Dorian clasped Evelyn to him like a drowning man.

But after a minute he pushed her away, though he still kept a strong grip on her shoulders. "Don't get the wrong impression," he said in the rich tones of the Imperium. "I'm still quite annoyed with you. My forgiveness will be hard-won."

Thunderclouds rolled across Evelyn's face. "Your forgiveness? I've been worried sick about you! Why didn't you check in with the Inquisition? You know where our outposts are."

"Well, let me see," said Dorian, releasing Evelyn to tick off points on his fingers. "First you drag me to Redcliffe, naked of all protections, to play happy families with my father. A man who, you'll recall, is specifically not on my short list for socialization. Then, after I extracted myself and stormed off in my most delightful fashion, you get me attacked by a group of Venatori, also courtesy of my father. Then you run off into the distance shouting, 'I'll find you later,' leaving me to fend for myself with the half-dozen who remained. I did so flawlessly, of course."

He paused in his recitation to pat down his mustache, and Cullen saw the flash of a magical ring on his finger. Another mage. Perfect.

"Then I had to sleep in a field," continued Dorian, oblivious. "A field! Do you have any idea how bad dirt is for my, well, my everything? Immaculate perfection isn't quite as effortless as I make it look, you know. Finally, just when I was about to stumble into the waiting, comforting arms of an established Inquisitorial camp, I heard a scout saying that I was under suspicion of attacking you. And while at that point I might certainly have done so, up until then I was entirely blameless. Rather than try to explain that to the Nightingale's interrogators, a group not known for its sense of fun or its open mind, I sought you out myself.

"And you didn't make that easy," he added accusingly. "So yes, I believe my forgiveness will be secured only at a very dear price. You can begin by pointing me to the nearest bathhouse. Or whatever passes for one in this place."

Evelyn folded her arms. "None of that was my fault. Except the first thing. And that was a good idea."

Dorian folded his arms to match, and his exposed bicep made Cullen frown. Since when were mages so… bulky?

"It was exactly the opposite of a good idea. Only Corypheus has ever had a worse idea. And Alexius. But you're certainly in contention," said Dorian. "If you'd just done the mission they'd asked you to do, none of this would have happened. And what were you thinking, splitting up at the ambush?"

"I don't remember," said Evelyn, scuffing one foot on the ground. "I don't remember much of anything after Redcliffe, until I woke up. I was unconscious for awhile."

Dorian dropped his arms and his anger immediately. "Are you alright?" he asked, stepping towards her. He cupped her face in his hands and moved it side to side, examining it closely. "Nothing broken?"

"Just my brain. And that was already a bit off-kilter, so they tell me."

He didn't move his hands, and the rough concern on the man's face was enough to make Cullen's heart twist. Dorian wasn't a traitor. He couldn't be. He obviously loved the Herald too deeply to risk her life.

Dorian's fingers smoothed over her cheeks in soothing circles. "Why did you tell them I was against you?" he asked softly, and there was no more accusation in his voice. Just vulnerability, and a little sadness.

"That was his idea," said Evelyn, sniffing a little and pointing at Cullen.

The intruder finally turned and looked at Cullen fully, and to Cullen's surprise a wide grin spread across his face. "Really? A true Fereldan rustic, how charming. I suspect you won't have to work much for my forgiveness at all," he said, his voice no longer vulnerable but delighted. And a little smoother than it had been before. "A warm introduction may be all it takes. I'm Dorian Pavus, Altus of the Imperium and very pleased to meet you. And you are?"

Cullen raised an eyebrow at Evelyn, who bit her lip. "This is Cullen Rutherford of Ferelden," she mumbled.

Dorian's face grew even more delighted. "This is Cullen Rutherford?" he asked. He laughed until tears formed in his eyes, any trace of frustration gone. "Oh Evelyn, I forgive you anything and everything. This much entertainment can't be bought at any price. And it only seems to follow you."

