Skyhold really was beautiful. Ivy Amell had stopped three times already to admire it on her way across the mountains. It was simple, imposing, the gray stones washed almost white with time. She liked it more because it was still, in a way, a ruin. Ostagar was a ruin. Redcliff was dotted with ruins. The shore outside the Circle Tower where she'd spent her whole childhood was lousy with the remnants of old forts and temples. All of Fereldan was scarred with the remnants of old wars, old churches, old power struggles.

She travelled alone, as always. She wore her staff openly on her back, these days, but it was only an old twist of oak from the Elder Tree. Nothing fancy. Her hooded cloak was dark red when she bought it, but now it was mottled brown in places from old blood stains that never quite came out. Her leathers were worn enough to be soft. But nothing she had was new, or expensive, or ornate. No one who saw her would think, *there goes the Hero of Fereldan!* Which was good. When people knew who she was they asked her for things. As if she had run around ten years ago doing a million different chores for a million different people because she *liked* it. All those little tasks were a small price to pay for gathering an army big enough to break the Blight, but she wasn't trying to win over hearts and minds anymore.

Now, if the Inquisition happened to have an excellent blood mage, and that mage wanted something? She'd do as many little chores as she had to to get on their good side.

The big stone bridge that led into Skyhold was just as sturdy as it looked from afar. No crumbling masonry or anything. The walls looked just as imposing. She took a closer look. All masonry crumblers over time. But it looked like the stone parts of Skyhold were not held together by any mud and straw concoction—they were just fitted very closely together.

She'd seen small forts, ancient and low to the ground, built much the same way. But nothing so big. It had to be put together by magic. Just to get the stones together at the right angle higher up the wall, that would take a mage. Or a team of mages.

The portcullis was open. Open and, she noted with disapproval, rusted. The muddy grass and gravel just inside the gate was teeming with people. Just, milling about. Checking out the sunshine, maybe. As though there weren't plenty of it to go around up here in this sunblasted hold. She stopped the first person she saw who looked young, too young to have seen her during the Blight.

"Excuse me," she said, with a smile. She had a good smile. Always had. The young woman she'd stopped waited politely for her to make her request. "I'm looking for your spymaster."

Leliana the spymaster. Her old friend had told her all about it in her letters. Well, she'd told her that she was doing it. That the Inquisitor, a young Dalish man from clan Lavellan, shared Ivy's views on morality. Which meant someone was keeping her old friend from murdering every obstacle that life threw in her path.

Ivy made a mental note to thank the Inquisitor for that while she was here.

Leliana's letters also included news about anyone she thought Ivy would be interested in. The fate of Schmooples, her beloved nug, and all its progeny. The latest confirmed and safe-to-be-read-by-strangers gossip from Alistair's court—he was still making a fool out of himself over Elena Cousland, apparently. The fact that Morrigan and her young son were staying in Skyhold, ostensibly being helpful. The latest whereabouts of Zevran, Shale, and Ogrhen. And the fact that Cullen freaking Rutherford, a man she'd last seen ranting and raving in the Circle Tower, was the leader of the Inquisition's forces. And *doing a good job*.

Somehow.

"Mistress Leliana has been spending more time in the Chantry of late. You might find her there," the young woman said. She then nodded, politely, and went about her day. No one recognized Ivy. Not even here, in the entryway of the mighty Inquisition.

She'd have to speak to Leliana about that.

There were no helpful signs to point her on her way. She had to ask where the Chantry was twice. But she did find it, eventually, nestled in a bright courtyard garden. She opened the door without knocking.

Leliana was standing inside. Her old friend still kept her bright red hair cut short, but now she wore a cowl that gave her the illusion of long hair. Her purple mail and leathers were well made, form fitting, and had to be a custom job. She had several cups and bottles and bowls up on the altar before the stone carving of Andraste. And when she heard the door open, she looked up.

"Ivy!" she cried, voice shrill with excitement, and she launched herself at the Warden. Ivy found her arms full of bard. Leliana hugged her tightly, and did not let go for a long time. When she finally did, it was to draw back with a bright smile. "I've been waiting for you! My scouts saw you approach. What took you so long?"

"It's not like there's signs to tell me where the Chantry is in this place. I'm glad you saw me, I was worried. Your people didn't seem to recognize me," Ivy said. Was it all a ruse? No, because Leliana's smile turned rueful.

