griffin statue collapsed from her attack, tumbling through the air to scissor a pride demon in half.'" Lana snorted, "I wish it were that easy."

"Didn't he know you before?" Cullen asked, dimly aware that the dwarf knew the pirate, who also knew the king - which sounded like a bad hand in Wicked Grace.

Lana shrugged, "I'm guessing the truth of a person is more of a guideline for him. But I can be a bit intimidating at times, I have to give him that."

Snuggling her tighter to his chest, Cullen ran a finger across the book's back cover. "You are intimidatingly sweet, bone achingly beautiful, torturously kind, and on occasion - affectionately terrifying." She laughed at his assessment as she pressed her lips against his chin. Struggling back a moan, Cullen asked, "How about we forget the book and head upstairs?"

With a flick of her wrist, Lana chucked it onto the rug almost startling Honor awake. Cullen wrapped her tight in his arms, rose to his feet, and carried her up the stairs while she kissed those tempting lips across his skin. Lost in her plying kisses, he ran shin first into the bed's baseboard. Pain burst up his leg, but Lana parted the veil and drew forth a numbing from the fade to wash it away as soon as it came. Bending over, Cullen placed her on the bed - her small form sinking deep into the folds of the furry duvet - and he gathered up her hands, kissing them both.

She raised an eyebrow at how he stopped her spell, but he whispered into her ear, "You might want to reserve your mana." Quivering from either his warm breath, or the promise, Lana's trembling hands rolled up his back. She dug her fingers in on the way up, pulling him down on top of her as she laid back - the two of them melding together on the rickety bed thick with trophies of someone else's life.

Cullen gently swooped his hand against her cheek, her skin entrancing him as his fingers trailed down across her neck to the birthmark. Lana's own exploring hands paused in their reach to try and sculpt his backside and she turned up at him, raising her chin to give him better access. But he didn't pause at those drooping petals of her birthmark, instead he drifted each step of his hand down under the sweater. Parting her lips, Lana's eyes slipped closed and her head lolled back, a moan rising through her chest as he cupped along the swell of her breast. Uncomfortableness rose up from his groin as he realized he'd trapped his rising erection tight against his pant leg. Watching her sigh in ecstasy as he teased her breast only exacerbated his hard rock and a tight place.

"Maker," she panted as Cullen freed his hands out from under the sweater so he could rise up and adjust himself. Her beguiling eyes popped open and she staggered up on her elbows to meet his retreating face. Lana snagged the back of his head, her lips pulling the breath from him as she kissed with fury, trying to drag him back down with her. Cullen caught himself with one hand, his arms straining against the dipping mattress while nearly all of her wrapped around him. Lithe legs enveloped his stomach, her heels knocking against his ass as she ground against him.

It was his turn to blaspheme, "Andraste's pyre!" tumbled out of him before he could try and regain his composure. "You are a trial by fire," he chuckled at the woman who'd rip off his clothes and ride him in that instant if she had her way.

Hot lips pressed against his jaw, her luscious bottom one nibbling against the stubble as she cooed, "As if you'd have it any other way."

No, he wouldn't. Against his better judgement, and the screaming for more from his cock, Cullen unknotted her crossed legs, letting her fall the inch or so back to the bed. Chuckling, Lana smiled while her arms tumbled back beside her head. Her eyes traversed over his chest, the ache for him evident, while she bit down on her thumb. The image of her coyly nipping herself in anticipation nearly pushed Cullen to climb on top of her right then and there. Sliding his fingers under the hem of his sweater, he began to lift the stolen garment off her body. Lana squirmed, as if she expected it to take time, but he couldn't hold himself back. Yanking quickly, she laughed whole heartedly as Cullen rolled the sweater across her chest and arms.

_Maker's breath..._ He had to pinch himself every time he saw her, all of her like this. Laying back, her breasts slipped to the side, playfully heading in opposite directions - both of them swelling to full as she regained her lost weight. Those gorgeous freckles called to him, begging for his hand to stroke each one. Under the entertained eye of the beautiful woman, he ran his fingers up the curve of her waist - the beginnings of her soft stomach returning, bringing with it those glorious hips that'd hypnotized him since he was 18. Cullen's palm drifted across her upper thigh, when Lana gurgled in a dangerous chortle. Blinking, he broke away from watching her breasts jiggle with her laughter to her face. She found something hilarious for certain, but he had no idea...

"How in the Maker's seat did you manage that?" he exclaimed. Cut into her pubic hair was the emblem of the templars, the flames licking up the side beside her thighs while the sword's hilt broke off at that hypnotizing separation of her lower lips.

Lana tipped her head, "With a razor, a mirror, and some artistic focus."

Unable to withstand the temptation, Cullen climbed on top of her, kissing with every ounce of heat in his body as Lana met him with her own fervor. Freed of the trap, his cock prodded against her soft stomach with only his pants separating them. Maker, sometimes they made for the best chaperone between the two. Dangling her hands behind her head, Lana matched his kisses as she asked, "Do you like it?"

"It's impressive," he admitted, "but the sword's upside down."

Chuckling at first, Lana sighed, "Everyone's a critic." As she tossed her head back, Cullen pressed his lips down her neck, for once taking the birthmarkless path. The change caused her to squirm below him, knocking against his already straining trousers. Wrapping his hands around one breast, then the other, he gently squeezed each, eliciting a moan from deep in Lana's chest. When he drifted his fingers across one plum colored nipple, drawing it further out, she arced her back. Going after the second, Lana lifted her entire back off the bed, her head rolling under her for leverage.

"Oh, Maker, do it," she moaned, begging as his tongue licked circles around her breast. Slowly antagonizing her, he drew her full breast into his mouth, breathing against her skin before sucking tenderly on her nipple. She rolled her head back and forth, humming under her breath, when he gently scraped his teeth across the tip of it. "Holy sweet Andraste!" she gasped, her hand slapping against the fur blanket below.

_Hm..._ Cullen reached out to snatch her hand up. Her eyes lifted slowly to watch him grab her other hand. Scooting forward, he pinned both back above her head, savoring the stretch to her beautiful body. Using the sleeve of his borrowed sweater, he knotted the wool tight against one of her wrists and then the other. Lana squirmed below him, the ecstasy palpable, before she glanced up and concern broke through her bliss. "Is this okay?" she asked, trying to gesture to his half hearted attempts at tying her down.

No revulsion crawled through his skin at the sight of her tied up in his sweater, only a burning desire to drive her to the brink and back for more. Lowering down to her, he whispered against her ear, "It is. I've never wanted you more."

Shuddering in a breath, she cried, "Then blighted take me."

He damn well intended to. His mouth traversed down her body, his fingers leading the charge to tantalize the skin before licking and sucking upon her. Each kiss caused Lana to squirm below him, gasps of pleasure and annoyance in equal measure as he took his time tasting her, teasing her. Gently, his fingers caressed down the shaved blade until he paused at the hilt begging for his attention. Cullen licked every flame, his tongue tracing the pattern of each before sliding down the sword to paradise. Moaning in anticipation, Lana wrapped her legs around the back of his head as his lips kissed against her lower ones. Digging into her inner thighs, he spread her open to lap up her excitement. The scent of her arousal, wet and warm, broke through every barrier Cullen threw up. He dove tongue first into her, licking and sucking first against her labia, then to her clit.

Lana's legs clenched tight against his head, muffling his ears, but he could feel her moans through her body. A few slow licks earned him a soft sigh, and a rapid thrumming of his tongue caused her to lift her lower half high off the bed, screaming for him to get closer. Slick with her arousal, Cullen drew his finger across her inner lips before plunging it inside. Those sumptuous inner muscles pulsed, straining to clench against first one finger then a second.

Raising away from his tempting work, Cullen whispered, his voice throaty with desire, "Do the spell."

"Really?" Lana squeaked, her eyelids flying open as she tried to look down at him. He only smiled wide and returned to work, chasing that perfect rhythm against her. Unable to taste anything but Lana, he could only feel the hair on his arms lift at the veil parting into their world. He didn't know what she was preparing on her hands knotted tight above her head, but judging by the building mana it was powerful. _Maker, what did he get himself into?_

Her clit throbbed under his tongue's lavish attentions as he drove his fingers inside of her - shallow at first, but reaching deeper and deeper. Even while she put her mental focus on casting a spell, Lana panted - her body trembling as she squirmed to try and thrust with him. It wasn't long now. Her vagina clamped tighter against him, trying to draw his fingers deeper in. Cullen kept the same lick, twist, suck motion up while he dipped down into the nothing of templars.

"M-m-m-maker," Lana moaned, her thighs straining beside his head as she walked ever closer to the end. Thrusting as deep inside as he could reach, Cullen blanketed her in a mana cleanse, wiping away the spell. The hit was instantaneous, something in it pushing her right off the cliff. Her entire body snapped rigid, only the pulses of her ecstatic vagina responding as she rode it out as long as possible. When Lana's legs fell slack off his neck, Cullen drew his tongue back from her. "Sweet, damn, holy..." her words trembled in time with her body.

Sliding off his trousers, he climbed over top of her. Lana lay in rapture, her eyes slipped shut and a grin etched upon her face.  He wished he could imprint that picture of her in euphoria onto his heart. Sensing the man hovering above, her eyes rolled open - a blissful sheen across them - and she smiled, "That was, holy beyond the void of...um, perfect."

Cullen squared his knees beside her hips and bent down, his fingers tracing her cheek, "I'm not finished yet."

With her hands still knotted in the sweater, Lana threw them behind his head, dragging his face towards her for a never ending kiss. While their lips mashed and sucked, he shifted his weight to be able to cup her breast, pinching her nipple between his fingers. Lana gasped, her bound hands digging into his skin in surprise. Quickly, she wrapped one leg then the other around his stomach, pulsing the hilt of her sword right above his own. Instinctively, he thrusted forward, his cock slipping right on up across her lips.

She paused in her kissing to shrug, "It's all on you. I'm afraid I'm tied up at the moment."

"You are," Cullen growled in hunger from the depths of his soul. With almost all of her hanging off him, he shifted his weight to the side to grab onto himself and guide the head of his cock inside her. Lana bore down, her wetness driving him deep through her. "Holy Maker!" he gasped, his hand flying out to the bed to catch himself.

"I'm the holy Maker?" Lana smirked. He froze above her while she drug her heels up and down his back, those mischievous eyes taunting him.

Cullen placed his forehead against hers, trying to ground himself, "In this moment, yes." Slowly, he drew himself out, savoring the cushion of every bump and turn inside of her. Lana groaned, her legs lifting higher as she tried to encourage him to bore out all of her, but he kept the thrusts shallow. Beads of sweat percolated off her collarbone, the shine drawing his lips to that birthmark. The moment he kissed it, tasted the petals of her sweet skin, he drove his cock deep.