"Why does everyone in the Inquisition seem to know who I am?" asked Cullen. He narrowed his eyes at both of them, hoping that some ghost of his old authority would force them into honesty, but Evelyn wasn't looking at him and Dorian seemed impervious to authority. "First Solas, then the Inquisitor, now you."

"Solas is here?" asked Dorian, twisting to look around.

The elf stepped silently out of the trees at his call, and Dorian smiled smugly. "Not much of a guard, are you?"

"I was informed of your approach an hour ago, via helpful spirits," said Solas. "Did you not wonder at the ease at which you found us?"

Dorian scowled, and Solas nodded regally as he faded back into the woods.

"I hate it when he does that," muttered the Tevinter mage. He turned back to Cullen with a clap of his hands and another grin that meant trouble. "Ser Rutherford. I wasn't lying when I said I needed a wash. Could you escort me to your nearest bath? And help me into it, if you'd be so kind. A meal would also be very welcome. Grape peeling is optional, but I wouldn't object to it."

Cullen looked at Evelyn, who held a hand over her eyes and gave him no help.

"We don't have a bathhouse, but we have a bathing room in the house that you can use," said Cullen. He waved vaguely in its direction. "I'll go and prepare it for you and the Herald. And food."

"And the Herald?" asked Dorian, a faintly puzzled note in his voice.

"Yes, I'm sure you have things to, ah, discuss," said Cullen, trying to keep his voice even. He coughed. "As for longer accommodations, I'm afraid we only have the one guest room, but you can stay in my own."

Evelyn made a small, pained noise in her throat, and Cullen hastened to add, "The bed is wide enough for double occupancy."

"I have no doubt," said Dorian cheerfully, losing his puzzled quality. "Fereldan hospitality truly is unparalleled. Thank you, Ser Rutherford."

"Cullen, please," he said. "While you're bathing, I'll take care of moving everyone's belongings. You're of a size with my brother, if you need fresh clothing."

Dorian nodded, but Evelyn said slowly, "Whose belongings are you moving?"

"Yours and my own."

"So Dorian and I will stay in your room," said Evelyn. She sounded like she was working out a complex problem, but Cullen didn't see what was so complicated about it. "And you'll stay in the guest room."

Cullen knew his face was flushed, but he was helpless to do anything to stop it. "Yes. I think that would be the best way to grant you the, ah, privacy that you need. There aren't many places to be alone on the steading."

"Maker preserve us," said Dorian with an awed expression. "So much for the jaded and world-wise Templar. I may need to send strongly worded notes to some authors. But I can say with complete honesty I may never be able to thank you enough for your consideration, Cullen."

The mage put his arm around Evelyn, who tried to elbow him with a vigor that made Cullen wince. "Come, dearest," he said. "We have a bath to enjoy. And we do have a lot of catching up to do."

Cullen busied himself with his task as the two visitors bathed, trying very, very hard not to think about what might be happening behind the wooden door. Much sooner than he expected, Evelyn joined him in the guest room as he was putting the last of her belongings in a sack.

She smiled at him, a little nervously, and the wet, uneven strands framing her face made her seem even more vulnerable than when she'd been asleep. Her bruises had faded under Solas's magic, but Cullen could still remember where they'd all been. He wondered how many more she would take, before the end.

She shouldn't be doing this. She should be at home, with her family, happy and unburdened. Like he was. She, at least, would deserve the peace.

He realized he was staring at her, stock-still, and he cleared his throat as he turned back to his packing. "I'm almost done."

"Cullen," she said, and he shivered at the sound of his name on her tongue. "I've been thinking. You should keep your room. Dorian can have the guest room, and I'll find somewhere else to sleep. The couch. Or the woods, with Solas. I'm used to it."

"Absolutely not," he said, frowning. "You'll be completely exposed in the woods. And the bedrooms offer more protection as well. More people to get through in case of trouble."

Then he realized what she was saying. He looked back at her and took in the way she was chewing on her lower lip. Perhaps he'd assumed too much. "If it would make you feel easier, you can stay here. I'll take the couch."