"That's probably because they *didn't* recognize you. But I did, when I saw you over the battlements. Or at least I recognized that staff. I can get you a new one. A staff made entirely of Everite, if you want," Leliana said. Her hands clasped Ivy's. But the Warden just shook her head.

"I have enough problems with bandits as it is, thanks."

"That's reasonable. But you know, you don't have to travel alone. Even if the Wardens don't—well. That's another discussion." Leliana waved away whatever words she'd choked back. She led Ivy over to the altar. It was covered in an absolute feast. Bottles of wine, plates of cheese and soft white bread, Antivan sweets, and grapes piled high. Ivy's stomach rumbled. "You must be hungry, after your long walk here. Please help yourself."

"Don't mind if I do," Ivy grinned. She piled a plate high. So did Leliana. They sat down, straddling one of the pews, facing each other with their food between them. Just like old times. Except now it was a pew, not a log. And the food was better. The wine was a lot sweeter than Ivy expected. It tasted almost like honey.

"Where's Morrigan? I heard she joined up. You two finally getting along?" Ivy asked.

"Absolutely not. We aren't ever going to be as close as either of us are with you, you know. She's at the Winter Palace with Kieran. Her son. They should be back in the next few days in you want to see her," Leliana said. Ivy raised her eyebrows at the mention of Morrigan's son. Alistair's son, too, she supposed.

"And what is little Kieran like?" Ivy asked. The boy was, after all, host to the soul of an Old God.

"He's no more demonic than I would expect of any child Morrigan raised," Leliana said. Ivy laughed at that. "Please eat as much as you want, don't be shy. I wanted to make sure you had a chance to eat and talk before everyone descended upon you. Even if you are only here for a day – and I hope you'll stay much longer than that! – everyone will want to talk to you. Our travels during the Blight and what you were able to accomplish with next to no resources has been a real inspiration to us all."

"About that." Ivy took a considered sip of the honey wine. "Congrats on closing the Breach. That's a real accomplishment. I'll say the same to your Inquisitor. And killing Corypheus at last is no little feat, either. If he's really dead. But just between you and me, Leli, what on Earth have you all been doing? We gathered an army, changed the political future of every power group in Fereldan, and saved the whole freaking world with nothing but the weapons on our backs and the wits in our heads. You guys have an army of your own. A castle. Political alliances. And one little revolution gave you this much trouble?"

"There's also the matter of the Breach," Leliana said, her lips twitching. Ivy waved a hand.

"One little world-ending emergency. One. Come on," she said. Leliana sighed.

"It's not just about putting a stop to the bad things. It's also about building a future full of good things," Leliana said.

That hit Ivy right in the heart. She blinked, and her face went very still, but Leliana didn't seem to notice.

"When we were all younger, when the Blight was beginning, we only thought about stopping it. But now we're older. Hopefully wiser. And as soon as we started addressing the chaos it was clear we could go a step further. We are building Thedas into a better world, Ivy. We're building futures for ourselves, for everyone," Leliana said.

That was the hard, cold center of the resentment Ivy tried very hard to ignore. Leliana had moved on, and up. Alistair was king. Morrigan was apparently magical advisor to the Empress of Orlais, hobnobbing with the big bad Inquisition on the side. Even Cullen, who she remembered as a shy teenage Templar and then a ranting, broken man, was doing well for himself. Building a future.

And she was just wandering the world, trying to find a way out of the damnation she'd bought herself. Not just to save her own skin, she wasn't selfish or foolish enough to waste her days on that. But Alistair was king, and he had no heir. Because of the Taint. And when she was Arlessa of Amaranthine and Warden Commander of Fereldan she'd given the Warden's tainted blessing to so many people that she came to see as dear friends. Even Anders, damn his idiot soul, was one of hers. And she had to find some way out of this corner she'd backed them all into.

"That's actually why I'm here," Ivy said. She managed to speak cheerfully around the burning lump in her throat. "You guys have all done such a great job breaking down the old orders I thought you could help me reverse the Taint. I'm close, Leliana. I'm close but I need better mages to tell me how to go on. People with more experience."

