The Copper Fence

by Seab1rds0ng

An AU of my own headcannon that explores what might have happened if a key moment in Avery Hawke and Cullen's history had gone a little bit differently. From the stories Eye of the Storm, and Eye of the Storm 2: Skyhold.

The main bar at the Copper Fence was especially noisy for the hour. Usually the mornings were still and silent, with all the patrons holed up in their rooms, recovering from whatever mischief they'd gotten up to the night before. The bodies that were normally awake so early went about their business like ghosts, floating to their destinations and away again, disappearing through doorways and into shadows as though they'd simply merged with the darkness. Avery was one of those ghosts on most mornings, capitalizing on the space and the quiet to right her mind and plan her day, though more and more there was little to plan. The new war between the mages and the Templars was putting her on edge, along with all the other citizens of Denerim. Other than a brisk walk though the awakening city streets and a stop to grab a few supplies from the markets, Avery would try to spend as much time as possible out of sight. But the walls of her room were feeling closer and closer, and there wasn't much to do outside them anymore rather than drink and wait for someone in need of a job she could do in secret.

Sometimes that was right around lunch, when stragglers would emerge from their nooks and corners, barking requests for provisions to quell their cravings and fill their bellies. And sometimes Fenris was among them, rising late after a long night sequestered in his room with his new lover. He'd had little to say about Geart, though Avery had caught glimpses of the bulky warrior as he and Fenris stumbled up the stairs together. If Avery had to guess, there was little there beyond the nightly physical release. But she could base this only on how Fenris never mentioned anything of the man, and how the two hardly even acknowledged each other during the day. But she and Fenris were still feeling their way into their own new relationship, now that their misguided attempt to rekindle the romantic end of things had been squelched completely. Their 6 month, self-imposed separation had been ended with their meetup in Denerim, and readjustment since hadn't been easy. But Avery kept her curiosity about Fenris' private affairs to herself. Though she never took any men back to her own room, she wouldn't have wanted to be questioned about it if she did.

Just after sunrise on this particular morning, the heaviest of the drunkards were already out, planting their claim on barstools and getting a head start on a long day's worth of imbibing. The morning's noise consisted of grunts, grumbles and slurps, punctuated by the unintentional clatter of clumsy, ill-timed movements. But the men along the bar kept their bloodshot eyes downcast and distant as they lifted flagons to their mouths with shaky, gnarled hands. Sitting among them, Avery had the paradoxical desire both to begin drinking heavily herself, and never to touch another drop again. She couldn't fathom such a life, tied as they were to so many rapidly draining liquor bottles. Yet the most immediately accessible means of escaping witness to an existence so depressing was to immerse herself in the drink alongside them.

But first thing in the morning was too early. Dulled senses wouldn't necessarily interfere with the morning's mundane tasks, but all she really wanted was a hunk of bread, perhaps a bowl of porridge. To put something warm in her belly before setting about another dreary day hiding in the backstreets of Denerim.

Hunter, the bartender, nodded a stoic greeting as she slid into one of the few empty stools, but he kept his eyes on her as he set down the flagon he'd been drying, and made his way directly over.

"Templars yesterday," he whispered, "two of 'em. Looking for a black haired woman."

Avery felt instantly awake, a chill racing under her skin. It was only a matter of time before the Templars found the Fence. The fact that black haired women were a dime a dozen was of little consolation.

"Think they'll be back?" she asked.

"I'm thinkin' so," he nodded. "Enjoyed the drink, those two. Made 'em right sloppy. Had quite a bit to say, didn't seem to care to hide it."

"Such as?"

"Such as how they intend to acquaint a little lassie from Kirkwall with the blunt end of their blades. Unofficially."

The chill became a stream of ice slithering down her back. She'd been found.

"Unofficially…" Avery sighed angrily. So a personal vendetta, not sanctioned by the Chantry. "Any idea why they came here?"

"Said somethin' about a tip," he answered, lowering his voice. "Came a long way, too. One was from Kirkwall 'imself."

"Also said somethin' about this lassie being the Champion of Kirkwall? This true?"

Avery grimaced, and clamped her mouth shut. With a shrug and a somber nod of thanks she slipped away, her stomach suddenly too unsettled for the food she'd been dreaming of only minutes before.

A tip. Which meant a mole residing somewhere in the Copper Fence. Or perhaps a disgruntled acquaintance of hers, passing along their desire for retaliation. There had been that rat-faced mercenary who'd propositioned her weeks ago. Got a little rough in his insistence and she'd had to break his nose.

There'd also been the Rivaini importer who had commissioned her to take out a laborer he claimed was skimming from his coffers. Turned out the man was taking a coin here and there to pass along to the Rivaini's children, who'd been put to work alongside the other laborers, and were forgotten about once their shifts were over. She'd seen their bony bodies herself. They hadn't had a decent meal in weeks.

Things hadn't exactly turned out well for that Rivaini either.

Of course none of that really clarified much. All it would take was the promise of a decent reward and someone in the Fence would talk. A few of them were simply too desperate not to. A drunk with a bartab higher than he could count could easily be persuaded if caught while feening for some more juice.

In truth, Avery had been considering moving on for a while now. Denerim had provided the refuge she needed for a long time, but the streets were becoming more and more unwelcoming. It was almost like being back in Kirkwall again, only she didn't have an impressive title and throng of friends in high places to protect her. Here she was just another apostate hiding from the city's bloodthirsty Templars, and there were more and more of them all the time now.

Yes, it appeared the time had finally come to leave Denerim.

Her mind raced as she composed a list of things to complete in preparation. She needed to stop by Wades and see if the chainmail underarmor he was repairing for her was finished yet. She'd need to get to Cesar before the market got too busy, stock up her supply of potions, and maybe see if he had any of that Soldier's Bane in stock. And the Tranquil Proprietor at the Wonders of Thedas was holding her staff for her after he'd installed a new rune. She'd left it in his care after it was finished, since she was worried about a raid on her room back at the Fence. Nothing would mark her as a mage more quickly. And Maker's breath, the last thing she wanted to do was haul it through the streets of Denerim if there were two Templars trying to sniff her out. They'd probably already been there, for all she knew. Wonders of Thedas would have to be the last stop. Maybe she could leave through the back door. She'd have to think of a way to hide the staff.

Or, consider leaving it behind.

Avery raced back up the stairs to Fenris' room, but stopped before her fist came down to knock upon his door. On the other side rumbled the low waves of a man snoring, which surely wasn't Fenris. She hesitated. She could probably get things done much more quickly on her own. Fenris wasn't pleasant company when woken before he was ready, especially after as late a night as he'd been enjoying lately. Instead of knocking as she planned, she rushed back to her room, weaving through the Inn's serpentine halls to the rear stairwell, and climbing to the third floor. Her room was on the opposite side, one of the larger ones that sat at the end of its own hall. The rooms to the right and the left were locked storage, giving her the wing of the floor almost entirely to herself. She'd paid a pretty penny for the privacy, but she could afford it. But as she made her way to her door, she wondered if that had been a mistake as well. Staying in the extra large suite in its own wing would surely mark her out as someone with wealth to spare, especially after having inhabited it for months. She sighed as she slipped her key in the lock. On the one hand, she wasn't terribly sad to be leaving this city so quickly. On the other hand, it would have been nicer not to be rushed.

She returned to Fenris' door with a note informing him of their new Templar problems, and hoping that when she returned he'd be ready. If, that was, he even still wanted to accompany her at all. It was possible he might want to stay behind and indulge in more late mornings of sated desires and uproarious snoring.