"No! You shouldn't have to give up a comfortable bed for us. We're the invaders."

"It's no trouble," he said. Her face didn't change, as stubborn as he'd ever seen it. He sighed. "Or I can stay in my room with Dorian. You can keep your own space."

"No!" she said again, even more horrified. Her eyes were hot with frustrated helplessness, and Cullen felt an aching sympathy for her abused lip. "No. That is… I couldn't ask that of you. You've done so much already."

"I just want you to feel comfortable," he said quietly.

Evelyn's expression softened. "I know. I can hardly believe my luck, that I managed to collapse so close to such kindness," she said. Her shoulders slumped, and she took the bag from his hands. "I'll stay with Dorian. It's fine. He'll be fine."

Impulsively, Cullen reached over and pulled her into a hug. She squeaked in surprise, and he tried to calm his thumping heart as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "You'll tell me if he bothers you," he said in his most brotherly fashion.

She chuckled against his chest. "You'll be the first to know."

Mia insisted on hosting a family dinner with a glint in her eye that said Cullen would hear from her later about all of these unexpected visitors, and he was unceremoniously kicked out of the kitchen while she prepared it. Evelyn was welcomed with a sweet enthusiasm that seemed to terrify the former noble, as were Solas and Dorian by an enterprising Alice, leaving Cullen kicking at the floorboards on the back porch in grumpy silence until Dorian joined him.

The mage slid on the bench next to him with a winning smile. "I've lost my place in the festivities, I'm afraid. Growing up in Minrathous with a houseful of servants didn't lend me much skill in the kitchen."

"I grew up without a single servant, and I'm pretty much the same," said Cullen. "It doesn't matter. I prefer to be places where I'm useful."

"I suspect you'd like to be in there now, though, useless or not."

When Cullen muttered a disclaimer, Dorian laughed openly. Cullen had always thought of Tevinter as a humorless, dreary place - the only Tevene citizen he'd known with any intimacy certainly had been - but Dorian's unrelenting cheer was challenging that belief with surprising vigor.

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me," said Dorian, slapping a hand on his back. "I'll try to be sufficiently entertaining."

"I appreciate that. So why was Evelyn so determined that you meet with your father?" asked Cullen, smooth as a blade. "And why did you let her put herself in danger to do it?"

Dorian's smile died. "Straight to the point. I like that. Evelyn, sweetheart though she is, has a minor obsession with reunions. The happy sort. And despite all of her wonderful qualities, she does turn rather deaf when one protests that they're impossible." The mage's eyes narrowed. "As for what I let her do, I suggest that you attempt to stop her the next time she has a brilliant idea. The best option is always to go along, in the small hope that the damage might be mitigated."

Cullen grimaced, and Dorian turned sunny once more. "I can see you've already learned that particular lesson with our dear Inquisitor. And I demand the story behind it."

The mage leaned back and crossed his legs in the attitude of a man who had all day, and Cullen sighed. "She wanted to see our sheep. There aren't many of them around here, because they take up a lot of space, but a group of farmers agreed to share some of their land for pasture and share in turn in the wool and meat. It's about five miles from here, and the Rutherfords have a stake in the flock. One of my siblings told her about it, very unwisely, and she wouldn't rest until we took her to see it. No matter how unsafe it was for her to travel so openly."

Dorian nodded knowingly and gestured him to go on.

"I was starting to worry she'd simply take off to find them, so I finally gave in. Once we got there, instead of keeping a low profile as I'd asked, she vanished into the middle of the lot of them, running and chasing them all over the field like a mabari pup. She finally tackled one out of sheer dumb luck and petted it to within an inch of its life. It might never be the same," said Cullen. He smiled softly. "She was very proud of herself."

He shook himself away from the memory of her breathless, jubilant figure as she cuddled a fully grown sheep in front of all of Honnleath. "But that was just livestock. It wasn't her life, Pavus."