"You'll have any help you want," Leliana promised. She patted Ivy's hand. She was colder than she used to be, back when they were younger. She forgot to smile, and her default stare was no longer sad or wistful but icy. Of course, Ivy thought, she'd gotten a lot colder, too. The years were both kind and unkind to them all. "We've got the best mages in Thedas here. And more, besides. We can send people to find any materials or artifacts you might be missing."

"Oooh. So it's not all grapes and honeyed wine up here. You guys are the real thing," Ivy teased. Leliana swatted at her arm. They moved on, drinking the wine and talking about everything, nothing. Shoes. Nugs. The best kind of leather or cloth for a good armor. The latest news from everywhere—Leliana knew everything, about everyone, and there was so much she hadn't put in her letters. Anyone could read them, after all.

Eventually, when the wine was dry and their cheeks ached from laughing and their backs ached from sitting, Leliana finally said it. She got quiet, first, draining the dregs of her cup. The light from the windows had faded, so they had only the candlelight now.

"I'm going to be the Divine," Leliana said. Ivy reached over, her hands only a little bit unsteady. She clasped Leliana's hands between both of her own.

"You're going to be so brilliant at that," Ivy said. Her words were only a little bit slurred. "You knew even back in Lothering that you were meant for great things. The Maker chose you, remember? You're going to be great. Great."

"Thank you, my friend," Leliana said. Her voice was very soft.

They left the bowls and plates in the Chantry, though not on the Altar. Apparently one of the benefits to having a whole huge organization was that someone else would do the housekeeping. They stumbled out into the courtyard garden. Well, Leliana sauntered. Ivy stumbled. She didn't often drink. It was a liability when you were on your own. So her tolerance was next to nothing.

In the garden, lit by torches, a huge Qunari and a short armored Tevinter sparred. It looked like they had been at it for hours. Around them, passing around skeins of something, was a motley crew of rogues and warriors. They all wore similar armor. Ivy and Leliana both stopped, at the edge of the grass, to watch the show.

One last thrust of his huge sword against the smaller man's shield, and the Qunari stopped the sparring match. Sweat glistened on his bare chest. He wore an eyepatch over one eye, surrounded by scars. His horns were immense. She bet she could do pull-ups on those things. How did he get through doors?

"Warden!" the big Qunari said. Ivy blinked at him. Beside her, Leliana laughed. "We were hoping you'd come out soon. The two of you were in there for hours! You want a drink?"

"Ivy, may I introduce The Iron Bull," Leliana said. She gestured between them. "This is apparently how he greets people he wants to impress. The men around him are his mercenary group, the Bull's Chargers. Bull, you clearly already know who Warden Amell is."

"Indeed I do. Saw her come in. I recognized her from the stories," the Iron Bull said. He put his huge sword up across his back. Ivy wasn't sure if she should be reassured or uneasy that this particular man recognized her. "I always wanted to meet you, ma'am. Come on down, have a drink. Half my people here grew up on the legend of how you stopped the Fifth Blight. If you don't come show them you're human, they'll spend all day tomorrow bowing and scraping."

Oh, why the hell not.

"Yeah, sure," Ivy said. Leliana told her and the Iron Bull how to find her so she could show Ivy to her guest quarters when they were done. And then, she was left with the whole raucous mercenary crew. The Bull's Chargers were quiet around her at first, but their leader suggested a drinking game that got them all talking. And it wasn't exactly a game a person could lose, but after that bottle of wine with Leliana Ivy was definitely losing.

Several cups in, the Iron Bull threw a massive arm around her shoulders. He leaned in conspiratorially. As drunk as she was, she still readied a spell in case he tried anything. An attack, a kiss, anything at all- she'd freeze him in a huge block of ice.

"I love redheads," the Iron Bull said. His eye flicked from her face to her bright red hair. "But you, I'm not going to hit on you. The Arishok himself calls you kadan. I might not be in the Qun anymore but there's some things you just don't mess with. And the Arishok! If I dared, to, you know, hit on you or whatever, he'd probably appear out of the sky and cut me down."

Ivy had to laugh at that. She let her frozen cone spell dissipate unused.

"Hey, give it a try. I'd love to see Sten again," she said.

It was very, very late by the time Bull escorted her up through the Tower into Leliana's office. But her old friend was still up, of course. Pouring through reports. And she made Ivy walk with her on the battlements outside her tower, drinking water. It was supposed to help her sober up a little before sleep. But mostly it just made her stomach slosh.