She didn't know. Fenris could do what he wanted to do. He always had anyway, it was just that what he always wanted had been to stay with her. To be her protector and her companion. If after six months of solitude he'd found that preferred to go his own way after all, then she certainly wouldn't begrudge him. It might be useful to have him stay behind, to snuff out any information he could find about the Templars, and perhaps even deal with the mole. But if he did so, it would be his own choice.

And she was off again, through narrow hallways and dark alcoves, one stairwell here before a dingy sitting room, the floating banister of a strangely placed loft, the seam where a wall had been removed, precariously opening two slender buildings into one labyrinthine one. The stairs didn't meet from floor to floor where they should. The third floor extended over into yet another connected building, though that one kept its second and ground floors to itself. After descending one set of stairs she had to wind through hastily rebuilt rooms, sequestered areas where enterprising businessmen tried to capitalize on open space and squeeze in more beds to rent. Round another corner here, pass through a randomly placed doorway there. And then more stairs, squashed between one wall and another in a way that made them easy to miss entirely. It was perhaps the strangest building she'd ever had to navigate, though it served incomparably to keep those who desired it hidden. If such a building had to exist, it couldn't have been given a more suitable purpose. The few Templars and guards who'd ever tried to chase a man through would often end up lost or confused, stopped by dead ended hallways and locked doors that only opened to more distractingly promising corridors. Unless one was of the sort who might need a room for the night, one might never know there was much beyond the initial bar room.

Hunter gave another quiet nod as she passed out the front door, emerging onto the foggy streets of early morning. The sun would burn the fog away eventually, but until then it was a welcome cloak, painting the streets and buildings in a deceptively idyllic glow. She had to remind herself as she walked that danger still existed just beyond the mist, that she needed to keep her hood drawn tight around her face, much as she wanted to throw it back and breathe in the cool morning air. Her first destination was the market, as Cesar was surely setting up his stall. And next, Wades. Though she imagined she'd probably have to bang on the door until one of them woke. She'd be in for a tongue lashing for that for sure, but she'd brought along a few extra sovereigns to slip him for the trouble.

As she walked, her mind continued on along its own wayward path. A Templar from Kirkwall. There was usually only one face that came to mind whenever someone combined those words, and surely he was not one of the Templars searching for her there in Denerim. He'd stayed behind in Kirkwall, his sense of duty stronger than that love he'd professed so ardently.

"I am the Knight-Commander now, and… we must begin to repair what is lost."

His deep brown eyes, so pained yet resolute, his voice cracking as though he was forcing strength that was not coming easily, it had haunted her. Day and night for countless days, weeks, months afterward, his face blazing in her mind as she slept, fevered dreams of his skin, his touch, his kiss. She'd wake on a pillow soaked with tears, and would often end up screeching and punching it. It wasn't thick enough to truly protect her knuckles from the hard ground beneath. She'd let the pain of the impact radiate through her hand, drawing her attention away from the pain that constricted her throat and made her chest feel like a giant gaping wound.

But three years had passed. Three bloody years. She could go a day without thinking of him now, or at least without thoughts that made her alternately want to melt back into herself, and rage like a firestorm. But so much of her had been changed in the wake of all that had happened in Kirkwall. When people spoke of the explosion there, it sometimes took to effort to remember that they were referring to the Chantry, and not to her own life. Really, she supposed, it was all one in the same.

"…even if I'd have the time for you… and there's no way I will… and the men, if they knew I was sneaking around with a mage…"

Sneaking around with a bloody mage! That was the line she always tried to end thoughts of him with, before she forced it all out of her mind. She'd pair it with the memory of something else he'd said once. "I can't see why anyone would ever leave you."

Yes, well you came to understand that perfectly, didn't you Cullen?

Her steps had grown harder, pounding into the streets with the increasing force of her thoughts. She let the rage take over like she always did. It was easier that way. She'd already spent so long inside the back and forth, the arguments that the more sensible side of her mind always tried to raise. You were trying to break it off with him first, and you already had, knowing it was for the best. He had all those people looking to him, so much pressure on his shoulders… how could he abandon the people who relied on him to show them the way? The Order would be better off for his being in charge, and most of all the remaining mages would be better off… Think of more than just yourself Avery.

Yes, yes, that's all true.

But still.

If only he hadn't changed his mind at the end. If only he hadn't said he wanted to leave Kirkwall with her after all. To run away, escape all the lies, the secrecy, the sneaking around. If only she hadn't had a day of joy and exultation at the possibilities ahead. She'd been lifted to the heights of hope and love and the prospect of vast, free, endless horizons at the arm of her true love. And then the Chantry. Meredith. It brought her crashing back down, shattered on the cold, sharp rocks of reality.

In truth she didn't know if his not changing his mind when it was all over would have made anything any easier. Most likely it wouldn't have. Trying to let him go at her own urging had been impossible enough. She still hadn't quite accomplished it, judging by how quickly she found herself internally lost within this spiral again.

But it was easier to stay distracted now. And that seemed to be the best she could hope for.

Finally, she was on her way back to the Copper Fence. The visit to Cesar and Wades had been successful, and the small pack on her back now held a full supply of the potions she sought, as well as her chainmail, repaired and ready to lie undetected below her plainclothes. They'd already saved her life several times over.

But the Tranquil at the Wonders of Thedas confirmed her suspicions. The Templars had been there too, and had even asked about her by name. "Looking for someone named Hawke," he'd said, with that eerie Tranquil calm. She winced and glanced around, thankful that it was early enough not to be filled with customers.

With the uneasy knowledge that they could be lurking around any corner on the streets, watching her with every step back to the Fence, she arranged to have the staff sent directly to the Inn just north of Dragon's Peak. Avery would have to go pick it up later, or arrange to have to sent along to wherever she ended up.

She'd taken her time upon her return, constantly wondering who might be behind her. While the hood of her cloak hid her face well enough, it also removed her peripheral vision, condensing the world down to a small circle that barely contained the pathway on either side of the streets. An impulse of curiosity struck her and she went with it, worrying as she went at its foolishness, but wondering if the risk might be rewarded. Instead of make her way directly back to the Inn as she planned, she began circling blocks, stopping to scan the building crowd at the market. She slipped through alleyways until the gates of the Palace district were visible. The guards were out in high numbers, and the only Templars she saw were a few residents of the Chantry, Templars who'd been there in Denerim as long as she had and, from all accounts, much longer. Many of the new Transfers would likely be in training. Many were kept in the Palace district, while some patrolled the alienage. But at this particular moment the streets were strangely devoid of metal bodies donning their righteous flaming sword. But if she could find the pair of Kirkwall Templars, and perhaps flank them for a while, maybe she could glean some useful information about how they'd located her. Maybe she'd hear the name of the Knight-Commander they'd apparently escaped from, maybe even some news of Kirkwall's Order.

It was difficult to imagine Cullen engaging in this unjust war. An order to consider all mages hostile combatants! Rights of Anulment ordered in cities all over Thedas! So many innocents were perishing, simply because they wanted freedom. Avery shuddered at the thought of circles erupting into war. Mages and Templars finally breaking down the thin veneer that separated them, enacting all their basest fantasies on each other. It was a horrific thought. This was what Anders had wanted?

The fog had long been burned away by the time she finally turned down the street that led to the Fence. Anxiety trembled through her limbs as she approached, her mind suddenly swarming with new worries. She'd stayed out much longer than she had intended to. She'd meant only to gather her supplies and return, try to get Fenris out on the road as quickly as she could manage. But the sun was high in the sky, the noontime din descending upon the streets behind her, just as it would be within the bar. People everywhere were both a blessing and a curse. She could hide among the crowds, but the chances were greater that her mole would be among them. So might be a few out-of-uniform Templars. She'd need to keep her head down, act natural and unhurried. Make her way calmly through the bar and into the rear room with the stairwell. Maybe she'd even grab a pint to bring along with her, or sit for a spell just to keep up the pretense of normalcy. A person coming in and making a beeline for the back rooms would instantly mark themselves as a boarder, someone familiar with the criminal haven of the Fence, while someone who lingered at the bar a moment could be dismissed as just another drunk, especially if no one could see her face.