Incoherent cries of pleasure erupted from Lana, her back arcing as she tried to push him further in while also exposing her neck. Maker, the woman was a challenge. Each touch of his lips was met with a thrust, the rhythm languid but gaining in speed while the woman he loved clenched with each one. She adored torturing him, watching him squirm above and below her.

"Ah ha," he paused, feeling sweat drip across his shoulders and down straining biceps. Swallowing back the urge to drive himself to the brink, Cullen slid out of her - the head of his cock bouncing against the warm perfection it yearned for.

Lana bunched up her lips in consternation, then her eyes traveled up to his. Yanking her hands off from behind his head, she sat up, Cullen following her for fear she might head-butt him off the bed. While perched on his knees near the edge of the bed, he watched slightly confused as Lana kissed him. Her lips ambushing his for a heated kiss, then she bent over. He caught on to her plans the breath before her tongue danced across his quivering cock.

"By all the..." Cullen groaned from the depths of his balls while she plied him with every trick she knew - her bound hand managing to slide up and down his shaft to trail that tantalizing tongue. Her fingers reached lower to cup his balls, gently rotating them in her palm before she pushed a finger against the skin directly behind them. Bending her finger over, she massaged his taint, the combo of tongue and digit stimulation drawing all discipline from Cullen's body. He couldn't stop her if he tried, but it was Lana who lifted her head, removed her fingers and smiled at him.

Wet with the juices from both her lips, Cullen shuddered to drag himself back from the explosion. In his state he barely noticed the smell of magic rising in the air until Lana tapped her fingers together and then touched herself. Watching her add that vibration spell to her own clitoris pushed him to the limits of desire. "I need you," he groaned, reaching out to cup her breast.

Lana lifted her eyebrows, rolled that captivating tongue in her cheek and shrugged, "Wanna go for mabari?"

"Are you, can you remain up long enough?"

She spun around the bed to place her hands before her. Lifting her voluptuous ass towards him she smiled, "That's what I was going to ask you."

"What am I...?" his train of thought evaporated as he curved his palm against her delectable asscheeks. Rising up on his own knees to match her, Cullen bit down on a hungry growl from the vision before him of Lana's breasts skimming the bed while on all fours. Gripping tight to himself to try and calm the blood, he guided his cock into her. Maker, against all laws of nature, somehow this was even tighter. Lana began to pant instantly, her head tossed back as she begged for something. He couldn't make it out through the blood rushing out of his ears. In that moment he was nothing but his cock slipping deeper and deeper inside of her, drawing even more moaning as she pushed back.

He'd tried going slow, but there was nothing left now. He needed to fill all of her. Grabbing onto her hips, Cullen situated his knees, about to begin thrusting faster when Lana unleashed her spell. He could feel the vibrations rolling up from her clitoris, causing her to pant even more, her vagina clenching tighter into him. But another stronger vibration rolled up through his balls, the shaft of his cock, and the entirety of his lower body. Driving on pure instinct, he pumped into her, the back of his tongue falling numb as every nerve in his lower body screamed out in ecstasy. Lana clenched tighter around him, her head dropping to the bed as she cried out incoherently, and her orgasm finally let him tip over the edge.

His legs began to shake, trembling to match his cock spraying what felt like a month's worth inside her. _Maker's breath!_ Lana collapsed onto the bed, her energy beyond spent, and he followed with, laying on top of her like a blanket. His body was spinning around, his skin sensitive to the slightest touch from the internal explosion, while Lana's warm body below draped pure bliss over him. He was at war with himself to leap up in joy or curl up in sleep.

Cullen settled for leaning close to her ear, "I didn't realize you slipped one of those onto me."

He felt her smile into the mattress, "Thought you might like it."

"Maker, beyond, it was. As if everything inside..." without words to explain he pressed his lips to the back of her neck, "There are definite perks to sleeping with a mage."

"And a templar," Lana added. Her hands remained bound up in his sweater below her, but he knew that wasn't what she meant.

"I'd never have thought a mana drain could cause such an impact," he said sliding back her hair and caressing her shoulders.

"It doesn't have that effect all the time," she lifted up on her hands and began to twist around. Regretfully, Cullen pulled himself out of her, and she flipped around to face him. At least he could get lost in her beautiful face. "Just, you know, during sex. Maker, be right embarrassing if it happened during a fight. Uh sorry, I know you're trying to kill me and all but I suddenly need to change my smalls."

Two years he'd grieved, blamed himself, blamed her, blamed Hawke, blamed the Inquisitor, blamed the Maker for taking her away. He never dreamed he could touch her skin again. Feel the rise and fall of her ample chest against his, watch her lips glisten as she wet them in anticipation, hear her sighs as she pulled herself back from euphoria. For the first time in his life, Cullen felt that everything was finally right, happiness a true possibility.

Lana reached up to run her bound hands down his chest, "You look a hundred miles away. What are you thinking?"

"How much I love you," he answered truthfully. He worried that he didn't have the right words to convince Lana he cared, how she rested deep in his heart and always would. From the way she looked at him, the way she smiled whenever he told her the stark truth, Cullen realized he didn't need to find the perfect answer - the fact it was his truth was enough.

"I love you too," she smiled, then her ornery eyes drifted lower, "and I especially love what you can do." Lana moved to lift her arms but they dropped against the bed, exhaustion evident. Cullen slid to her side to tenderly unknot his sweater off her.

"Too much?" he asked, concerned as always. She had a long road to walk to becoming her old self, if she ever reached it.

"No," Lana shook her head, her freed hands wrapping around his cheeks, "Just right." Kissing him, she managed a few more seconds before a yawn broke them apart. Lana flopped back onto the bed, her eyelids drooping. "Sleep sounds delightful right now."

Cullen lifted her body in his arms so he could pull back the blanket and drape it over her. With it tucked below her arms, he was drawn to the beautiful scoop of her shoulders, dewey with sweat. Lana yawned again and flipped onto her side, prepared to make good on her promise. Pulling up the edge of the blanket, Cullen slid in beside her, his hand gripping tight to her stomach.

"What are you doing?" Lana asked, struggling against the allure of sleep. "You can't be tired. You just rose from a nap."

"I'm not, but," he drew his body around hers, fitting tightly as if they were made for each other, "you shouldn't have to wake up alone."

A small sigh overlaid with a shudder escaped from her, he'd lay beside her as long as she needed it. Lana gripped onto his fingers and leaned back against him. Tears clinging to her words, she whispered, "I love you, my templar."

"And I you, my mage."

## Chapter Twenty Seven

**Tradition**

**  
**

_9:45 Denerim_

Plumper in the middle than either ends and a disquieting purple color, the sausage rolled around on Lana's plate as she glared at it.

"I told you," Alistair hummed, his chosen slop dribbling down his chin.

She shrugged, "How does one mess up a sausage? Seems like you'd have to be actively trying to get it that color."

Reaching over the table, he jabbed at her meat with his spoon and a squelching sound erupted from the casing. They both grimaced at it, sharing a 'that's not normal' look. "Your funeral if you eat it."

"I'm not twenty any longer, and that dare never worked on me anyway," Lana countered with. She slid the plate away from her, not really hungry. They only stopped in the old gnarled tavern because it was tradition. And knowing its traditional food, they also snatched up some fresh pastries off a cart in the main thoroughfare before stopping for dinner. Not that a stomach full of doughy treats did anything to slow the king of Ferelden slopping gruel down his gullet.

"You ever wonder why they don't make the food better?" Alistair asked, jabbing his spoon at the menu board. "Get a real chef, or someone who's not trying to commit heinous crimes against culinarity."

Lana ran a finger along her cheek, absently tracing her scar, "I suspect that would break the laws of reality. A backdoor tavern full of villainous scum and slumming heroes possessing grand cuisine? Could you imagine families sitting around these plague ridden tables talking about how exquisite the amuse-bouche is here?"

"What is that amused bush? First time I heard it, I thought someone was talking about a hilarious shrubbery."

Laughing to the point of snorting, Lana threw her head back at the image, "Maker, yes, I'd much rather find a laughing plant on a silver platter hoisted up by snooty elves."

"As long as it's not a rhyming tree."

"Agreed," she nodded at the king who spent the marked day at her side, then her eyes trailed away to the tavern's door swinging open. Smiling wide at the gorgeous man trying to navigate around the darkened tables and hunched diners, Lana watched him for a moment before raising her hand to catch Cullen's attention.

Alistair spotted it and turned in his seat, probably expecting guards come to snag him. To his credit, he also smiled at the man approaching their table. "Maker's breath," Cullen huffed beside them, "how can you see beyond your nose in here?"

"You can't," Alistair answered, "it helps with the ambience."

"And to disguise the food," Lana snickered, lifting up her sausage. She slid up from her seat to peck a kiss upon Cullen's lips before asking, "How did your little meet and greet go?"

"Good, I hope," he ruffled his hand through his hair, knotting his curls up tighter. She flexed her fingers in anticipation of grabbing onto them later. "The grand cleric gave me an audience and I, there was a lot to discuss at the sanitarium. Some of the templars who haven't even fallen to lyrium poisoning wound up there without anywhere to go. They're interested to be certain." For this important overture, he'd forgone the armor and put on the fanciest shirt they could find - a brilliant emerald in layers of silk offset with brass buttons. She couldn't talk him into the ruffs no matter how much she insisted they were the it fashion. Not that it mattered, the man had to have whispers from behind lady's hands following his every step - he cleaned up very well. And Lana had every intention of dirtying him later.

Cullen's hand drifted away from his neck and he pointed at Lana, "How did your, uh, tradition go?"

"Very well," she answered, "barely anyone seemed to be out today doing any law breaking. A strange curiosity..." she glanced over at Alistair nose deep into his mug. At her perched eyebrow, he started, bubbles sloshing mead over his mug's lip.

"What?" he wiped at his chin. "You think I had something to do with that?"

"We ran into, what? Four bandits, two of which had terrible head colds, and instead spent most of the day sitting beneath the trees watching the merchants work."

Alistair shrugged, "Don't go giving me that eye. Bandits don't tend to follow rules from on high, rather known for it. You think I ran around the day before rounding 'em all up and promised them a shiny silver if they were good boys and girls tomorrow? Put on a little play of fake dying for the mage? I have better things to do with my time, more or less. Maybe they all finally wised up and realized this day was best for staying indoors."

"You're saying you had no troubles?" Cullen interrupted. He didn't sit, but hovered near her, his body leaning into a hand upon the table.