Leliana wasn't the only one up. Another room across the courtyard had a light on. She could see through the windows from the battlements. The man inside wore an armored chestplate, leathers, and a huge fluffy cloak. He seemed to be reading reports, much like Leliana. The Inquisition never rested.

Then he rubbed the back of his neck, leather gloves ruffling the blond hair, and a cold pit settled in her stomach. Cullen. That was Cullen. He used to do that exact thing back when he was one of the Templars guarding her.

Back when they were both idiot children.

She remembered him as a gangly young man covered in the spikes of the Templar armor. But he was always kind to her, before the misadventure with Jowan. Better than kind. She knew he stared at her when she was reading in the library but he watched out for her, too, barking at the other Templars and acolytes who thought that her late-night study habits meant she was open to being groped or worse. And he'd carried her down to her bed after her Harrowing. As gentle as he could be, wearing that armor with all its edges.

That was honestly a good way to describe him, wasn't it? As gentle as he could be, for a Templar.

But then she left with Duncan. And the Circle fell. And he survived, which was good, but he didn't survive whole. When she'd found him, just outside the Harrowing Chamber, and he'd told her how he felt about her, her heart leapt in her throat and froze on the next beat. Because all those things she'd wished he would say came tumbling out in venomous spits, full of hatred for everything she was. Everything she represented.

How did he come to be the military commander of the Inquisition? She'd never thought he was that bright. Maybe it was the stammering, maybe it was the fact that he was a Templar and they were all more brawn than brain, but the idea of him training troops and formulating strategies seemed so odd. And more, the Inquisition was friendly to mages. They took in the rebels. Showed mercy to Alexius. Supported mage rights. How was Cullen a part of any of that? He'd suggested wholesale massacre in case of blood magic before.

"I see you found our Commander," Leliana said, beside her. Her friend silently urged her to drink more water. "We can go say hello, if you wish. He would be very happy to see you."

"We both know that's not true," Ivy scoffed. "And anyway, I wouldn't be happy to see him."

"You don't have to. Just, if you do run into him while you're here, I should tell you he's very different than the tortured young man he was when I first saw him," Leliana said. Ivy thought about that. Took a drink of water. The stocky, tall man in the window below didn't look like he had any hard edges. He paced, a scroll held close to his nose. Commander of the Inquisition's Forces. They called him the Lion of Fereldan, now. Especially now that the Inquisition had closed the Breach for good. She'd heard rumors in Orlais that half the Orlesian nobility wanted to marry him. For the social coup, at least, if not for his apparently attractive form.

"He'd have to be," Ivy said.

No amount of alcohol could make her darkspawn nightmares go away. But it could make her morning, waking up from those nightmares, much worse. Ivy groaned into wakefulness with the light of dawn. It wasn't enough sleep. But she couldn't just roll over and try again, not with the nightmares and this pounding headache.

What she needed was fresh air. Her guestroom was a little musty. It wasn't helping.

She slipped some hardtack from her pack and chewed on it meditatively. Just one, because there was bound to be a kitchen with real food around here somewhere, but she wasn't up for finding it just at the moment. She walked out along the battlements, the outer walls this time. The stonework in this keep was amazing. And the views were incredible. She found a spot where the walls had come down, a little. It looked like something huge had knocked the top of the wall in. She knelt, hardtack finished, and studied the joinders of the rock. It didn't look like magic was still holding it together. Just gravity, now.

"You there." The voice behind her was cold. Clipped. Hoarsely Fereldan. And very familiar. She closed her eyes, reeling a little.

Maker turn his gaze on you. No one ever listens. Not until it is far too late. I only pray that your compassion hasn't doomed us all.

The sharpness in his tone was not at all like the young man who'd watched her in the library. It was more like the tormented, bitter, half-mad Templar she'd rescued from the bloodbath in the Tower.

"Mage." He continued, sharp and clipped. Military. She steeled herself for a hand to descend on her shoulder, but it didn't. "I don't recognize your cloak or your staff. Are you new here? What are you doing on the battlements?"

Ivy took a deep breath. Then she stood, and turned around.

He wore the same feathered cloak and soft leathers she'd seen through the window. His hand was on his sword. Ready, as always, to cut her down where she stood. Even though the cloak he wore opened at the chest to show that the Templar symbol was nowhere on his armor.