But she didn't hear the usual noise behind the door. Even as she pulled it open the unexpected silence blared at her like a siren. On the busiest of days the Fence was still quieter than the Noble, or that other tavern Avery rarely visited. But silence of the degree she was hearing before her was deeply alarming. She almost froze, almost dropped the door handle and let the door fall closed again. But that would raise its own suspicions. Suspicions of her suspicions. Every step would have to be calculated carefully, yet made to look as though it wasn't calculated at all. Something was clearly up inside the Fence. Each second that the quiet stretched on confirmed it. With a deep breath she thrust herself through the door.

The bar was mostly cleared out but the atmosphere was heavy, a sour note of tension raising the hairs on Avery's arms. Only a few tables held lingering patrons, a body at the small table just right of the door, a grubby looking man hunched over a flagon in the center of the room, a pair of whispering men in a far corner. Near the back of the room she saw a thin figure stand. Gilly, that skinny girl that reminded her so much of Merrill, flashing her first a wild, wary look. Something was definitely wrong. Besides the whites of her eyes lighting up the shadow below her hood, Gilly wasn't walking calmly, she was scrambling toward the back exit. Turning toward her was the obvious reason for her rush: two metal-clad bodies. Templars. Stiff backed and powerful, one looked like he was preparing to stand and follow Gilly, the other with an eye cast over his shoulder, looking square at Avery.

Awkwardly, not knowing what else to do, Avery flashed a quick smile and shrugged her shoulders, before dropping her head and walking briskly through the tavern. She passed tables without touching, leaving a breeze in the quiet room behind her. It didn't seem likely at all that they might mistake her for just another female patron, one who didn't know better than to cut an oblivious path through what was clearly a brewing storm. Her hood covered her hair, fell down to obscure the sides of her face, her heart pounding with the force of a sledgehammer. This was stupid. She should have turned and ran. She shouldn't even have tried the front door. She should have gone in the back way, through the putrid alleyway and up the wooden stairs that were sure to collapse any day now. But it was too late. She'd go straight to Fenris, in case they followed, in case there was a fight. She knew the tavern well, how to navigate toward the back without needing to see, knowing just where to turn, just where to sidestep. Behind her chairs screeched across the floor, bodies rustled with swift movements.

"Wait," she heard a man's voice call behind her. She ignored it, quickening her step as she rounded the corner out of the bar and toward the corridor that would lead to the stairs. It occurred to her that she might actually stop. She'd already done exactly the wrong thing by entering the bar in the first place, maybe she could bullshit her way out of whatever it was they wanted to say. She'd done so before, just turned on the charm and lied. Once upon a time she'd lamented her inability to lie, but she'd had plenty of practice since then. She could try. It might work.

But no. The best bet would be to get Fenris and leave, hopefully without being seen again. Leave the Templars to wonder, to get lost within the confusion of the Fence's back rooms, leave them with nothing of note to report to anyone. If they'd been drinking that was even better. Superiors would be less likely to believe a Templar who smelled of liquor. But one thing was sure: the very last thing she should do is use her magic. Confirming the presence of a mage, regardless of the mage's identity, would bring the whole Denerim Order upon the Fence and every block nearby within hours, if even that.

Get Fenris, fast. And get out. Clean. Quiet.

The movement behind her was coming closer. Angry male voices were growling indecipherable words. She made her away to the stairwell and ran directly into Gilly. She was stopped, pale faced, listening. The pause was enough to draw Avery's attention back to the men. There was fighting. Already? That was curious. Could it have been Hunter? As nice as he'd always been to her, he didn't seem the sort to jump into a fray that didn't involve him. One wouldn't last long tending bar in such a place if they had foolishly meddlesome tendencies.

She cursed quietly. If only she hadn't dawdled in the streets. If she'd completed her errands quickly, she might have returned before the Tempars even arrived. She and Fenris, or just her alone, might have been on their way already, galloping the pathways that would lead them far from Denerim.

And to think she wasn't even going to get up and do anything so early at all. She'd half a mind this morning to stay in bed, to turn over and pull the pillow over her eyes and sleep. That might have avoided all this too.

But no, she'd have stumbled down eventually anyway, and without the benefit of Hunter's warning.

Yes, they were definitely fighting. Grunts, the hurried but chaotic shuffling of feet, the clang of metal. Were they fighting each other? But the footsteps sounded like more than just two men. And, most importantly, why? Why would two Templars on the same mission turn on each other? The question was unbearable, even with her blood racing through her veins, her adrenaline pumping, her feet light, restless, ready to sprint up the steps.

Another bad decision. She turned around. Just a peek, a quick peek to see what was happening. She should take this opportunity and run, she should never have stopped for Gilly.

Fuck.

Panting, heart in her throat she descended two stairs. But a figure came around the corner. Behind him groan, a cessation of the chaos, but only a temporary pause. Before her, a third wall erected at the doorway, a tall, broad shadow in the shape of a man.

FUCK. See! See, Avery, you idiot!

"Go!" the shadow panted. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness, but not enough. Something familiar there. A drip of crimson down his temple. A voice like a vise around her heart. He touched her, a light shove, gentle but firm, his skin hot, ready for action.

"Go!" he said again, jarring her into movement.

She went. The stairs flew past, unfelt by her feet. The skinny dark hallway, turning around a corner, passing through a neglected room that collected boxes and sacks, a repository of unwanted miscellany. Her speed turned the stagnant air into a breeze, flowing through her hair, pushing back her hood, rushing through her lungs. Another corner, and then the features of the figure arranged themselves in her minds eye, revealing the image of a man whose memory she repeatedly denied herself. But she'd thought of him only this morning. She'd had that same blighted conversation in her head she always had. No, it wasn't possible that it was truly him. She would have recognized him. She would have known. Abruptly, Avery stopped. He crashed into her back. Still there, on her heels at every step. She turned again, the two distant Templars momentarily forgotten.

The grubby man had blonde hair and amber eyes. It was only his clothes that were grubby. His shoulders broad, his lips meeting with a lovely flowing curve. She blinked, sucking in the air of the room that seemed to be rapidly disappearing. Were her legs so shaky because of the running? He panted, muscled chest heaving, something in the way he looked at her making her ache.

Cullen.

He hesitated a moment, looking back down at her, his face changing as the sight of her confirmed something, something that could even have been a hope. Had he not been sure that it was her? That thought was encouraging. If her own former lover hadn't been certain, then perhaps two strangers weren't either. There may still be an uneventful end, if they could get out of sight. Cullen glanced over his shoulder, bouncing slightly, ready to continue on. She nodded and turned again, leading him away. Footsteps were behind them, though they could have been anywhere. Walls were thin in the strangest places, echoes carried down unreasonably long hallways. She was nowhere near Fenris' room, and would have to backtrack to make it to the other set of stairs. They'd need to find a place, a corner to stash themselves away and wait.

She shook her head as she turned again, her mind now clouded down to only basic functionality. To the left there was another dark corridor, and she moved for it, knowing there was a closet somewhere in that direction. Or maybe a door that could be jimmied open. But no, this wasn't the corridor she thought it was. All the doors were locked up tight, some with shadows moving at the open slat beneath. They'd fight to keep her out. Anyone staying here knew better that to get involved in a chase. The hall took a sharp right and opened to a central room, a wheel with spokes separating off in three different directions. She rarely came to this part of the Fence. How blighted big was this place? She could hardly even remember what floor she was on.