"Don't go gettin' your smalls in a knot, templar," Alistair interrupted. "She's still got all her tricks up her sleeve, even if it takes her longer to limp there." Lana's boot knocked into her cane below the table. She went through many iterations over the year, trying to find one that could double as a staff in an emergency. One day she stumbled out of their current lodging to find Cullen bent over a workbench, wood shavings tumbling from the sides. He gleamed as he presented his first attempt to her. It took a few more tries, a couple cracking from her heavy use, but eventually she carried a simple but elegant cane painted a threatening midnight with speckles of silver dusting like stars. Under the handle, so her fingers would drag across them every time she walked, he carved the words "Stay Safe." Maker, she had every intention of it.

Rubbing her fingers up and down her worrywart's arm, Lana smiled at him. Then she gestured to the other denizen below the table, "Besides, we had Honor with us as well. She's been coming along wonderfully for taking down bandits. Goes right for the jugular without a second thought."

Cullen cupped her fingers, his bittersweet smile beaming on her, before he dipped down to ruffle up the exhausted dog's ears. "You did good, girl."

"Nothing to worry about whatsoever," Alistair crowed. Against his own common sense, he jabbed a knife into the purple sausage and drifted it close to his teeth. Lana hissed, slapping a hand over her mouth and potentially one over her eyes as well.

"Don't, do not eat that. Maker's sake, you have no idea where it's been," she chastised.

"On your plate for an hour," he scoffed back. "If you're not gonna eat it, I see no reason for it to go to waste," and then he snickered, dropping the stabbed meat product down against the table.

Shaking her head and willing away the disgust from the very idea, Lana turned to Cullen, her voice softening as she knotted her fingers over top his on the table. "What's next then?"

He blinked, his eyes snapping back from wherever he drifted off to while gazing at her, "Oh, uh, with the Grand Cleric's blessing and some backing from the Inquisition, we have to petition the crown for land..."

"Sure," Alistair interrupted, "take whatever you need. Want an Arling? Nah, that's probably a bit much. You think you want all that space at first, and then you remember how much damn dusting you have to do. Always with the dusting. And I don't even remember getting that stupid curio."

"What?" Cullen started, his hand slipping out from under hers as he turned to the king whacking his spoon against the sausage to see what would happen. "That, I assumed I would need to... Are there not procedures necessary? Precedent to follow?"

"Probably," Alistair shrugged. "Look, if you want to scurry into the throne room, doff your hat, get to a knee, and say your spiel be my guest. No one's gonna argue with what you're asking."

"No one?" Lana asked, well aware of how politics worked.

"All right," he threw up both hands, "someone will argue because, I don't know, he wasn't hugged enough as a child. But come on, who's gonna say no to the Hero of Ferelden?"

"Who's dead, remember," Lana said, her eyes darting around the tavern. She figured if she kept herself cloaked and away from the nobility sections of Denerim she'd be safe.

"Yeah yeah, I know. Still, you should swing by the palace. We've rearranged all the tapestries in alphabetical and most poncy order. And then you can meet Spud."

"Alistair, you know I can't. Someone's liable to see me," they'd had that same argument all day.

The king seemed to finally accept she wasn't about to budge when out of nowhere he'd invent another excuse for why she must sneak into the palace. They'd gone from pies, windows, the wainscoting on the trellises, to a portrait in the attic that he swore kept getting younger. Alistair snapped his fingers and sat up, "What if I arrange a little jaunt out in the streets with Spud and you just happen to swing on by? No one'd be the wiser."

"Won't you be busy that day holding court for...reasons?" Lana jerked her head in the direction of Cullen who silently watched them not-argue.

Alistair glanced from her, to Cullen, and then back again, "I officially give you, Cullen...shit, what's your last name? Eh, doesn't matter, that's what clerks are for. All the land you're asking for. You need somewhere nice too. How about the Hinterlands? Put you near the old tower, and you'd be under Teagan, so..."

"That, uh," Cullen's eyes bulged in surprise. He'd fretted for weeks about his plans all falling apart before they even began. Having rarely dealt with politics during peacetime, the wheelings and dealings wafted him by. Cullen was unlikely to ever become a diplomat even in his retirement. So many of their nights in bed were lost to Lana assuring him they'd find a way to make it work, and Cullen unraveling every thread she darned up.

Cupping his hand in hers, Lana smiled at him, then nodded at Alistair, "We accept."

"Great! I'll put in the, tell someone to put in whatever does the thing. I think there's an old abbey in the woods near Lake Calenhad. Pretty land, in disrepair, but pretty. Someone'll tell you where it is."

"Thank you," Cullen bowed his head, his eyes slipping closed. She anticipated a 'Your majesty' or 'highness' to slip out, but he smiled almost serenely and said, "Alistair."

The clatter of armored boots trampling through the front door drew all three's attention. Lana smiled, "Looks like your cavalcade's arrived."

"Buggers," Alistair cursed, "is it that late already? I owe someone a bedtime story." He finished off his mead and wiped the runoff from his chin.

"A bedtime story? She's not even a year yet," Lana said, shaking her head.

"Got to start them early." He grinned wide and rose out of his seat to peck a kiss against Lana's cheek. "Lanny, I'll be seeing you next year?"

"It's tradition," she said.

Sliding out of the booth, Alistair paused to pat slumbering Honor on the head, then he extended a hand to Cullen. They both shook, an acceptance wafting between them. She never thought she'd live to see the day. Bowing his head to the templar, Alistair crossed the creaking inn floor to throw his arms around his guard's shoulders. "Boys, and girls, hope it's a straight shot to the palace. I need to get a few chapters in with Spud before it's lights out. I was thinking tonight I finally tell her about the fearsome archdemon I helped slay..."

His voice faded out the door along with the king's personal guard. Cullen watched silently for a few minutes, before he leaned down to Lana, "Spud?"

She snickered, "That's his nickname for his daughter. I don't think I've ever heard him use her given one, actually."

"Huh..." Cullen stared in the king's path, his own thoughts churning. Then he turned to Lana, "You're smiling."

"I, I'm happy for him," she dipped her head down, a warmth enveloping her cheeks. "He finally got that family he wanted."

Cullen's hand caressed over hers, his fingers massaging her weary hand that knotted up sometimes when she had to rely upon her cane for too long. Some days it bothered her, accepting that she'd never be what she once was, having to face up to how much the fade took from her. But then she'd catch a glimpse of Cullen shirtless as he carted wood in for the fire, or savor his fingers digging into her calves and feet. Sighing in the back of her throat, Lana smiled even wider as she reached for him. He obliged by dipping lower, her fingers knotting behind his neck. "And I got you," she kissed his lips that tasted of Denerim soot, boiled elfroot tea, and the man she loved.

Bumping her nose against his cheek, Lana whispered, "Let's go to bed."

"With pleasure," Cullen grinned. He wrapped his hands around her bottom and yanked her up into his arms, Lana clinging tight to his neck. She couldn't stop the giggle as he huffed for a moment to adjust her, then risked a quick kiss. Together they wandered off to the back where there was going to be little sleeping.

"Honor," Lana called behind her, "bring my cane."

## Chapter Twenty Eight

**Question**

**  
**

_9:46 Hinterlands_

_  
_

A solitary hawk cried out through the setting sun, its wings parting the dusky air as it rose above the Hinterland trees. Cullen watched it for a time, his fingers clinging to the stones of their abbey, when he leaned too far forward. It knocked a stone loose, sending it skittering over the edge where the broken masonry plopped onto the barely tamed ground. A few of their workers glanced over, eyeing up the man supposed to be in charge.

"We'll fix it tomorrow," he said, his stone destroying hand digging into the back of his neck. "Maker, it's been a long day," Cullen groaned. Giving up on any hope of wringing a knot out, he turned away from the lanterns springing up around their refuge to face the bedroom door. They'd only moved into it a few days ago, having needed to clear out where they had been sleeping for an unexpected ill templar.

Cullen lifted the latch with his thumb and pushed on the door, only to have it stick tight. _Blighted perfect._ Groaning from the days worth of work spent shuffling from bed to bed, trying to clear out the always falling debris in their ramshackle stables, and then showing a Bann around for good measure, he smacked his head against the door. Mercifully, that was enough to unstick the jam, and it whined inward revealing a sight that made it all worth it.

Their room was a disaster, splintered and useless furniture piled up on one side to rot away into a dust heap. But a solitary desk of rosewood was found in a back room in nearly pristine condition. He had to sand it down and revarnish it, but it was sturdy and ready to take on its new life under their hands. All manner of missives, letters, books, research, and their piles of barely washed clothing filled the top as they had yet to find any other dressers or wardrobes. What brought a smile to his face was the plant perched on the edge. Straining to reach out the window, the silver and green leaves of the poisonous adder's hiss glittered by the setting sunlight and the water being poured across it.

Lana looked beautiful, a concentrated smile on her face as she ran thumb and finger across a leaf while humming that damn song about him under her breath. Funny enough, she wore that blue dress she'd gotten in Val Royeaux over a year ago. Ever since they took the land from the crown, she'd been dressed in tunics and trousers with the ratio of stains to rips always altering as their work stretched on. Today, she thought it best to look presentable. The Bann barely cast a glance at the true brains behind their work, but Cullen couldn't take his eyes off her.

The humming faded and she glanced up at him. Her lips lifted even higher, revealing those hidden dimples she kept secreted away. Cullen's legs wobbled from the way she stared up at him. "Long day," stuttered from his lips as he slid into the room. Turning, he tried to yank the door back but it whined even louder before failing to fully close. "Maker's sake!" he cursed under his breath, abandoning the stuck open door for tomorrow.

Lana placed her watering can down and swept across the floor towards him. He barely lifted his arms before she wrapped around him into an embrace. Maker, holding her calmed his blood in a way nothing else ever could. She rolled her fingers over his back and strained on her toes to look up into his eyes.

"We should celebrate," she pronounced, a glint in her eye.

"Oh?" At the moment, all the celebrating Cullen could manage would be the falling to the floor part. Someone else would have to handle all the carousing and drinking.

"It's our first day as a still nameless refuge," she said, waving an arm. Even through the exhaustion, her infectious smile managed to twist his lips up higher.

"First day?" he scoffed. "Then what were the past two months when we had templars in and out of the rooms."

"Practice?" Lana threw out, striking a lightening guffaw from deep in his gut. His fingers ran across her cheek, the calluses from trying to turn the decrepit abbey into something livable grazing upon her skin. Lana didn't flinch from them; she turned so her lips could press against each one. "We're official now, got the chantry's blessing, the crown's..."

"As if that was difficult to do," Cullen grumbled but generally goodnatured. Alistair was on the far side of the country, after all.

"And," Lana drug it out, her eyes rolling at his no doubt 'king sneer,' "with the Bann giving us his approval it's our first day in business. As it were."