He was more handsome than she remembered. Age had filled out his jaw, softened his cheekbones. And his hair was smoothed back now. No longer stiff and wiry with tight curls. When he saw her face, he went blank. Smooth as stone. Even his eyes went wide and froze there. She smiled a little tight smile. He did not smile back. He simply stared with absolutely no trace of any expression.

"Hullo, Cullen. Long time no see." Her voice was softer than she wanted it to be. She cleared her throat, and gestured at the keep below them. "This place is amazing. If the Inquisition ever disbands, I'll be more than happy to take this place off your hands. The Wardens could really make use of this. Soldiers Peak is crazy haunted, you know, it's really hard to get a good night's sleep there."

"I—Ivy?" Cullen stammered. He was hoarse. Soft, now. He took his hand off his sword and she breathed easier. "What are you—are you actually – what are you doing here?"

"I came to talk to Fiona again. And see if Leliana could help me. I'm looking for a cure to the Calling," Ivy explained. He slowly relaxed out of his stunned blank expression and into something that looked more like anxious disbelief. "Having thirty years to live seemed so reasonable back when the Blight started. But now, it doesn't seem like very much time."

"I can understand that," he said, his voice even softer. He took a half step toward her, but stopped when she tensed.

"It's not just for me," she explained. "I spent so much time putting Fereldan back together. I don't want it to fall apart in twenty years just because Alistair doesn't have an heir. And I kind of feel like time is short. Elena Cousland's not that much younger than I am, her childbearing years are numbered. And our mighty king is so stubborn he'd probably refuse to marry anyone else."

Of course, there was always Keiran. The half-demon bastard heir. But only three people knew about that—herself, Alistair, and Morrigan. And it was going to stay that way. Naming him as the next king would only tear the country apart—he was the son of an apostate, even without all the Old God complications.

"I am sure the Inquisition can help you with that," Cullen said, echoing Leliana's sentiments from the night before. "We've been friends to the Wardens. I—that is, my men will help any way they can. Have you. . . have you met Dorian? He's Tevinter. He might have some insight that we lack here."

"A Tevinter mage?" Ivy asked. She was shocked to see a smile curl Cullen's lip. His scarred lip. When did that happen?

"Among other things. He's also a terrible cheat at chess. But underneath all the bluster he's got a keen mind," Cullen said. Ivy stood and stared at him. Her scrutiny went on long enough that a faint blush rose in Cullen's cheeks and he started shifting his weight from foot to foot. "What?"

"How are you friendly with a Tevinter mage?" Ivy asked. "You? After everything you went through, everything you said."

"Oh." Cullen looked as though someone had punched him in the guts. He rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly. The little familiar gesture tugged at her heart. "I want to—I've wanted to apologize for a long time, and I—you didn't – would you walk with me? On the battlements? You're cornered, between me and that broken stone, and I don't. . . you should be free to move."

"Because you're going to attack?" Ivy said, sardonically. The look Cullen gave her was sadder and more solemn than she expected.

"Because you shouldn't have to worry that I'm going to," he said. "And if I were you, after the last conversation we had, I'd be worried."

That was fair enough. And true. Far too true.

She joined him, walking beside him. He let her take the outermost position, where she could look out over the mountains. It took him several minutes to collect his thoughts enough to speak.

"I've thought about this. What I would say to you if I ever had a chance. I can't remember any of what I decided to say," Cullen said, eventually. Ivy sighed.

"At least your stammer is better," she complimented him. He gave her an odd look.

"I don't stammer," he said. Then his eyebrows rose in realization. "I do have—I struggle to find words. When I speak to you."

Oh. So it was just her, then.

If his crush had made him struggle back when they both lived in the Tower, was it shame or fear that made him struggle now?

"I was wrong," he said, after another long moment. "I should not have said what I said. I think it all comes down to that. I had my reasons, and Maker knows I'd just been through something terrible, but I should never have said any of that. I am sorry."

"Right. Which part? The part about having feelings for me, or the part about how mages are all abominations and you have to oppose everything I am?" Ivy said, her voice tight. Cullen stopped walking and faced her. She stopped, too. It hurt more than it should to talk about this. It was all so long ago. A decade. A lifetime. She should be over it. And she was, she told herself, most of the time. It was just when this man was standing in front of her that she had to think about it. Poke it. And find that it still hurt.