She picked a spoke, the widest and most conspicuous of the new hallways. Perhaps if they made it this far the Templars would be more tempted by the darker places, shadows that beckoned one to enter and hide. The hallway had several doors, all of them locked. But at the end it opened up a little off to the left, forming the indent of a small alcove. Noise was growing behind them. She knew not who was making it, but they could scarcely afford to take more chances. She sprinted into the alcove, it was small, a barest of nooks that gave minimal shelter. A wrong step backward and they'd be exposed. But there too was a door, another locked one. She urged Cullen up against the wall at its deepest corner and searched her belt for the lockpick. She was by no means an expert picker herself, but every once in a while it worked.

Jamming the pick in the lock she kept one ear trained behind her, the other listening for the telltale click. She moved the skinny stick of metal, searching, her body still too raging with energy to focus like she was supposed to. Delicate work required calm, steady fingers and she had neither. She tried to push Cullen's presence from her awareness. It wouldn't matter that he was there if they both got caught. But wait, why couldn't he simply order them to stop? Shouldn't they obey their Knight-Commander? And why in the void was he there in the first place. She paused to eye him, her mind flooding with questions as she took him in again. Why the dirty clothes? Where was his armor?

Out the corner of her eye, a distant flicker of movement. She released the lockpick and breathed a sigh of relief when it stayed in place instead of falling to the floor. A hasty step toward Cullen's hulky frame brought her back into the shelter of the alcove.

He was close now, his heat palpable as it steamed off his body. There was nothing to do for the moment but stand there, quietly. She let her eyes roam, taking in the visage of this apparition from her past. It didn't feel real.

She couldn't hold his gaze directly. Every time her eyes met his a knife twisted in her gut. But there was no ignoring his presence, how he filled the corner of the nook. The blood slowly streaming down his temple was feeding a growing stain of red on his shirt.

Her instinct as a healer was too strong to deny it. But she would make it quick.

She raised a haloed hand, the aura of magic connecting with his flesh until the web of cells directed her to the wound. A gash on his head, a bad one. He might even have left behind blood, spatters of a trail that could guide the Templars through the mess of rooms and hallways. She shook the thought away. If that were true they'd be there now. Wouldn't they?

More questions as she tried to construct the scene in her mind, that shuffling and grunting on the other side of the wall. The man she'd seen before, barely seen, hadn't even looked directly at, hunched over in the middle of the room. Cullen? Sitting behind the two Templars, dressed as a commoner? But they should recognize their Knight-Commander. That part made no sense. Still, that was what she'd seen.

Templars harassing patrons. Gilly? Gilly ran as though she'd felt threatened. While Avery strode right through, hoping her nonchalance would fool them. Clearly it hadn't. They must have given chase. Cullen must have stopped them.

None of that answered even half of the pressing questions.

Cullen exhaled, his voice rasping softly as the warmth beneath her hand increased. His head, falling into her touch. The curls of his hair, soft and gentle, the pulsing of his heart, pumping blood through his vessels, transporting heat, energy, nutrients. She felt it all, a magical eye glimpsing beneath his skin. She let the healing spill forth quickly, urging it to get the job done. His cells weaved back together, the bloodfall contained, his veins reconnecting, pain receding. When it was over she pulled her hand away quickly. The ache his gaze had caused was still there inside her, growing in intensity, blooming out from her gut like an inkwell dropped into a basin of water.

She stepped away, peering down the hall. No movement down there now, but there were sounds still. Sounds which could be coming closer. It was so difficult to tell. Returning to the door she gave up the attempt at delicacy and jerked the pick in the lock, jamming it up and down until the door bounced open. The noise behind them increased in response. Voices now, men or at least a man. She could hear his words, the thud of his footfalls. Curses hissed and spat. Anger.

There was no time to delay. Grabbing Cullen's arm she pulled, though it wasn't necessary. He was already moving with her, rendering the impulsive force of her effort uncontrollable. They fell through the doorway and ended up against a wall that was much closer than she anticipated. Hardly a room, more a closet. Cullen pulled her back to balance, his hands shaking, not releasing her even after she'd recovered. She had to slip away from his touch to finish pulling the door to a close.

There was nothing in there with them but a small, bare cot; merely a frame with some criss-crossed rope, its mattress gone. The room wasn't wide enough to even bear a cot that was full sized. This one must have been reserved for a dwarf perhaps, or worse, a solitary child. But there was one window, looking out into the street at the front of the tavern. Everyone outside seemed strangely unconcerned with the chase happening deep within The Copper Fence. It hardly seemed fair.

Footsteps in the hall grew louder and Avery froze in place, her heartbeats thudding over her ability to hear. Their pursuer was getting closer, walking with a slow caution that seemed to confirm a search. Unless it was someone who was merely lost, slowing down to get their bearings, which was certainly possible. She waited, heart hammering in her ears, listening hard for any sign that might indicate which. But whatever she thought she'd heard was drowned out by the sounds of her own rushing blood. She imagined a man quietly creeping closer, listening in return. A creak, a bang, a sniff would have been enough to give her and Cullen away. She took a deep breath. They could only wait.

She looked to Cullen just as he moved, his body propelling with a dizzying speed toward the window. It was quieter than a man of such bulk should be, and she was deeply startled by the expression on his face. Pale and grey, a sheen of sweat covered his forehead, his eyes no longer warm and sad, but black and feral. He was at the window in a blink, his fingers searching around the window frame, tapping, scraping, seeking a lip, a ridge before pushing, straining. She noticed his breaths now, shallow and rapid, panicked. Panicked.

Avery watched, dumbstruck. The noise, the movement, everything she'd just been fearing might give them away. Now she couldn't hear anything else at all. Maybe their pursuer was gone. Or maybe they were slowly locating the source of the noise. And Cullen, acting seemingly without care for their predicament. Unable to budge the window he turned to the door, and she saw his intention to go through it. Avery winced. What in the void was he doing!? In a flash, a memory emerged, an explanation extracted from a deep, hidden corner of her mind. The storage room at the Gallows, and how cramped it had been. How visibly uneasy it made him. He'd hardly been able to hold a conversation there, and could only enter the washroom at her Hightown estate if the curtains were drawn and the window was open. Cullen couldn't do small spaces.

They were currently standing within the smallest of possible spaces.

"No, Cullen…" Avery began, keeping her voice as low as she could manage. She positioned herself between him and the door, but he was looking past her, his eyes flicking to the window and back to the door again, his body moving like an automaton, not even acknowledging the obstacles in his path. What had calmed him before? It hurt to remember it, but she had to. At the Gallows he had kissed her, surged forward midsentence and took her mouth like he owned it. In her washroom, they made love. It had been her that calmed him then, or at the very least her touch. There was no other option now. As confused as she felt even standing before him, the priority now was to stop him.

Taking a breath she reached out, laying her hands on his chest.

"Cullen," she said again. Maker he was warm, his chest firm and muscled, his heart hammering beneath her hands. He still was hardly even looking, his eyes glanced to her face once but his pupils were so dilated she wondered how it was that he was seeing anything at all. She needed to do more. This wasn't calming him, or not quickly enough.

Reaching up, she cupped his face and pulled him toward her, directing him so that he was looking straight into her eyes. She almost physically flinched when that gaze settled upon her. Pained and familiar, it was like falling into warm brown pools.

Focus, Avery!

"Cullen," she said softly. He stilled for a moment. They'd barely even spoken and now she was touching him the way she always had just before a kiss. Her words caught in her throat, and she tried to swallow down the constriction. Her head was swimming. But she had to find her strength. Their safety depended on it.