Lightly, Cullen tugged off the flour sack she tied around her hair. Her strands burst free of their constraint, the spirals barely contained after a rainstorm moved through a day ago. Tossing it to their bowing desk, he fluffed her hair up savoring the pull of it upon his fingers. Lana's eyes slipped closed, enjoying the gentle scalp massage before Cullen tipped her head back and planted a kiss. He'd been wanting to do it since she slipped on that dress. Yearned to ditch the Bann, pull Lana aside, and lick every delectable curve of her skin.

She smiled, her grin almost breaking free of his lips before she rolled her fingers around his back to tug herself closer to him. A moan parted her lips, nearly primal enough to convince him he wasn't exhausted beyond measure. The tremor in his hands told him otherwise. Slipping away before he did any damage to himself, Cullen ran a finger across her cheek, trailing her scar.

"Something on your mind?" she asked, a purr rolling under her words.

"Yes," he sighed, "but all my body wants is to curl into bed."

Lana's smile didn't falter, no doubt she was as exhausted, but her eyes darted to their mattress tossed onto the floor. "More like crawl into bed."

He groaned, "Yes, I know. I'll get to it one of these days." He'd had a lofty idea of building his first ever headboard and bed frame, because that was so easy.

"Cullen," she caught his hand and pinned it in her own. Lana's fingers dug into his palm, trying to massage away the calluses sprouting calluses, "I know you will. You always finish what you start."

That wasn't true, there were plenty of things in his life he had to abandon over the years. Like her. Maker, how many times did he walk away from Lana never knowing if he'd ever see her again, if she'd ever want to see him?

The dark turn in his mood must have shone through as she brushed her fingers across his clean shaven face. That earned a momentary frown, Cullen well aware of her preferences. Cupping her wrist, he sighed, "Give it a day and it will return."

"I hope so," she smiled. "The Bann was hardly worth it."

"On that I will concur," he said, tipping his forehead against hers.

"Really?" Lana pursed her lips, drawing his attention to the succulent temptation. "Commander Cullen thinking that the nobility are overrated. I am shocked."

He snickered, "I'm no longer the Commander, remember."

"Yes you are," she said. "Doesn't matter how far you are into retirement. Titles like that, the ones earned in war, they never go away. Well, not unless you go deep into hiding, maybe fake your own death, and then everyone thinks you're the maid or something."

She slipped on an easy smile, but he knew it had to bother her. It angered him to no end when they'd meet with the dignitaries who'd fall all over Cullen as if he pissed gold but barely deign a glance at the woman beside him. The only ones who gave her the respect she deserved were the King and Arl Teagan, the people who knew who Lana truly was. "You deserve better," he huffed.

"I don't know, sometimes it's nice to be a nobody," she said running her fingers down his shirt. As they traipsed near his stomach, Lana's tongue trailed across her lips. "I get to overhear the noble women all a titter over the Commander in their midst. When they're not asking me to fetch them more wine."

He didn't understand it. So many of the gentry treated Lana like furniture, as if she faded into the wallpaper, while he couldn't remember a time that she didn't command his attention from across a crowded room. "I wish I could whack them all about the head," he growled.

"No you don't," Lana chastised, before tipping her head, "all right, some of them I'll give you. Cullen," she drew her fingers down his cheeks, pulling his eyes to hers, "I don't mind. I don't care because, for the love of Andraste, I have you. It's worth it to be able to wake every day in your arms not fearing a darkspawn attack or an army come to knock down our little abbey's walls."

"They could do it with a sneeze," he sighed, well aware of the work still ahead of him. Biting on his lip, he butted his forehead tighter to hers. "I'm...having you here, with me. Doing what we're doing for the good of..."

He'd had a speech prepared for nearly a month now, one that spoke of how his heart beat only in time with hers, how he'd try to wake a few minutes before she did just to watch her slumber in peace. That he loved her beyond reason, and never in his life imagined he could be this happy. But anytime he tried to begin it, the words jumbled in his throat, his tongue rolled upon itself, and he glanced over at her bemused expression realizing that he'd blown his moment. There was always the next time, Cullen kept repeating to himself. He could ask her again later, when he hadn't inserted his foot into his mouth.

At the rate his attempts were going, the likelihood of that seemed to be sometime within the next twenty years.

For her part, Lana waited, her fingers knotting around his as she tugged them down to hang between their pressed bodies. His thumb rolled across each of them, knocking about the ring she always wore. Maker, why couldn't he do it? It was two simple words but any time he thought of it his brow perspired in terror and his tongue scampered down his throat. He knew she loved him, knew she wanted to be with him. Maybe, maybe that was all they needed and he was stressing himself over a frivolity.

"Cullen," she breathed, her eyes staring down at their conjoined hands - both of them cracked and knotted from the work they put in, their lives donated to the cause. A knot of a smile lifted up her lips and Lana raised her eyes up to his. "Would you marry me?"

Shocked, he jerked back. She did it, took the fear and trepidation away from him with a single twist of that beautiful mouth. "Yes," Cullen gasped, giddiness replacing the flop sweat. "Maker's breath, yes." Cupping her jaw, he kissed her with a purity they hadn't felt since that very first one in the deeproads. When he'd stood there with his heart in his hand, risking everything, and she gladly accepted it. Now it was his turn.

"I..." he slid back before diving back for another kiss, this one burning through his soul and awakening every fiber of his being. "I love you," he sighed.

"That's a good reason to get married," she said straight laced, before smirking.

"What will I...?" he began, shaking his head even as a lightness lifted his soul ever skyward. It'd been weighed by rocks, some of his own choosing and others heaped upon him from outside forces. But Lana, that little mage who flitted through his mind with an elegant ease for so long, removed each one piece by piece until he thought he could fly. "I've wanted to ask you, to...but I didn't know if," he stuttered, mashing his forehead against hers.

"We certainly don't need anyone's blessing," she sighed, her fingers straining to knot behind the back of his neck. "There's no land to tie up, no dowries to pass back and forth, but..." her lips parted and she took in a breath. Rolling those endless brown eyes up at him, Lana sighed, "I know what the Maker means to you, and having Andraste forge our union would..."

"Lana," Cullen smiled, pushing back the invading hairs he freed, "you don't have to explain it."

"Sorry," she smiled, "old habit."

"One of many I love," he wrapped her tight against his chest and the weight of their struggle crashed upon him. "And never want to lose."

Fifteen years since the blight, when she vanished from his life to warp and hone herself into a slayer of darkspawn. Fifteen years since his heart, his certainty, was shattered by blood mages leaving him a jagged edge that slit apart all who drew near. So long, it could have failed dozens of times over but they kept finding each other. A long, knotted road for both to travel before stumbling upon a place of peace.

_Maker, Andraste, thank You both for giving me the patience to wait, and the sight to know when it was love before me._

Lana mumbled something incoherent, dragging Cullen away from his musings. He tried to lift her off his chest, but she clung tight. "It's probably tradition to celebrate ones engagement and, any other time I'd tear those pants suckered to your ass off you, but I'm afraid I'm waning quickly."

Trying to not laugh at his...Maker's breath, she was his fiancé now. The idea drew a smile to Cullen's lips which he placed onto the top of her head. Tugging her upward, Lana slipped weary feet on top of his and together they staggered towards the mattress that would one day become a bed. Their bed, a marital bed. It seemed too much to hope for.

Rolling onto the straw and snatching up a blanket, Lana slid over onto her side. Her head dug deep into the pillow, those lush lashes slipped tight. Cullen took his time, yanking off his boots and clothes, arranging them onto their lone chair and then burrowing under the blanket to watch her, his future wife. He was going to be the Hero of Ferelden's husband. That was...

After she left him in Kirkwall, he'd often start from a dream unlike the others that haunted him. There were no blood mages, no demons, simply Lana and Cullen together, as impossible as it seemed. It was foolish to cling to, but as his world crumbled around him, the hope was all he had - an impossible future that somehow became reality. Cullen caressed his thumb across her cheek, watching the gentle rise and fall as she breathed deep.

"I love you beyond reason," he whispered to the night air.

Her cheek lifted below him, a smile answering his confession, "And I you, even if you won't go to sleep."

Whispering a wordless apology for keeping her awake, he tugged his hand back to his side but kept watching Lana. The candles dampened, only a blue haze from their brazier lifting awake, even though Lana didn't shift in her dreams. Her magic was a whisper through the world, barely noticeable to him anymore. Happy beyond his wildest dreams, Cullen felt the sweet bliss of sleep waiting for him.

"You know," Lana's thoughts interrupted from the darkness, "we're going to have to have a wedding and invite all our friends."

He started wide awake at the idea of the Divine, the king of Ferelden, the Inquisitor, the Champion of Kirkwall, and anyone else who bore the power to sway nations all swooping into their little abbey for a wedding. Groaning at the idea, Cullen tried to mash his face into his pillow, "Oh Maker."

Lana simply chuckled.

## Epilogue

**All Good Things...**

_9:46 Hinterlands_

Lana threw in the literal towel stained an unholy green along with her fingers. The distillery itself huffed from the final drops percolating through her glassware, steam drifting out the window, and otherwise looming in its heretical fashion. Snatching up her cane, she slammed the door and stepped away from her potion room; normally a refuge of exciting possibilities, now it only stirred her anger and stained her skin. With a hand along the banister, she limped down the winding staircase of the open air abbey. Made up of a dozen small cells ringed around a giant courtyard, it was a real gem hidden under a massive pile of debris. Abandoned before the blight, trashed even worse after that, and then home to runaways during the mage rebellions, it took them what felt like a year to get their land cleaned out. For a month they had to sleep in the barn because what rooms they could clear out either had gaps in the roof, the walls, or were filled with arriving patients.

By the time they moved into their room, the old abbess' overlooking the courtyard, Cullen swore he'd build a proper bed with a headboard and posts. She was just grateful to be off of straw. Maker, no one deserved to sleep in that stuff. Lana smiled as the man of the hour swept towards her across the courtyard dotted with lit lanterns in preparation of the coming night. He wore his work gear, stained leather scraps tossed over a ratty shirt and pants with just enough patches to cover the holes. Not that she was in much better shape, the apron from the distillery still knotted around her bearing stains in all the hues of the rainbow along with the vomit from Ser Henric. Clinging to his arm was the local Sister, their area far too remote to afford even a Mother. She was maybe twenty-two with massive eyes and a tendency to giggle when panicking, which occurred often.

"Hello, honey," Lana called. He swept an arm against her waist and pulled her close for a kiss. She began to reach up to touch his cheek when his eyes widened at the verdant hue of her fingers.

"Not a good day?" Cullen asked. Then he kissed her so sweetly she almost didn't care about the bad luck.

"No, the newest formula is not stable. I'm going to need more embrium if I hope to make an effective potion that doesn't have to be administered every half hour."