"I shouldn't have said any of it," Cullen said. His eyebrows drew together in a frown. One hand rested on his sword again, in more habit than threat, but that combined with the intensity written in every line of his body made her want to prepare her freezing cone. Just like the night before, with the Iron Bull. "If I wasn't going to tell you how I felt before, when we were both safe and sane, I shouldn't have told you when we were neither of those things. And the rest of it—I told you to kill Irving. Begged you to murder everyone left alive in the Tower. That was. . . I am so glad you didn't do what I asked."

"You were awake for days. Tortured. Leliana said so, at the time. She thought. . " That was probably awkward for them, Ivy realized. To work together when they'd met under such terrible circumstances. "I wasn't going to kill anyone I didn't have to. I'm not a monster. You couldn't have convinced me to do it."

"You're a hero," he said, simply. The tension in his body was leaking out by inches. Was he always this tall? How did he seem bigger with that ridiculous feathered cloak than he had than he did in the imposing Templar armor? "And I'm thankful every day that you had the sense and courage to ignore me."

"Sure." That hero stuff was flattering. Except, "Why wouldn't you tell me, when we were both safe and sane? How you felt? I would have. . . I seem to recall you literally running away from me when I flirted with you. Running. Literally."

That tilted smile curved his lips again. In this light she could see the gold flecks in his eyes. They hadn't changed. Even though he was clean shaven now, and had filled out, the eyes were the same.

"We were in the Tower," he said, as if it explained everything. When she just stared at him, he continued, "If we had. . . become closer, they might have made you Tranquil. For corrupting a Templar. I wouldn't have risked that. Not for anything. I had to run, before someone saw me trying to kiss you right there in the hallway."

Oh.

Her cheeks burned, and the warmth in her chest spread through her whole body. She didn't know what to say. So she just stood there. And he did, too, staring right back at her. Older, hopefully wiser, as Leliana would say. And apparently no longer a Templar.

"That's. . . actually pretty romantic," she said. As romantic as any story she'd ever read. And as many campfires as she'd had to herself over the years, she had read plenty. "But you know, a lot of mages and Templars carry on. Like that. It's usually an open secret."

"Not me," he said. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. His eyes narrowed. "I never understood how those Templars could live with it, with knowing they might be condemning their lover. It couldn't be worth it. We are supposed to- they are supposed to protect people. Not put them in more danger."

"They? Not a Templar anymore?" Ivy asked. She glanced at the open, empty expanse of metal on his chest. He certainly no longer wore the trappings. Cullen's eyes flinched down.

"Not at all. I'm Inquisition now. Body and soul," he said. Which was all well and good, and it was nice to be dedicated to a cause, but Ivy didn't really buy it.

"I mean," she said, "if you still command Templars, and you still know how to drain mana, and you still take lyrium, aren't you a Templar? Whoever you work for."

"I no longer take lyrium." His voice was steady, sure. He stood like a rock in front of her. Like part of the battlement carved out and come to life. He didn't seem insane. Not at all.

"Since. . . when?" Lyrium withdrawal could drive someone mad. Could cause them unbearable pain. Could kill them. He looked all right. He looked better than all right—healthy, if a little tired and stubbly around the edges. He couldn't have been off the lyrium for long.

"Almost two years," he admitted. He smiled at the way her eyes went wide and her jaw fell open.

"You should be dead!" she exclaimed, without thinking. She reached out. She didn't know many healing spells, but she could help a little bit. He suffered her hand on his chest over his armor without comment. His heart seemed to beat steadily. Her senses, magical and otherwise, could detect no unusual strain on him. He was in better shape this morning than she was, after all that drinking last night. "How are you all right?"

"I don't know," he admitted. He didn't move away from her, even though they were now standing close enough to kiss. He just looked down at her, a little proud smile on his face. "But I'm trying to replicate it for others. For anyone who wants to leave the Order. A life of service shouldn't be a death sentence. The Templars deserve better. And—so do the Wardens. You came to the right place, Warden Commander Amell."

Hope rose in her chest for the first time in a long time. She grinned up at him.

"Call me Ivy. Just like old times," she said.