"I'm sorry we're here," she said, casting about in her mind for words that might help. He was still breathing hard, breathing like he couldn't find any air.

"Just… just look at me," she urged, ignoring the hurt burning at her chest and peering pointedly up into his face. "Look at how fine I am. See? Everything's okay."

Cullen gasped a little as he nodded. It was as if he thought he was drowning, his chest heaving. He looked to the window again and she felt his body wind up, ready itself for more motion.

"There's plenty of air in here, Cullen," she said, taking a step closer. "Look, I'm breathing fine. Plenty of air…"

He was swallowing, but he hadn't moved for the window again. Avery eyed it quickly, locating the two nails inserted on a diagonal, locking it closed. If it had been possible to open it, she would have helped him do so quietly. But that's wasn't going to happen. She turned back to Cullen, noticing that her fingers were moving of their own volition, her thumb caressing tenderly over his cheek bone. A force of habit that three years apparently hadn't extinguished. And Maker, he was still so blighted beautiful. How could this be possible? How could he be there, only inches away, her hand soaking up the warmth of his cheek? After so long wandering Thedas, alone except for Fenris, who'd never felt the same even in those few months they'd tried again to be more than friends. Even then, two years later, it was often Cullen she imagined in the dark.

Her own breathing disrupted now, her lungs aching for more air, trembling as they sucked hard for sustenance. Her mind registered the stretch of time that separated them, but her heart didn't seem to. She squashed the memory down, tried to train her focus on him only in this moment, staying exclusively in the now.

"Breathe with me," she said, as much for herself as for him, her words bringing her back, remembering the problem they were trying to solve. Losing herself in the past would only make this more difficult. She tried to force her mind into a pinpoint, locking onto his face, tuning into his body. She called up a glow of healing and urged it into its most calming frequency. His eyes stayed trained onto hers, still dark and wild. But he was staying in place. He was listening. She picked up one of his hands and placed it on her chest, over her heart. She took a deep breath so he could feel the rise of her chest.

"Breathe with me, Cullen. In and out, nice and slow. There's plenty of air. I'm getting all the air I need and you are too," she said. She felt an injury in his wrist, her healing magic tingling through her fingertips and sensing the components under his flesh. A bone just slightly out of place, pinching a nerve. It had to hurt. Did Kirkwall no longer have any healers? No potions? She pulled his wrist away from her for a moment, letting her magic wash through it, seeking out the injury and getting to work with repairs. His hands before her were square, rough and strong, they still looked exactly as she remembered. She couldn't help but wonder if they felt the way she remembered. Based on how his skin was searing against her own, she knew it would.

Another thought to shake away. Maker, such thoughts were insidious. She was beginning to feel breathless herself again, and that wouldn't help him. Deep inside something was screaming, something was railing against this weakness that had overtaken her so quickly. She should be tuning into her anger, the anger that had stomped her down the Denerim streets not long before. It was so easy when she was left alone with her thoughts. But she'd never truly expected to be face to face with him again. Certainly not like this.

He moaned softly as the healing was complete. The sound sent a shiver through her. She kept her eyes down, afraid to look up, though she knew she'd need to. At least he was quiet now. His breathing was still fast, but his body wasn't as coiled. She let his palm rest on her chest again, heavy and welcome despite her better judgment. She concentrated on breathing. She would do it for him, let him feel her, let her breathe for them both, guiding him back to calmness. But she was finding more and more that she was struggling for air herself. Maker, it couldn't really be that they were using up all the air in the room, was it? She imagined that she could feel his pulse, beating against her chest via his palm, syncing itself with the crashing of her heart. It was devastatingly intimate.

"Why are you here?" she asked finally, after countless seconds had passed. Or had it been minutes? It was impossible to tell. But still, the questions had to come. She needed the answers if only to occupy her mind, to keep it firmly entrenched in the present.

There was silence for a long moment. At least no one was barging through the door. There was nothing audible at all in the hall behind them. But her heartbeat had only gotten louder, drowning out so much else. The sounds of their breathing, drawing in and then leaving in a slow stream, it filled the room in soft crescendos. He had listened, had obeyed her command. Her hand had fallen from his cheek and landed back on his chest. The hard line of his collarbone resting under her fingertips. The skin above the ragged hem of his tunic radiating warmth. She could feel him still in the process of slowing, matching his energy to hers, breathing together in time. He had calmed. It had worked.

"I was looking for you."

Avery snorted. It was a bitter laugh that even she wasn't expecting, a startling departure from all the other words she'd spoken.

"So I'm told. And just how many more Templars are looking for me?" She couldn't look at him now. She didn't want to see whatever would be reflected there. The bite in her tone was comforting, it the dulled the heat that was penetrating from his touch. It brought her back into her self, the real, current self. Made her feel a little bit stronger.

Cullen shook his head. "I don't know."

"Who gave you the tip?"

"I don't know," he said again. "I mean… I didn't get a tip."

Avery raised an eyebrow, daring a glance up into his eyes again. Changing pools of liquid brown, they communicated something painful. She looked away again.

"They had one. Those other two. I don't know who it was from."

"You weren't all together?"

This time Cullen snorted. "No," he laughed, his disdain clear. Avery felt something in her soften, even as she remained thoroughly confused.

"That man is a disgrace to the Maker. Both of them," Cullen continued.

"So how…?"

She dropped her hands away from him. The tightness in her chest was only growing as he spoke. The sultry smoke of his voice, his body standing so near. He was calm now, so she needed to tend to herself, to take a step back, try to get back onto solid ground again.

"I was looking for you. I thought you might be in Denerim, so I… I came. It seemed logical. A city, lots of people, your homeland. I've been here for three days," he said. "I—"

A flash of light out the window, a reflection on metal. There they were, the two Templars, walking away from the Copper Fence. One turned for just a moment, glaring back toward the building, his eyes narrow with suspicion.

"They'll be back," Cullen warned. Avery knew this. She didn't know why they were leaving, but a new window for escape was opening and it wouldn't stay open long. She wanted to stay there in the cramped room with Cullen, finish asking her questions, but she also didn't. It too felt unsafe now, for reasons having nothing to do with those other two Templars.

"I've got to go," she said as she turned toward the door.

She was through it in a breath, the hallway stretching long and unfamiliar before her. She heard Cullen following close behind but didn't stop to wait. She couldn't. Walking away from him now, the picture of his face emblazoned on her mind again, so fresh and new, brought a storm of rising feelings up within her and she wasn't sure she could contain it. She'd only half heard his words. He was looking for her. He wasn't with the men, but he knew them. And the way he was dressed… still so many questions. But why should she need the answers? What it did matter after all? He'd go back to Kirkwall, or maybe he had transfered to somewhere in Ferelden. Either way there was more than just Meredith against them now. There would be every Templar in the land out for her blood. They already were. He'd fought them back so she could escape, and she didn't know what it was supposed to mean. He didn't want her captured, or to die. Well okay. That didn't meant he wanted her back. She could stay and ask more questions, but the longer she was there, the less she could deny what still lived inside her for him. Besides, the clock was ticking again.

She walked and walked until she found herself somewhere she recognized. She sighed in relief. Second floor.

She went first to Fenris' room. Cullen lingered behind her as she knocked on the door. Awkward seconds stretched out as they listened for movement within. But nothing came. She knocked again and still no one answered. She turned back to Cullen. She could feel the weight of his presence, blanketing her mind and blurring her focus.

"Avery, we have more to talk about," he said gravely. "Please."

She paused. Of course she wanted to talk. She wanted to talk and scream and stomp and punch him and kiss him and heal every pain he'd ever known. Just like she always did.

"Ten minutes. If those Templars return before I go I will crush them. I almost want them to return so that I can."