Sister Kelsa giggled, "Maker, the way you go on about all that fancy potion and bottle stuff you almost sound like a mage."

"Er, uh," Lana glanced over guilty at Cullen, then smiled at the Sister, "funny that."

"So..." Kelsa patted Cullen's hand in a grandmotherly way, the age difference making it comical, but she meant well. She blushed up a storm the first time the fabled commander of the Inquisition visited her little chantry for services, but over the year Kelsa grew used to him. At least she moved passed her stammering and nearly passing out stage. The Sister often visited them to administer any last rights, provide succor of the faith, or simply talk with the misplaced templars. Despite her young age and insecurities she believed in what she was doing with a passion. Now she was arcing an eyebrow and looking at the two of them as if she had a big surprise in store.

"So?" Lana asked first.

"So, are you nervous about the big day?" Kelsa smiled wider, her hat wafting in the wind as she whipped her head from Cullen to Lana.

"Big day...? Oh," Lana groaned at herself, "Maker, with the mixture and I, right, right, the big day. Nervous? Me? No, no. What about you?" She turned on Cullen, who looked as equally perplexed.

"What do we have to do tomor-? Oh! Yes, I complet-"

Kelsa interrupted him, "I've found it's often the woman with certainty in her step and the man with feet of ice." She patted Cullen's hand again missing the grimace passed between the two love birds. The Sister's eyes skipped past them and her knowing smile vanished to a stammer, her finger pointing in the distance, "Is that Arl Teagan?" She spun on a dime, watching the Arl marching through the courtyard with a certain destination on his mind. "Blessed Andraste," a blush curled up her cheeks, "you do gather some fine company, don't you Commander?"

"I, uh," he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, then gestured at the Arl who wasn't there for him. "Why don't you go and greet him. I'm certain he'd love to hear from you. Hear how the chantry's getting on." Kelsa blushed brighter, but nodded her head. She made it a few steps towards Teagan before snatching up a wine bottle someone left out, pouring herself a generous glass and downing it all.

Cullen cupped his hand around Lana's waist and dropped his head to her shoulder. As the pair watched Kelsa giggling like mad while speaking with the Arl, he whispered in Lana's ear, "You forgot."

"I don't seem to be the only one," she answered back, an ornery twist to her lips.

"How did time fly past so quickly?" he sighed, wrapping his other arm around to pull her into a full hug. Lana rested her weary head against his chest, grateful for the breathing pillow for a moment.

"It has a nasty habit of doing that." She knew there were a dozen matters, no -- given the day tomorrow -- a good hundred that required her attention. But at the moment, all she wanted was to stand in their abbey wrapped up in his soothing embrace.

A squeal reverberated through the courtyard, drawing not only Lana and Cullen's attention but the Sister and Arl as well. Leaping like a man with a poker shoved up his backside was the king of Ferelden. A hooded figure clung to his back, her squeals shattering through the resting air as she dug in tighter. Even as he twisted like a bucking horse, Alistair kept his hands wrapped around behind himself to pin her tight. Still, more than a few servants watched like hawks from the periphery, ready to snatch the girl away should anything befall her.

"Lanny!" Alistair shouted, leaping towards them at an impressive speed.

"When did you arrive?" she asked, struggling to remember who was supposed to even be here. The roster was in constant flux, even more so now.

"Oh, a few hours ago. You were involved with some secret incantation magic, save the world stuff so I thought it was a good time to run around and stretch my legs," he beamed at her, then cast a glance over at Cullen, "Templar."

"King."

"Da-a-ddy!" squeaked from behind Alistair.

Rather than answer his summons, Alistair threw his head back and pinned a hand to his ear, "Did anyone else hear that? Sounded like a strange call, perhaps from some dangerous wildlife in the area." She tried again, her 'daddy' increasing in volume and pitch. "Definitely either a bronto, a dragon, or a nug," Alistair continued to theorize, even pausing to scratch his beard. He was serious about keeping it. "Wait a second," he snapped his fingers. "Is there something on my back? I feel like someone stuck a little..." he slid the princess around his hips into his arms, "spud there." Still squealing in eternal joy, his daughter hung in his right arm, squished up against his side, her hands skimming across the grass. The hood of her cloak flopped back and forth revealing flashes of dark hair and rosy cheeks.

"She's quite an armful," Alistair huffed, struggling to keep her upright while she waved her limbs as if swimming through the air. "Maker, when did you get so big? Are they feeding you twice for dinner? Come over here and say hi to your auntie Lanny." He rolled her around so she hung in front of him, a hand extended in greeting.

"I'm not really your, all right, I am an aunt. Sort of," Lana smiled, grabbing onto one of the girl's hands and giving it a soft shake.

"Mmblimp terpintm lint!" mumbled from the little girl's mouth.

"What was that?" Lana glanced in surprise, scared she'd done something wrong. She'd never spent much time around children.

"Mbltipies!" the girl cried again, not in any distress but very clearly needing her father to understand.

"Oh, all right," he dropped her to ground and her chubby legs took off instantly, far steadier than what Lana remembered the last time she saw the child. "She was asking to go see the 'mari' puppy. We've got a new litter now in the stables, and if you're looking for Spud she'll be rolling around on the straw with all of 'em."

"And you right beside her," Lana smiled watching the girl approach Honor. She extended the same hand Lana shook towards the dog, who spun around from the grass she was chewing. Gently, the mabari stuck out her snout and gave the hand a good long sniff, then blew snot across the princess. That got the dog a giant belly laugh, the girl finding it hilarious. The princess of Ferelden, covered in mabari snot, threw her arms around the dog's neck making a lifelong friend.

Cullen lifted up his chin and ordered, "Honor, guard." His dog barked once to acknowledge the command, then wagged her tail as she slobbered along the girl's cheek.

"'Honor guard,'" Alistair snickered, "you've been waiting to use that one. So, big day. Anyone getting cold feet, panicking, thinking about making a break for Rivain, or planning on walking down the aisle completely pissed?"

"No," Cullen cut back, folding his arms across his chest.

"That's too bad," Alistair was still as jolly as before, unaware he stepped into any offense, "I was a good five bottles in for mine. They had to pick me up and drop me in place. I tried to marry a decorative fern and then fell asleep standing behind a statue of Hessarian."

"I remember," Lana sighed. She'd been the one to give away his secret position to the Arl.

"Right, you were there along with all the pink brontos." He smiled wider, then picked up her hand, "You'll be beautiful as always, Lanny." After giving it a good shake, he turned to Cullen, "I'm sure you'll be fine as well. Now," he slapped his hands together to rub them, "what I could go for is some real food. Home cooked by sweet ol' templars."

"Sweet Maker!" Kelsa's voice echoed across the courtyard, her panicking giggles increasing in vibrato, "Are you, um, the-the king of-of a, Ferelden?"

"The one and only, for now," Alistair smirked, but his smile faded at the shocking pallor chasing across the Sister's face. "You okay? Do you need a lie down or...?"

"Your Majes-ness! I, uh..." She turned to the confused couple, "You are friends with the King of...of the place we live? No, of course, the commander of the Inquisition. It is understandable, the connections to, um... Many very important people all here to watch and, oh dear. Will there be anymore surprises attending?" she squeaked out.

Lana had hoped to sort of sneak this one in under the radar but judging by the panic knotting up Kelsa's face over Alistair, she needed to hear this or risk a stroke on the day of. "There, um, forgive me for not mentioning this before Sister, but my witness will be, um...?" Lana turned to Cullen, unable to finish the truth.

"Divine Victoria," he said.

"D-d-divine, the Divine will be here? Not just here, she'll be standing right, right there," the trembling woman gestured in the area of the stables nowhere near where they'd planned the ceremony. "Where I'll be, be, performing the... Maker, in my hour of darkness I beg of you!" She collapsed at the knees, her hands clasped in prayer.

It was Teagan who swept her up in his arms, helping the poor woman to remain upright, "Do not worry about the Divine, she is a kind and loving woman." The three who knew Leliana all struggled back a snort at that summation of her. "She's certain to approve of your ceremony." A horrified squeak rattled in the poor Sister's throat at the idea of the most Holy watching her perform the marriage ceremony for Leliana's best friend. And that was why Lana hoped to never tell Kelsa the truth. Leliana was supposed to be here days ago to help and slip incognito through the ranks but chantry business kept her delayed. "Perhaps a bit of sherry will help calm your nerves?" Teagan offered.

Kelsa bobbed her head, her hands still clasped in prayer as if the Maker would see fit to rescue her from this duty. Kindly, Teagan guided her away while her trembling lips mouthed the chant backwards.

"So far so good," Lana sighed, tossing her head back to glower at the sky. Her dark mood lightened as Cullen's fingers dug into her shoulder, pulling her back to reality. She couldn't fight the smile as she reached a hand over to half hug him. It didn't matter if the Sister forgot all the words and fled in a shriek leaving Honor to finish the ceremony, Lana had all she wanted right here.

"I am surprised the Queen would allow you to travel so far with your daughter?" Cullen said, trying to distract from the Sister's panic attack.

Alistair laughed then scrubbed at his cheeks, "Well, don't tell anyone but she's in the, uh," he curved his hand over his belly, "and doesn't want me anywhere near her again. I hear Orlais' lovely this time of year. All the, ugh, snails one can eat."

"You take that order well," Cullen responded. His massage ended, he gripped onto Lana's waist, taking some of her exhausted weight upon him.

Shrugging, Alistair smiled, "I rather like her when she's knocked up. Angry, flushed cheek, curt - it's like she's a person instead of that doormat the rest of the time. Still keep myself moored far away though lest she make good on her castration threats. Which means for the time being my little tater tot and I are..." he turned back to look at his daughter who was knees down in the mud and scooping something towards her gaping mouth. "AH!" Alistair shouted, trying to get her attention.

Instead of listening, the princess had one hand glued to Honor's collar, while the other weighed the dirt clump in her hand. Her eyes gazed over at her father, her hand frozen near her mouth but she didn't drop the clod. The king raced over to scoop up his daughter before she jammed the dirt into her mouth. "That's yucky! We don't eat yucky! Unless it's snails and we have to pretend we like yucky," Alistair ordered, his daughter nodding along. She looked almost penitent save the smirk across her lips. _Maker, she was his child._ "Sorry, we're at that 'we put everything we find in our mouth' stage. Come on, let's get some real dinner before you wither away in my hands." He tossed her over his shoulder, the girl giggling and waving for Honor to follow, and marched towards the kitchens. The Maker gave Alistair few talents, but the ability to find food was a powerful one.

Cullen watched them both walk away, then whispered to Lana, "Now when he says 'we're'..."

