Killeen Hanmount sat on the wall overlooking Skyhold's upper courtyard, eating an apple contemplatively, entirely pleased with life.

The apple, tart and juicy and delicious, was definitely part of her contentment. The onset of harvest season, and the resulting bountiful produce making its way to Skyhold, had gone a long way toward reconciling her to the increasingly chill breezes of autumn.

As had the heavy fur cloak that currently weighed down her shoulders. She smiled to herself, running her hand over the thick, luxurious — and mercifully undyed — pelt of the great bear Cullen had killed. Smiled, too, at the memory of his clearly rehearsed, yet still stammered, words as he'd presented it to her: I promise to, um. Always keep you warm.

The apple and the cloak and the clear fall day added to Killeen's sense of well-being, but its real source was Cullen Stanton Rutherford and the constant, astonishing delight of his love for her.

She had imagined, when she had allowed herself, what it would be like if he kissed her, even made love to her, and Maker, the reality had exceeded all expectations — but over the past two months she'd found that it was, after all, the things she'd never needed to imagine that filled her with a wild, singing happiness, that had her smiling for no reason and humming as she went about her daily tasks. He had, after all, always known exactly how she took her tea, and yet every time he stirred in precisely the right amount of honey Killeen wanted to laugh with delight, every time he put in her hand precisely the report or quill or sealing wax she was about to reach for made her want to sing, every time he answered a question she had not had time to ask made her absolutely, utterly certain that she could never, no matter how long she lived, be as happy as she was right at that moment.

As if summoned by her thoughts, she heard his footsteps behind her. His hands brushed her shoulders, and then his arms were around her waist, his chin in her shoulder. "Three Chantry sisters die and find themselves before the Maker," he said.

Killeen sighed. "It's four Chantry sisters, Cullen. Four Chantry sisters die and find themselves before the Maker."

Obediently, he started again. "Four Chantry sisters, who haven't been true to their vows, die and —"

"No! Now you've ruined it!"

"But it doesn't make any sense if they were well-behaved," he protested.

"Yes, but you don't say that right at the —" She felt him laugh silently. "You're teasing me."

"Possibly," he conceded. "Are you busy?"

"Well, I've got this apple to eat," Killeen said casually.

He pressed a kiss to her neck. "Do you think it will take you long? Because I've got an hour until my next meeting and I could tease you a little more, if you'd like."

Killeen pretended to consider, although she knew he could feel the way her limbs had loosened and her pulse had begun to race at his words. She flicked her apple-core into the bushes by the tavern where she'd seen Scout Harding and Sutherland disappear ten minutes earlier, smiled to see the sudden brief rustle of the leaves. "I think I could free up some time."

As she followed him back to his office, the breeze ruffling the thick fur of her cloak, Killeen realised she was grinning like a fool again.

Yes. Life is definitely good.