She waited some more. Of course she was going to say yes. They'd just had ten minutes and already it was like they knew each other again. But they didn't. They couldn't. Three years wasn't insignificant. They were both different people now, weren't they?

"You owe me," he said. To this Avery laughed. It echoed down the hall and rang in the air.

"You can't be serious."

"I am. Avery, you just left me there! Just up and bloody disappeared! Didn't say anything, didn't write, just left me wondering if… if you were hurt somewhere, or dead!" His voice was strong, firm. He wasn't posing a question, he was making a demand.

"Well, we couldn't have you sneaking around with a mage anymore after you became Knight-Commander, now could we?"

Cullen sighed, his shoulders dropped.

"I know. I know I didn't handle that well. I didn't say the right things… I didn't… I shouldn't have…" he paused and swallowed hard. "Even now… this is not how I planned for this to go."

The last words stunned her, her response dying back into silence. Planned? Yes, he said he'd been looking for her. But looking for her not to protect her from two depraved Templars, but only because he wanted to talk? The ache in her stomach became something more. Butterflies ricocheting from wall to wall. She took another long look at him. So much there that she remembered. Every detail of the man she'd loved so furiously. But new details too. There was a new scar at his lip, a jagged line cutting down through the perfection she'd once kissed at every opportunity. Another tiny nick above his chin. A few of the lines around his eyes were deeper, including the little line between his brows, where the wrinkle formed when he frowned. Purple bruising under his eyes, exactly as she remembered back in Kirkwall, the result of his nightmares and poor sleep. His neck and shoulders strong. Regal, even. She realized now the shaky legs and weak knees hadn't been from all the running. It had been her body's remembered response to him. Just like her bloody heart. She sighed. She remembered this feeling of weakness too. This was how it all began, her trying to play tough while he disarmed her with a few words. Kirkwall's most infamous apostate and the Order's Knight-Captain. It made no sense, and yet had felt inevitable.

She looked up and down the hallway. Empty. Peaceful. Everything seemed deceptively back to normal, and she supposed that one immediate danger was past. The Templars might return quickly, or they might not. On the one hand if she left without being found again then it was likely her trail would go cold quickly. On the other hand, if she was forced to fight, she could deal with these Templars once and for all. But it would only motivate new ones.

"Ten minutes," she said with a nod. But somewhere underneath, she didn't think she'd be terribly strict about the time limit. She could finish asking her own questions. She could try to find her anger again, have a nice little purge of her own. It might help her heal a little. And besides, she had a window that looked out at the street in her room. If the Templars returned, she could possibly see them coming, could be out the back door before they made it halfway down the street.

Avery turned on her heel, motioning for Cullen to follow. "My room is this way," she said. "Don't worry, it's much larger than the last one."

"Good," he laughed quietly. "Mine isn't."

She eyed him again. He'd said he'd been there for three days.

"So when you said you've been here, you mean you've been here…? In the Fence?"

He nodded, having to fall back behind her to make their way down another narrow hall, before rounding a corner into the upper stairwell.

"For three days?" she asked again, incredulous. "And you were looking for me?"

He nodded again, his jaw tensing as they passed through another small room, toward the wing that contained her room.

"But I've been here for months!"

Cullen looked around, laughing wordlessly at the confusion of hallways and raising his eyebrow.

"Right," she sighed. "Point taken. That's why this place is what it is. "

"That's why you're here," he reminded her.

"So, what, you just knew me so well, that after all this time you could locate me precisely within all of Thedas," she asked. Her tone was almost mocking, but the answer was there before her. Tease him as she might, he'd been correct. Perhaps it had been an obvious place to go. Her homeland, a place with lots of people. And within that, a hiding place for those who wanted to lay low. When she thought of it it like that, it was obvious. Painfully so. It was a shock that she hadn't been found sooner.

"I just went where I would have gone, if I were you," he said.

She opened the door and walked in. Her room, spacious and lived in, smelled of her lavender soap and dust. Suddenly everything that sat out of place came into vivid clarity. Her week old laundry kicked into a pile beside the bed. A half empty bottle of whiskey on the table, along with a leaning stack of books and two glasses. Various items and articles of clothing strewn messily about. Smudges on the mirror in the corner. She didn't even know how those got there. Only Fenris had ever been into her room, and even that wasn't frequently. Self consciousness crept in as she watched Cullen look around. If she'd had time to clean up, she would have hidden half the crap he was now looking at.

"What's with the dirty outfit?" she asked finally. The aggressive front, the brusk tone, it helped. It wasn't what she truly felt, wasn't what she would have been doing had she felt free of her own admonishments, but it helped to steel her against his beauty.

"Trying to blend in," he said simply. "Apparently I was doing so too well, since you walked right past me without noticing."

She stood awkwardly in the center of the room, not sure what to do from there. She supposed they should sit. She walked to the table and pushed her pile of books off to the side. The two glasses… the whiskey. Yes, it was technically still early, but fuck it. She poured herself one and threw it back quickly. Then she filled both glasses and sat. She chanced a look at Cullen, walking quietly toward her, lowering himself in the other chair. He was pale again, but it couldn't have been from her room. It wasn't a cramped little closet, it had multiple windows and was filled with natural light. She watched him swallow and rub the back of his neck. He threw back his glass of whiskey.

"I know it's been a long time," he began. "And I know that this is presumptuous of me."

He swallowed again, then sat up straight and steeled his jaw.

"Avery, I wish you hadn't just disappeared like that, after-"

"But I couldn't have stayed. You know that," she cut in. She'd been assuming he knew that. It was shock to have it framed as an accusation now. The whole time, the days immediately after when she was fleeing through the Marches, it had comforted her that he must have understood. "Even if you and I hadn't…. Hadn't carried on. Other Templars would have come for me. You said yourself that your own men were calling for my arrest. Would you have let them take me? Because if you'd stopped them… they'd know, wouldn't they? They'd have suspected… something. A bias at least."

"I suppose. Still…"

"No. A clean break was easier. For both of us. I don't know that I would have…" she stopped. It was difficult to admit. It had too many implications even now, in this very moment. She decided not to finish the sentence out loud. I don't know that I would have been strong enough to stay away from you.

"Then a letter? Any word at all would have eased my mind tremendously…"

"After the cold way you broke things off? You'd promised me we'd leave together. I'd already spent the day packing. I found a whole cart-full of lyrium for you. I'd already paid for it, not that I cared about the money. And then standing there in the Gallows, in front of my friends… I couldn't even react. And now you come here and try to tell me that I owe you?" There it was. She felt the anger, the energy that filled her muscles with a new vitality. The whiskey burning away the sadness in her gut was making room for the rage. It was a relief.

"Didn't you owe me? Something better than those last words at least? Something more than just "I can't let my men catch me sneaking around with a mage?" She was on her feet, the momentum propelling her to walk the room. Cullen stayed still, his eyes following her.

"You'd already been sneaking around with a mage for months! You convinced me not to break it off sooner. You weren't worried about Meredith, but you—"

"I was worried about Meredith. Of course I was."

"But still… "

It hung in the air between them. His face was apologetic. She sighed again. "Look, you know what, none of that matters. Not now," she said stopping that whole line. That part was pointless to argue. "I know, you needed the respect of the men below you. I know that it wouldn't have been easy, even without me there. But you can't tell me that I had no right to take care of my own broken heart. And doing so happened to mean leaving. It meant a clean break."