She snickered at the implication and shrugged her shoulders, "Grey Wardens do eat a lot, sometimes you have to make due." Her fingers curled up his arm as she whispered, "You didn't have to invite him."

"Perhaps not," Cullen shrugged, "but he is king and did help us, in many ways. It seemed impolite not to. However, if he makes any reference to droit de seigneur..."

"I'll kill him myself," Lana interrupted, earning a chuckle from him.

Knotting his hands around her waist, Cullen pulled her higher to press a tender kiss against her lips. Lana swooped her green fingers through his curly hair, dragging him deeper. As he broke away, he held her up close to whisper, "Sweet Andraste, how did I forget it was tomorrow?"

"Perhaps the same way I did," Lana waved her hands around at the dozens of wedding preparations tossed aside in favor of an unexpected troop of templars needing ministrations.

Cullen nuzzled against her neck, his chin resting against the bones of her shoulder as he kissed her, "At least I have you to forget with me."

"By the Maker, how did either of us ever plan and organize an army to save thedas? We can't even figure out a wedding," she laughed at the idea.

"If you want a standing army, I could probably whip one up in a month for you," he shrugged, those worked to the bone fingers trailing across her hips in all the right ways.

"I want you right here, with me, where we can do the most damage together."

"Ah, um," he rose up, breaking contact, "speaking of damage. I received a message a day ago. I kept meaning to inform you but we became so enraptured in the abbey, I'm afraid I forgot."

"What is it?" Lana started, for once actually concerned.

Cullen dug into his piles of pockets, most of which clanked with various medicines, and delivered a piece of parchment into her hands. "It's from Leliana. It seems her caravan is at least a day out, perhaps more due to inclement weather."

"Oh no," Lana groaned, clutching her friend's writing to her chest. "We can get married without any fancy flowers, without the clothes from Val Royeaux, even without any food, but I say one vow without Leliana here to watch and she will flay me alive."

Cullen's eyes narrowed, but he tried to play the diplomatic one, "Come now, she's not that..." Lana eyed him up and then slowly crossed her arms. "That is, uh, what do we do?"

"Keep everyone well liquored up and hope they don't notice it's been a few days since any wedding happened?"

Sighing, he wrapped his arms tighter around her and gazed at the handful of guests already moving through their new home with a promise of more on the way. "Are any of your tonics alcoholic?"

"A few, but they'd probably give the drinker terrible bloat and also nightmares," Lana admitted. They'd been planning it for awhile, all of the for some reason important Orlesian details being handled by an ecstatic Leliana, while Cullen and Lana muddled through the rest.

_Where should we get married?_ Oh, let's just do it at home. We know the property, we know how many it can comfortably fit, and we know how to fortify it. The last was Cullen's concern of course, as if they hadn't both fallen long out of combat practice in the year devoted to cleaning up the abbey.

She'd begun to chuckle from the never ending sight of rotten debris tossed on a massive pyre. It seemed as if they'd never reach the bottom and burn it all away but they had, and their still nameless refuge was in business. Their first challenge was from the Bann. Not a fear that he'd dispute their operation. He was loyal to the crown and a devoted Andrastian. No, the concern was if he'd recognize Lana for who she really was.

Luckily, the man was nearsighted the first few times she met him after the blight, and grew more so over the years. He'd called her a scullery maid and dismissed her outright, peppering the decorated commander with more questions of the Inquisition. More than likely the Bann choice was a gift from Arl Teagan who was always generous to the abbey for mysterious reasons. With the Bann, the chantry, and the crown's blessing, they were finally secure, a certainty in her life she'd never imagined possible. She didn't know what spurned her to raise the question. Maker knew they didn't need any official ceremony, but it knocked her over how quickly Cullen agreed - almost as if he'd been working up the nerve but never found the opportunity. Now, they just had to find a way to pull it off.

"Cousin!"

_Oh Maker_ , Lana broke away from her fiancé to spot a giant of a woman running past the scattered wine barrels, her arms thrown open wide. Hawke didn't slow even at the eyes of the rest of the people working in the abbey shooting over to her. A few tried to shush the Champion, but nothing short of knocking her cold could contain the monumental Hawke enthusiasm. Lana steeled herself for what she knew was coming as Hawke closed the gap. But crushing hands didn't wrap around her body and lift her into the sky.

No, they took Cullen instead. His eyes widened in shock as Hawke hugged him tight, raising the full grown man a few inches off the ground. "W-w-what?" he stuttered, both arms pinned tight.

"You're family now!" Hawke cried, pushing her cheek against his chest with her hug, "Will be family..." She glared a beady eye at him, "You're not thinking about skipping out, are you?"

"N-no, of course not," Cullen struggled to answer, his lungs constricting.

"Hawke," Lana ran her fingers over her cousin's arm, "I think you can put him down."

"Right, sorry." He dropped to the ground, not much worse for the wear, "Forget my own, you know how it is." And then she slugged Cullen in the arm. He took it like a champ, but couldn't quite wipe away the cross look. Sadly, Hawke didn't notice, she was too busy turning back to look behind her.

"I didn't want to bring, you know, because, well, you know, so my date's this scruffy politician I found floating in the harbor," Hawke guffawed, revealing the well fluffed chest hair of one Varric Tethras.

He bowed his head at Hawke, then turned to the happy couple, "Snowflake, glad to see you were only mostly dead."

"I got better," Lana shrugged. The first time she met up with Hawke, the woman wouldn't stop hugging her for two days. It was a wonder she didn't pop a rib.

The Viscount glanced over at Cullen and he gasped in surprise, "In all my life, I never thought I'd live to see the day that Curly got...out of armor."

"Ha," Cullen scoffed, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well," an impish grin knotted up the dwarf's cheeks, "not unless Wicked Grace and Josephine were involved."

"Don't you, that's not...!" Cullen rose up, trying to intimidate the dwarf with his stutter.

"Wicked Grace?" Lana watched a blush charring up the back of Cullen's neck, then she turned to the bonhomie dwarf. "What did I miss?"

"You didn't tell the missus?" Varric cried in feigned shock, "I'm sure she'll love to hear all about when we got a gander at the commander's..."

"I'll, I-uh-will tell you later," Cullen picked up her hands, his adam's apple shaking from his concentration. He looked too achingly adorable; she didn't care whatever Varric was speaking of. Steadying herself on his shoulder, she kissed him, his panic fading away below her lips.

"Shouldn't you two be saving that for the honeymoon?" Hawke grumbled, her hands over her eyes while she peeked through the gap. "Which had better be somewhere fun."

"We, uh," Lana broke away from him, but didn't release her grip on his hand, "we have too much to do here. Perhaps one year."

"When the world doesn't need us?" Cullen smiled down at her, well aware of the chances with the pair of them. There would always be some crisis that kept them tethered, some problem that they'd have to solve. At least now they could do it together.

"Ah, right," Varric yanked out a small book and pressed it into Lana's hand, "A wedding present from Rivaini. Said she's been working on it for some time. Had to get the 'dimensions' just right."

"Rivaini?" Cullen asked.

"Isabela," Lana interpreted for him. The book was bound in nug skin, a blushing pink with no title emblazoned on the front. She spun it around in her hands and absently flipped open a random page to read,  _'Distraught, the templar hurled a vase beside the king's head. Barely flinching, Alistair - his naked, oiled chest muscles rippling - yanked onto Cullen's hair to capture his meaty lips in a scorching kiss...'_ Lana slammed the book shut, aware of the blush burning up her cheeks. "Oh! It's that kind of a, uh, story. Give Isabela my thanks, I think, I uh, um..."

Cullen's hand cupped under hers, but she pulled the book away as far from his grasp as she could. He gave her a questioning look and Lana gulped, "I'll tell you later. Probably much later."

Chuckling under his breath, Varric whispered, "She asked me to proofread it. Girl loves her adverbs, but you've got to admire her tenacity."

"It, uh, I'm certain," Lana struggled to shove the book deep into her apron's pocket far from any virginal eyes, which knowing Isabela would be everyone here. "Varric, how are politics in Kirkwall and other distracting things?"

"Boring, and Bran's always on my case to sign this, answer that, solve whatever," the Viscount waved her misdirection away. Did the dwarf expect her to hold a reading at that very moment?

"Shit!" Hawke suddenly snapped her fingers.

"What?" Cullen rose up, his eyes hunting through the shadows as if he feared an invasion.

Hawke cracked a huge grin, then slugged Varric in the back, "We forgot Bran at the last rest stop."

"How about that," Varric grinned, as sly as the fox in the hen house. "Anyway, we should let the two love birds here get all shaky and terrified alone, Hawke. I heard talk of there being an entire keg somewhere..."

"It's in the back of the kitchen. You'll spot a king, a princess, an Arl, and a Sister there," Lana answered.

Varric began to turn away with Hawke and got a few steps before shouting, "I once lost with that very hand at Wicked Grace."

"Maker's breath," Lana sighed as the two vanished, her hands digging across her cheeks. She cracked a smile and peered through her spread fingers at Cullen, "Welcome to the family."

He parted his lips and glanced towards the kitchen door thrown open wide by Hawke. A word formed in his mouth when a massive shriek echoed from the kitchen. Both mage and templar snapped into battle mode, when Sister Kelsa's more lubricated voice shouted, "Are you the Champion of Kirkwall?!" Some muffled response came, and Kelsa renewed her cries, "And the Viscount?!"

Sharing a look, Cullen and Lana brought their foreheads together, trying to will strength from one to the other as if they weren't in the same sinking ship together. "Poor Sister Kelsa," Lana snorted.

"Under the illusion it would be a simple country wedding, with only a handful of attendants and a few ill templars," Cullen answered with.

"She never could have anticipated the draw of our friends or..." Lana shrugged, "family." It felt strange to say that word. Cullen asked once if she wished to extend an invitation to her parents, but given that Lady Amell perished four years ago, it didn't seem prudent to raise the question. Besides... Lana smiled, gazing into the warm glow of the kitchen rising in raucous laughter -- the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. They were her family, and often just as trying as the kind born into.

Cullen pressed a kiss to her forehead, his comforting hands smoothing down her shoulders. "Speaking of family..." he began.

"Oh, how are yours? They came early, right? With the planting finished I thought..."

"Yes, yes," he ruffled his fingers through her short hair, the curls bunched tight against her scalp. "We had supper with them last night, remember? All of them. You and Mia got into a discussion about goats for some reason."

"Maker, that was last night?" Her day'd been so long it felt weeks ago. Cullen's siblings would often stop by for a few weeks, usually during the dark winter or summer high months. Or Lana and Cullen would take time during harvest and planting season to help. Well, she'd sit and supervise while Cullen, shirtless and glistening in the sun, dug hands deep into the fertile ground. Nowhere near as fast as his siblings, he gave his all and Lana savored every long moment she spent scrubbing the dirt from his body after.

"Lana," Cullen interrupted her musing, "I realized that I could not in good conscious pick one of my siblings above the others for my witness."

"All right?" she nodded, uncertain why he wrapped her hands in his and kept staring daggers at them.

"So, I asked, inquired if, um, Cassandra would be willing?"

"Oh no," Lana giggled, her eyes darting back to where the Sister's shrieks ran out. "Do you realize what this means?"

"It seemed the most prudent choice given..." Cullen paused in his well reasoned explanation and turned towards her, "N-no?"

"We'll have the Left and Right Hand standing at the left and right hand of us," she couldn't stop snorting at the pun so terrible it had to be formed by the Maker.

"That," he didn't find it quite so humorous as Lana, but his dour frown twitched up for a moment, "that's true, and..."

A brash voice echoed from the second level of the abbey, loud enough to cover over the stamp of horses, "No, these will not do." Cassandra, still in armor, stomped out of one of the healing rooms turned into lodging for the wedding's duration. She waved a bundle of stems in her fist while a woman followed behind. Despite being much smaller in stature and breadth to the Seeker, the woman wasn't about to back down.

"Daisies are perfectly acceptable in a bouquet, and they're overabundant here." It was Mia, the clear leader of family Rutherford whose opinions were often taken as fact because arguing with her was unwise. Lana's eyes glanced over to Cullen's and both gulped. Cassandra versus Mia was the proverbial rock meeting its hard place. No one was walking away from that.

"For a proper wedding bouquet you need a red chrysanthemum for love," Cassandra paused on the stairs, rolling up each of her armored fingers to enunciate her facts, "edelweiss for purity, a magnolia for nobility, and a sprig of elfroot for health."

Lana gripped onto Cullen's shoulder to inch close to his ear, "Maker's breath, the woman is passionate."

He shook his head slowly, "I had no idea she was so invested. I'd only thought, you know..."

"Tradition, and strong sword arm," Lana agreed. The witnesses were mostly ceremonial unless one was the only heir to a noble house who snuck out with the stable boy, then it got a bit dicier -- sometimes literally.

Mia snorted, which caused Cullen to involuntarily rear back. Even Lana cowered a moment, having never fully faced down Mia's wrath, but bearing witness a few times. But the Seeker didn't even finch as the short woman jabbed a finger at her, "All of which is complete and utter bollocks. We have daisies, which are pretty. They _will_ do."

Sneering, Cassandra waved her own cobbled together bouquet like a mace as if she intended to clobber the groom's sister with it. "Very well, but in exchange I shall not wear that monstrous gathering of fabric you call a dress."

Mia rounded on her anew, "You speak of tradition but ignore the most important one to keep demons at bay? All parties in the same attire, it's the only proper way to have a wedding."

"Wait, what?" Lana whipped her head at Cullen who was trying to slide back further from the two women about to come to blows.

"Andraste preserve me," Cullen moaned. "I hadn't told Mia to do any of that. She took it upon herself to dress the party and I-I maybe found out a few days ago. I only assumed that she was talking about her family not blighted everyone."

Lana snorted, folding her hands up, "Wait until they find out Leliana already picked it for us." She hadn't expected Cassandra to be chosen, but Leliana had selected both a skirt and trousers as an option. The woman was very flexible and well prepared.

With neither the flower situation nor the clothing settled, the Seeker and Mia picked up something else to bicker about. Lana wasn't certain exactly what as she'd never heard of it being important. In truth, there was much about the wedding she had to guess along the way. Aside from Alistair's, she'd never really attended one before, not with the fancy clothes in a chantry type. Mages did things differently. Lana turned away from the women to catch Cullen sliding further into the shadows.

She reached over to pick up his hands, and he paused, but a moan rolled through his throat. "Why must this be so complicated?"

"Because they're trying to help, to do what's best for us," Lana said as much to convince herself. She was fully on Cullen's side for the moment.

His narrowed eyes whipped around the barely decorated abbey. Someone began dangling bunting off a few of the banisters, but then it switched midway from a silver and blue motif to the red and yellow banner of Ferelden. Digging his free hand through the back of his hair, Cullen glared up at the darkening sky. "All I want is...is you," he smiled limply at her, his thumb caressing the back of her hand. Scurrying onto her toes, her fingers grazed his scruffy cheek -- despite being ordered to shave it by Mia, he somehow kept forgetting.

Maker, how many times did she wake from the fade with her heart begging for him, her mind spinning horrors of how she was still trapped so far beyond him? Then his warm arm would wrap around her stomach, smooth down her blanket, and even in the midst of sleep he'd whisper, "I'm still here."

"I want you too," Lana whispered, her eyes sliding past him out the door where no family waited to embarrass them, no friends to heap onto their troubles, and no ceremonies to plan for. "Come on," she gripped tight to her cane and began to drag Cullen towards freedom.

"Wh- where are we going? We can't leave everyone."

"They'll be fine for a little while. Considering the makeup of our friends, I'd be more concerned about anyone who'd choose now to attack the abbey." Cullen kept voicing a few of his dutiful regrets, but he willingly slipped beside her, walking down the crunching dirt-packed road. For a time Lana followed it, until she veered off onto little more than a deer trail, all while Cullen kept a tight hold to her hand. Passing through knots of trees, then overgrown clusters, she shrugged off the familiar rising pain in her weary legs with a single destination in mind.

"Maker's breath," Lana huffed, complaining to herself, "I used to walk hundreds of miles a week and now I can't even handle a small jaunt out into the forest."

Cullen paused and draped her arm around his shoulders. "Go ahead and heal yourself. There must be time from whatever you have planned." He didn't balk at the magic always a dip or two away from her fingertips, even grew to expect the veilfire percolating behind doors and the smell of lightning wrapped around her body. After shoring up her legs, Lana barely needed her cane for the last hike up a hill to gaze across the beauty of the hinterlands.

Bathed in the pale blue light of the night's sky, a serene hush bobbed against swaying trees blanketing the forest below. With a gentle breeze, the treetops swayed as if dancing to a slow waltz. No fires broke below, the area long given to the march of the forest, allowing the fullness of the stars to pocket the sky like sugar dusted across navy velvet. "This is lovely," Cullen breathed, both of them staring out across the scenery, "but I'm not certain why you needed to show it to me now."

Lana placed her cane against the fallen tree beside her and lit veilfire upon a stump. Grabbing both of his hands, she slipped into those honey eyes. "Forget the infighting, the problems, the everything going wrong - let's do it now. Let's get married here, alone, just the two of us and..." she waved her hand out towards the bounty below - the perfect countryside at peace because of them, "...and the Maker. We don't need anyone else."

"I, I don't know if that's legally binding," Cullen's eyes darted through the trees for a moment.

"So? We can do the andrastian one tomorrow, or the next day, or in a week, or a month. Whenever we finally get all that mess right. Cullen, I..." Her chin dropped and she tried to scramble to bite back the tears. This was supposed to be a happy moment, not to have their past crushing against her. "I'm tired of waiting. It's always been our curse."

His hand cupped her chin and he lifted her face so she found his heartwarming smile. "You're right. You're always right. I wouldn't lose another day without you as my wife."

Digging her fingers into the back of his hair, Lana pulled him down for a kiss. As he broke away, he whispered, "I thought that part came at the end." She chuckled at that, then kissed him again, never one for following standards. "I'm not certain what we should do, precisely," he said, the worry threading through his words.

Lana pulled her hands away from him and dug into her pockets to unearth two kerchiefs - one in a crimson and navy, the other a cobalt blue. The first she knotted around Cullen's right wrist, letting the end dangle free. "In the tower, we weren't allowed to - you know," she spoke while managing to knot the cobalt kerchief around her left wrist with her teeth, "but mages found a way to have our own weddings, make our own traditions, I suppose. There weren't any dresses, or flowers, or fancy words to recite before the clerics, so we'd do this."

"Very well," he sounded skeptical, watching his scarf dangle in the wind, but willing to keep pushing on, "now what?"

"I take your hands, like this," she pressed her palms against his and knotted their fingers together - hers resting on top. "And, then we promise each other. I suppose it's near on the same as vows. Tell each other what we mean in our hearts."

A gasp escaped from his lips, "I don't know if I can, um..."

Lana chuckled as her stoic commander glanced up at the sky and tried to will back a blush. "I'll go first." His eyes beamed such gratitude upon her she had to pinch back the urge to kiss him again. He was right, that part did come at the end.

"Cullen...our path has not been an easy one. Twisted, pitted, sometimes broken to the point I-I feared we'd never find each other again. And yet," she swallowed a shudder in her voice, "the Maker keeps bringing you back to me." Pausing for a moment, Lana squeezed both of his hands tight. "You've come for me in some of my darkest hours, when-when I thought I was, that we were beyond hope, beyond thinking what we had could ever be more than a first blush. And yet I...I love you. I feared love, ran from it for so long but you, my rock, my secure arm, my sweet honey eyes, you made it easy for me to risk it. To, to love you with everything inside of me. To... "

Lana bit on her lip as a hundred different words crashed against her brain. She'd practiced this speech, even written it down a few times, but passages kept overlapping with themselves, knotting together in a ball of confusion. "By Andraste's Grace, I know I can live without you, that if it was required of me I would rise each morning and carry on alone, but-but I never want to. I never want to wake without knowing you slept beside me, never want to eat a meal without you sharing it, never want to-to scrub down the stables without you manning the pitchfork." He laughed at her last one, the pair of them often making a game to see who could finish first while trying to sabotage the other. "We both know how much time we lost, and..." her eyes drifted down along with her voice, "and how little there could be remaining, so to you I give my days, my heart, my hand. Will you be mine?"

"Yes," he smiled, his eyes watering by the teal veilfire. Tipping down, Cullen kissed her as sweetly as that first time in the deeproads, his lips softer than a whisper against her skin. He broke only a breath from her face and asked, "Was, was that the right response?"

"Only if you meant it," she smiled at him. Her eyelids fluttered and she felt tears drip down her cheeks, drops overflowing with every joy and pang in her heart.

"Of course I do, I..." he shuddered, rising back to his full height to stare down at her, "I suppose it's my turn. Lana, I..." More breath blew out of his mouth as if he had to gird himself to leap into a frozen lake. "You know I'm not very good at this. I, I should have, wish I'd--"

Lana's right hand broke from their shared grip so she could cup his cheek and pull his eyes to hers, "It's only me here, no family, no friends, no chantry. Your words don't need to be perfect, only true. Okay?" He smiled below her hand, his cheek filling her palm.