One of the most painful parts of it sat like a boulder in her throat. She hadn't known she'd been carrying his baby when she left. She'd spent months, years it seemed, wondering how differently things might have gone if she'd stayed. Would the baby have lived? Would that have been enough for him to leave the Order? Would they be a family now? Should she tell him? It would only complicate thing further. And she didn't even know where they'd be an hour from now. Which birthed a new sting of dread. What was she going to do when he walked away from her again? In an hour, two, she be on the road, most likely alone. She'd have to go even if Fenris was back. The Templars were coming again. It was just a question of when. She swallowed heavily, deciding to keep quiet about the baby. At least until she knew what the result of all this would be.

"I know," he said. "A clean break. It makes sense. I know and I'm sorry. I just spent so much time worrying. Even now, especially now. You're not safe anywhere you go, Avery," he said.

"I know that. I've never been safe."

Cullen filled his glass again. Avery stalked around the room. Needing something to do with her hands, she began straightening up. The air in the room crackled, vibrating around her. She looked to Cullen quickly and then away again. Maker, he looked the same. The man she loved, the man she resented. He looked sad, but stiff with purpose. It softened her a little to know that he came to find her. And he'd come such a long way.

"I wrote to you," he said quietly. "I still do. I have a whole drawer full of letters that I never knew where to send."

Avery's steps slowed. She picked up a sock and threw it into the pile with her other laundry. She straighted up the blanket covering her bed.

"Why torture yourself?" she asked eventually. It wasn't what she really wanted to ask.

"It wasn't torture. It was a comfort. You always comfort me, just like you did back in that room. Even if it's just the idea of you…"

She thought she heard him stand, the chair slide against the floor. Quiet footsteps on the rug. She didn't turn around. It was possible she imagined it. She repositioned her pillows, kicked her slippers under the bed. She should be watching out the window, looking for the Templars. She should be packing up her gear.

Yes, packing up her gear.

She turned, making a beeline for the pack in the far corner of the room. Cullen was there, standing only a few feet behind her. He moved out of the way, his gaze a warm spotlight that followed her as she moved. It made her feel more self-conscious than ever, but she liked it somehow too. She picked up her pack threw it on the bed. Maker, she felt so off balance. So out of sorts. Too many strange things happening in this unpredictable day. She opened her pack, peering down into the contents it still held. Some cold weather gear she hadn't needed recently, a sack that held some coin, and, she remembered, that amber band that Cullen had bought for her. She turned to the pile of laundry on the floor. She'd need to pack those things regardless of how dirty they were. They'd just have to get washed elsewhere. She picked up the whole pile and shoved it in her pack. As she moved her eye sought Cullen's left hand, landing on precisely the item she was wondering about. Seeing it made her chest clench as though she'd been pounded by a fist, driving the air from her lungs. She stopped.

Should she acknowledge it? This was why he was here, right?

She faced him and picked up his hand. This wasn't the hand she'd placed on her chest earlier, or she'd have noticed this right away. She ran her thumb across the band and looked up at him, a question in her eyes that she was afraid to speak.

"I've missed you," he said in explanation. "I understand this… this hardness you're showing. You need it, I get that. It's probably what's kept you going, right?"

She dropped his hand, and turned away. He was right of course. Annoyingly so. She didn't answer, just went to the bureau and pulled out the clean clothes in the top drawer, stuffing them into the pack on top of the dirty ones. Everything she'd felt back in that room was trying to make a resurgence. Memories of their happiness, of how it felt to be in his arms, to be the object of his adoring gaze. It just wasn't easy for her to be so unconditionally forgiving. How could she shrug off three years of trying to put her heart back together? And, what? Just dive back in with him again? If that was even what he was asking. He hadn't said so outright.

"So what do you want from me now?" she asked, her voice shaking. "You think I'm just going to go back to Kirkwall with you? Live in secret again, even though everyone there is going to know me? Going to have questions, and want their own revenge for the Chantry?"

"No. I'm not going back to Kirkwall, I don't expect you to either," he said. She felt warmth against her back. Had he stepped closer?

"So you transfered down here? That's really why you're here then, right?"

"I didn't transfer anywhere. I left the Order," he said. "I'm not a Templar anymore, and I don't intend to live in secret with anyone again."

At this Avery stood up straight. With a deep breath, she turned to face him. He was close, only two steps away. Her eyes traced the lines of his tunic, up to the stain of blood from his head wound. His neck, strong and golden, thick but graceful. She used to nuzzle up into that nook of his, used to breathe his scent like it was the nectar of life. Part of her, a large part, wanted to close that distance between them and do just that, right now. But she would wait. She would let him finish what he needed to say.

"I came to find you because I needed to see for myself that you were safe. See if… see if it was possible…" he stopped, rubbed the back of his neck again. His cheeks were flushing pink.

"I just happened to run into those Templars on the street. I overheard them say your name, so I followed them. I wondered if they might lead me to you. And then it became clear that they intended to hurt you, so I kept them in my sights to make sure you were safe. But I was already here. I was already looking."

Avery was quiet, putting it all together in her mind. He was jumping around, clearly nervous. The enormity of his statement was staggering. This was certainly the last thing she'd expected. Something of the sort might have crossed her mind years ago, but now? Three years later? Now it seemed so late. In the few moments she had allowed herself to think about him lately she assumed that he'd moved on. That he was too busy to think of her, or had found someone else. Someone more suitable, such as another Templar.

"I told myself that if I found you, and you were happy, if you were with someone else, that I would leave you be. But…" he continued, "well, are you?"

Words froze in her throat. How do you tell someone that you're not happy at all? Not even in the slightest sense of the word? It was a strange thing to try to say, an admission she'd struggled to make her whole life.

"I'm not with anyone," she said finally.

"Oh," he said softly. He took a step closer, but not too close. She looked down at his hands, his feet, shod in boots much nicer than the rest of his clothes. The dingy white linen did little to hide the sculpted muscle beneath. Under his breeches, a perfect bottom, graceful thighs, scorching manhood that had sent her to the heights of sensation. Maker, she remembered every detail of that too. Her breath came in a jagged burst, practically a sob. But it was more than just his body. He'd filled her in every way that it was possible to be filled. How could he really be before her again? Saying these words? Implying…. Could she trust what he was implying? She needed him to say it. But he'd said it before, more times than she could count. He felt it, believed it. And she still ended up alone. No, that was her fault too. She'd known from the beginning that anything they'd begin was doomed. And why wouldn't it still be?

"Just tell me to leave, that you don't want me. And you'll never see me again," he said.

Another long moment of silence. She couldn't say that. She didn't want that. Or maybe she did. Maybe it would be easier if he left. But could it really be? Now that he'd been here, that he'd said these things, that she'd touched his face, calmed his panic, healed his wounds? If he left she couldn't just fall back into forgetting again, even if she did flee Denerim immediately.

"Or, if it's possible, that there might be anything left in your heart for me…"

She felt dumb, standing there unmoving, unanswering. But she was frozen. No, not frozen. On fire. She was standing there like nothing was wrong, but her insides were smoldering. She didn't know what was what. Her anger, her rage, had it subsided? Or merely changed? Or it too was now confused. But still it burned. Things she wanted, things she feared, new possibilities swirling around her. How would things change? Had everything she'd thought and felt up til now been wrong? Should she have stayed? Should she have written him? He was still talking. She heard his words, felt them, each landing upon her like a caress. But it was a caress that hurt.

"I have nothing to offer you. No title, no possessions. Only a promise that I will stay with you, no matter what happens. We can go where you ever you want. Or you could come with me… there's a place, Haven. I have people waiting for me there, but I could write them and say that I'm not coming. Or we could go together. Whatever you want, Avery. My love. Anything you want…."

A white buzz was rising in her ears, the room spinning a little. There it was. There it bloody was. Was this real? She was dreaming. She would wake any moment, go down into the bar and Hunter would warn her about the Templars. And everything would happen all over again, but there would be no Cullen. It had been her imagination, inserting him where he didn't belong. That's what happened when you repressed desires, right? They always found their way out of you, just sometimes they came out sideways, or twisted.