"Okay..." Cullen stepped closer to her, his eyes falling closed as he pressed his forehead against hers. Slowly his lungs filled with air, each breath taking its time to return out through his nose. "Lana, you are..." His hand slid away from hers to reach into a pocket. She waited, curious but patient, as he dug out a solitary copper and placed it in her palm before covering it with his own hand. "I've often thought of us as, like this copper, two sides of the same coin. Mage," he tipped his head to her, "and templar, destined to be forever opposed like-like the flip of a coin. But, it's more than that, it's..."

Pausing again, he slipped his eyes closed to steady himself. "We both gave of ourselves for others, we-" Cullen snorted as he glanced back towards their abbey, "-we still do. For every difference we have, we approach them the same, with a... Lana, I've loved you since I was barely eighteen and barely aware of what love is. I thought, feared that the part of me capable of it withered because of-of Uldred. The way I..." Tears slipped from his closed eyes, fanning off his eyelashes to drip down his cheek. "I feared I'd never see you again, that you'd have no reason to forgive me, to understand, to-to love me. The coin, two sides, you-when you found me in Kirkwall I was closed off, empty inside, unreachable."

"So was I..." she whispered, biting on her lip to keep her own tears at bay.

"We needed each other," Cullen continued, "we wanted each other, to-to... I know what it is to lose you, to have you in my arms and feel you slip away. Never, never again." His eyes shot open, determination bobbing below the surface of a sea of tears. "Without you, I'm half a coin. Useless, blank, empty. I-I love you for your sharp mind, your cunning jokes, your breathtaking smile, your open heart, and even your incessant need to forget tea." She laughed openly at that fact. Even the other templars at their refuge began to gather up her orphaned cups.

"I love you for every bit, every dent, every-" He cupped her chin and his thumb gently caressed her cheek, "every scar. You complete me, my other side. And I, I never want to walk this world without you."

Maker, she couldn't hold back the happy tears now drenching his thumb. Cullen didn't bother to wipe them off, instead he pulled her close for a kiss - both of their joys and sorrows commingling. As she pulled back and stared up at him expectantly, he coughed, and then glanced around. "I'm, um, I think that's all I have..."

"You need to ask if I'll be yours," Lana instructed.

"Oh, right," the blush broke across his cheeks as he glanced up at her from his dropped head, "Lana, will you be mi-?"

"Maker, yes! A hundred, thousand times, yes!" she cried, throwing a hand around the back of his neck and plunging deep into a kiss. Cullen answered in kind, both of them melding together through lips and a little tongue - it wasn't as if any chantry clerics were watching. Clutched in her hand behind his head was the copper, the one she'd never forget. He slipped his freed hand around her waist, pulling her body tighter. Releasing his kerchiefed hand, Cullen moved to grab the back of her head, but found her own hand dragging with it.

"By all the," he paused, his eyes darting down to their kerchiefs now joined together by a knot. "How did that happen?"

"We did it," she smiled, "that's how mages get married. Whispered words of love and tying a knot."

Smiling wider at the simple answer, he gripped onto her hand bound with his, "Lana Amell, I love you beyond reason."

"Every day," she cupped her hand against his cheek and inched up on her tiptoes. Barely able to handle the strain from her drained limbs, her body pressed against Cullen. He bore her weight gallantly, as he always had. "Every moment, every breath with you has been..." More than she could have imagined, trying as they struggled to overcome their own fears, delightful as they found a strength beyond themselves in each other. Lana pressed her lips against his, her eyes softly shut, as she whispered against him, "perfect."

Her husband. Maker, how was that possible? How was any of this possible? Cullen brushed his thumb against her cheek and he beamed that same grateful, bittersweet, hopeful smile she fell head over heels for in the tower. Forgetting their bond, he swept both arms back around her into a hug, but Lana's hand trailed with, her head resting against his chest. The best was yet to come.

"Hey," Cullen spoke, his hand gesturing out to the stars glittering above the silent valley. "I think that's Fenrir."

She didn't look, only nuzzled deeper into him and answered, "I think you're right."

It felt as if only a minute passed after Lana tugged him out to the valley and they-they... Cullen couldn't fight the grin infecting him, his bound hand still clasped inside hers as they returned slowly to their home. Theirs. Wife. His wife. Blessed Andraste, it-it was beyond impossible to ever imagine that She'd grant him such a, such hope. Peace. Serenity.

A few feet outside of the gates, Lana paused, leaning deeper into her cane. Cullen slowed as well, "In pain?"

She nodded softly, but smiled through it. "I'll get on by. I've been through w-..." Her doe eyes softened as she wrapped her fingers against his cheek, her thumb carefully knocking up each strand of his scruff. "I have you. I'll get by because of you."

Turning, he pressed his lips against her caressing palm when an idea struck him. Glancing from the abbey resting a good hundred feet away, back to her, he smiled. "Yes, you do." Cullen dropped down to a knee, his free hand scooping up her legs.

"What are you doing?" Lana gasped as he pulled her into his arms. She kept a grip upon his bound fingers even as they held up her back.

"I believe I am carrying you home," Cullen answered as if it wasn't a preposterous idea. He forgot what it felt like to grip onto the strain of her muscles, indulge in the heat from all of her pressed against his chest. It'd been far too long since he'd had a reason.

Lana giggled, "This is silly. People will see."

"I don't care," he marched through the gate aware of a few eyes drifting from their duties to watch them both. "I have my wife in my arms. I couldn't be happier."

She snuggled her beautiful face into the crook of his arm, but he knew the smile burgeoning up her cheek - it meant mischief on her mind, "What if you had your wife under you instead?"

Cullen didn't falter in his steps, didn't gasp, didn't even blush. He only leaned down to whisper, "Or on top."

Lana sighed, her wicked brain spilling every position she'd want him in, while Cullen tried to walk stiff legged up the stairs. By a miracle of the Maker, they made it undisturbed to the second level, their room on the last six stairs in the middle of the hall. Not much more to go before he could act out every one of her erotic ideas she whispered in his ear.

"Commander!" _Oh no._ Cullen froze at Cassandra's voice cutting through the starry night. "Commander we need to speak about...are you busy?" She finally caught up to them, either just noticing Lana in his arms or figuring she'd give him the illusion of a choice.

"Can it wait until tomorrow, Cassandra?" he asked.

The Seeker's eyes darted back towards her room, and she sneered, "No, it cannot."

Lana was the one to shrug. "My legs are done for the day. I should head to our room," she answered for him. He didn't really want to let her go, but Cullen helped her to the ground, holding her tight until she nodded her head that she had her weight. She began to walk away, when their knotted kerchiefs tugged, keeping them tethered. "Oh," Lana smiled, "forgot about that." He didn't taste her cast a spell, but the knot fell off instantly, freeing Cullen's hand from hers. It was symbolic, he knew, but he regretted that freedom wishing their bond could have lasted for the whole night.

"Good evening, Cassandra," Lana said limping towards their room.

"And to you as well, Lady Am-...Lady," Cassandra bowed, still stiff around the Hero of Ferelden. The Seeker waited until Lana disappeared into their shared room to turn a single raised eyebrow at Cullen. "The binding knot?"

"It was, uh, some mage thing she wanted to show me," he blushed, reaching back to massage his neck, causing the kerchief to bounce against his skin. It was yet warm from their clasped hands. "You had some dire information you needed from me? Something that couldn't wait?"

"Yes," Cassandra's smirk of knowing what even he didn't before tonight fell away. All business, she jerked her head towards her room, "There are many problems that must be addressed now before the ceremony. Follow me."

He made it through five of her complaints, followed by three from Mia, who caught on to what the Seeker was up to, before Cullen shouted for both of them to solve it themselves. "It's just a wedding, we aren't invading Tevinter, for the Maker's sake! Fix it yourselves!" Something in his tone caused both women to sputter in their complaints, sharing a similar glance that they feared the groom was about to go spare on either. Having issued his ultimatum, Cullen stormed up the stairs towards his, their room.

The moment his fingers brushed against the cool steel of the latch, all his perturbations vanished. He didn't care whether Cassandra wore Mia's chosen dress or ripped it in half on the spot, had no opinion on who would light the candles whether in the Ferelden or Free Marcher orientation, or even if it would be held tomorrow. A smile bloomed in Cullen's heart as he realized that was Lana's plan all along - to blot away his worry by cutting it off at the pass. He had her, his wife, nothing else mattered.

As Cullen stepped into his room, he started at the heart racing silhouette of a woman facing the windows. Only a solitary candle sputtered on their desk, barely casting any light. Instead, it was the ethereal glow of the moon highlighting her silken skin as she folded her arms to stare into the distance. The moment forever etched deep in his mind flared back - ten years ago the same woman approached him, found him, recruited him, wanted him. She'd stood silhouetted by the glow off the Waking Sea, her body cloaked in duty and loss, the same as his. And now, now she was stripped bare, her heart willingly entrusted to him.

Sensing the eyes on her, Lana turned from her vigil. The candle light glanced across her naked breasts to glint against a single copper coin dangling across her cleavage. She absently tugged on the string knotted around her neck, holding the coin he gave her. "What is it?" Lana asked, her voice husky with desire, but with a twinge of concern for the man fallen dumbstruck in his own doorway.

"I," Maker... He re-memorized every inch of her body as if he'd never seen it before, as if he was once again the disgruntled and broken Knight-Captain who stumbled across a cloaked woman in his quarters. Every scar, she'd told him the stories behind them -- the ones she could remember -- and he'd often trace them, kiss them, massage and soothe them. Every freckle he'd fondle, every curve he'd lose himself in. Why couldn't he stop staring slack jawed at her?

Swallowing again, he curled his toes inside the work boots he should have left outside. He wasn't that brash, certain 26 year old templar. No, deep inside he was 18 all over again watching the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen caress his helpful fingers and smile at him. So many years, the both of them changing, warping due to the hammer of life, chipping apart by duty and loss, but winding back together as the pieces who fit with only each other.

"I was thinking how much I love you. How I, how happy I am that you're here, with me. My wife. I..."

Lana gasped, her hand rubbing up her cheek, "Stop, you'll make me cry." She laughed at herself, at her own heartfelt tears staining her fingers. "Cullen," she beamed her easy smile that'd lifted his heart through so many dark turns, "you're my husband."

"I am," he smiled, his focus on his toes knocking into each other. He doubted he'd ever understand why someone like her would take him, choose him, want him, but he had every intention of living up to that lofty position for the rest of their days.

Lana's fingers crested over the copper, two sides made whole, and placed a hand on her hip, "Then close that door and get over here. We have a wedding night to get to."

_Blessed Andraste, bride of the Maker, to you I offer my eternal gratitude for giving me the love of this woman._ Kicking his boots off, Cullen did just as his wife asked - falling in love with her all over again.

THE END