Now the room was too small for her. Where was the air here? She stumbled over to a window. Could she be drunk? On two glasses of whiskey? The window opened, she smelled the air. There was a chill on the breeze. The street was empty. No Templars, no loiterers. Just a peaceful, empty space. Another normal afternoon in Denerim. But it wasn't. Nothing was normal. Everything was tipping, upside down, the earth trying to throw her off of it.

She turned back toward Cullen and took a deep breath. He was waiting, his eyes deep and soulful, full of hope. She spoke without thinking, it was the truth, straight from her heart to her tongue.

"I want you. I've always wanted you."

Relief blossomed on his face, and he was coming straight for her, swift and powerful. His hand on her cheek, one arm circling her waist. A jolting shift in space, a warm, hard body against hers. And his mouth, crashing down upon her lips, hot and desperate. She opened, returned the force of his kiss, her hands searching his back, finding a hold to pull him harder, closer, their bodies so tight together his hip bones bit into hers. Teeth clinking, nails scraping; a desperation verging on the animalistic. He tasted the same, felt the same. The taste she'd spent so many nights craving, her own particular addiction. His skin was so hot, so soft. She became all mouth and hands, legs wrapping around his hips, clamping him mercilessly against her.

Her mind went quiet, listening to the sounds of his kiss, to the tiny whimpers that were little more than a breath. Something inside of her that was hard and sharp began to dissolve. A balm for her soul, a piece of her that had been missing, found and replaced.

The world shifted again, she was being lifted. Both legs now circling his waist, she saw things moving out the corner of her vision, but her senses were filled with his kiss, his soft mewling moans as their tongues explored, her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling harder than she meant to. And then the sensation of falling. The softness of her bed at her back. She stayed wrapped tightly around him, giving him no choice but to settle his weight upon hers, his hips between her thighs, their bodies sharing heat and air. She found the front of his tunic and pulled until the buttons popped free, desperate to reach the fragrant skin of his chest, the little pieces of broken button falling down between then, nestling in nooks of their clothing, one slipping down the front of her own tunic.

His hands, those lovely, missed hands of his finally making contact with her bare stomach, sliding up, scraping over ribs. She let him go only long enough to let her tunic slide over her head, her eyes taking the opportunity to fill themselves with the vision of him. He was real. He was there, his weight considerable, his lips curled with satisfaction, eyes bright, hair sticking out in the places she'd ruffled it.

"Avery," he whispered as he settled down against her again. He'd shed his shirt too, and they were belly to belly, skin to skin. She touched his face, her inner world in a beautiful, delicious turmoil. "Maker, but I have missed you."

She let her thumb wander over his cheek again, the way it had in the small room. His ever-present stubble, his lashes against his cheek, the dark sharpness of his brows was hypnotizing. She'd fallen into a deep, reverent awe. Her mind was quiet, but her chest still clenched with something newer, sweeter. She gave herself over to it.

The next kiss was soft and lingering, his lips savoring the taste of her. Oh Maker, she could drown in this precious, unexpected moment.

The moment didn't last. On the street outside came a concerning noise. Voices, many of them it seemed. Someone speaking authoritatively. She'd not noticed how tuned her ear had been to the street until it happened. Cullen heard it too, his back stiffening. He pulled away and rolled off her, padding quietly to the the windows. He looked out one and then another, until what he saw out the third made him freeze into place. Avery knew what he was going to say even before he spoke. She'd known somewhere in the back of her mind, behind everything else that had been said in the last half hour, that she couldn't relax. They couldn't expect to stay in peace for long. It was strange enough on its own that the two Templars had decided to leave. Just give up? When there was still so much to search?

"Time to go," Cullen said, his face as serious as it could be. She rolled out of bed and found her tunic. Sliding it over her head she returned to the bureau. A quick survey of the items there confirmed there wasn't much she truly needed. She'd accumulated so much random stuff in her months living at the Fence, which had been a welcome change from the months on the road, where minimalism was the priority. With a sigh she grabbed a few pieces off the bedside table, and then her coinpurse off the bureau top. A pause at the window confirmed what she already knew: not only had the two men returned, they'd brought reinforcements.

In a heartbeat her adrenaline was pumping again. She turned back to Cullen.

Before she could say anything more she remembered Fenris. Fuck. He hadn't been in his room, and that wasn't that long ago. She didn't know where he could be. Grabbing a slip of parchment she scribbled another quick note.

Fen,

Had to leave quickly. Templars returned. Going to a town called Haven. Meet me there if you'd like to. Write me if you don't. Be careful.

-H

They were out the door in the flash, sprinting once again through the hallways, down the stairs, around corners, her heart blaring rhythms in her ears. There was a new calm surrounding her now, a peace that permeated the rush. Cullen stayed close behind, his hand falling onto her waist whenever they had to slow to make their way through an oddly shaped space. She laughed as she moved, existing in a cloud of numb but elated disbelief. Had it really been that easy? No, that hadn't really felt that easy. It felt… dangerous, but deliciously so. She was putting her heart up to the slaughter again, and if it didn't go well this time she doubted there'd be anything left of her to salvage.

But Cullen had traveled miles, hundreds of miles, on a hope and prayer. For her. Words could be disregarded, mistrusted. But actions, the risks he took, a journey of that magnitude, most certainly could not.

No one answered at Fenris' door again, but she wasn't expecting him to. Maker, had her whole life turned upside down in only a morning? In a small handful of hours? She didn't believe it, but she turned to look at Cullen again. He was really there. She kept having to confirm, to reach out and feel the solidity of his flesh. Real. Present. You are not dreaming.

She could still be angry. But there was plenty more time for that. What could he say about the situation they'd endured that she hadn't already reviewed in her mind until she'd been sick of her own arguments? His last promise broken, the cold words uttered among the bodies at the Gallows. Things would be different this time. He wasn't a Templar any more.

She didn't know how that was possible. Templars don't leave the order; that was the whole point of the lyrium. Or one of the points. Questions still to be asked clawing at her brain the more she thought about it. There would be time for that too.

"Where is Haven?" she asked him finally. The name sounded familiar. She'd thought she'd heard it once or twice back in Lothering, but she was certain she'd never been there.

"The Frostbacks. It'll be a week's journey at least. And it's cold there," he answered. Avery slipped the note under Fenris' door and was off again, grasping Cullen's hand and pulling him with her. "Is that where we're going?"

She stopped, breathless. "I don't have anywhere else to go," she said with a grin and a shrug. It was true.

He flashed her a half smile. She wanted to kiss him again. She was nearly there, leaning in, her body drawn to the heat of his before she recalled the fleet of metal bodies she'd seen turning the corner and beginning their march down the street. No time now. Plenty of time later. She sighed and continued on.

"Do you have things you need to grab? You have a room here, yes?"

She slowed, not wanting to move too far away from his quarters if that's where he needed to go.

"No. My only possessions are in Haven," he said, urging her forward. She picked up speed again, leading him through one of the final hallways that would take them to the back door. Another reason this place had the patronage that it did, was because of how the backdoor met a trail of narrow alleyways. Alleyways that branched off to various sections of the city, facilitating those who, for whatever reason, needed to run. One of those led straight to the road that went southwest out of Denerim, the near opposite side of where the Imperial Highway emptied into the city. There was a stable there. Horses could be acquired quickly. She paused again, right before she pulled the latch on the door.

"You're ready then? This is it," she said. "You can't come back here after we leave, at least not with me." He laced his fingers through hers and held on tight.

"I'm ready." He flashed a giddy, reassuring smile. "The only thing I care about here is walking out this door with me."