"If the Venatori are looking for her, it could have been," said Dorian. "It could always be her life. Don't you think we all know that? Don't you think she knows that? She never complains. She never says no. She never hesitates. So if she wants me to sneak her to a tavern in Redcliffe, or if she wants Sera to help her hide every single pillow in the guest quarters of Skyhold, or if she wants Bull to give her the worst tasting alcohol in the realm, we do it. We love her too much to disappoint her. And she should have one part of her that isn't for the world."

Cullen looked down at the fist clenched in his lap and couldn't think of anything to say.

"Did she tell you that she almost died?" continued Dorian conversationally. "Twice, really. Once at the Conclave, before she was the all-holy woman she is today, and again at Haven."

"What happened?" asked Cullen quietly.

"A mountain fell on her and she had to walk through a blizzard," said Dorian matter-of-factly. "It didn't seem to slow her down."

Cullen's blood ran cold. "She didn't tell me," he said, closing his eyes against the shiver of fear that drifted down his spine. He tried to smile. "She doesn't talk about herself much." Not that he hadn't asked.

"I'm not surprised," said Dorian. "But I think she likes it here. She told me a lot about you while we were bathing. This is a delightful family. And I'm not sure she's ever met a man like you before."

"What do you mean?"

"One who treats her like a person instead of a tool to be wielded for their own power."

Cullen gave him a sharp look. "She is a person. And if this is all a warning, Dorian, it's not necessary. I don't plan to ask her to leave you."

"What makes you think she would agree even if you did?" asked Dorian with that lazy smile that still held trouble. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "Tell me, do you like her?"

The condescending smirk on that handsome face was more than enough to wipe away any trace of Cullen's fear. "Of course," he said coldly. "She's a very good person."

Mia's call for dinner interrupted whatever reply Dorian would have made, though Cullen thought he heard the man mutter, "Exquisite," as he stood. Before they walked back into the house, Dorian gave him a wicked look. "What did Serious Solas think of her trip to the sheep field?"

"He thinks she was resting, comfortably, in the house the entire time," said Cullen with a forbidding glare.

When they finally stumbled into the dining room, Dorian coughing and wheezing, he left it to Cullen to try to explain what was so funny.

Dinner was a curious blend of family, flirting and fighting that Cullen couldn't wait to be out of. Mia and her husband took the heads of the table, leaving him squashed between Darren's wife and Dorian, who was warming his flinty older sister with alarming ease. Evelyn had taken the spot across from him, beside his younger sister, and the two of them had their heads bent together in furiously whispered conversation for most of the meal. All too often it ended with a burst of wild laughter, mischievous side-eyes around the table, and Alice falling sideways into Solas with a force that was clearly getting on the elf's nerves.

There were two saving graces. One was that Cole's presence was still hidden from his family, though Cullen caught glimpses of a hat out of the corner of his eye and more than once thought he heard the boy's strange cadence in his ear. But as it always whispered about Evelyn, it was more likely Cullen's unruly mind supplying the inappropriate thoughts. He tried to avoid staring, reddened under Dorian's frequent appraising looks and drank more of his wine. Which only made things worse.

The other saving grace, or so he'd thought, was that the children had been banished from the dinner and the house, sent to a neighboring house for the evening. But as the wine flowed freely, and disappeared even more freely, around the table, Cullen began to question the wisdom of that decision.

"Any word on the Venatori?" he tried to ask Solas once around the raucous laughter. Darren was regaling the far end of the table with a story about the time Cullen had been chased up a tree by an irate ram, and Cullen was desperate not to hear it.

"The Nightingale captured the two men you saw," said Solas. "So far they've not been forthcoming about their intentions. Or their employer."

"It's my father," said Dorian carelessly, sloshing his wine in his cup. "It's always my father. Magister Pavus has his fingers in every plot. Whereas my fingers are in every -"

Evelyn coughed and kicked out under the table, catching part of Dorian's leg but most of Cullen's. He hissed in a breath, and she covered her mouth with a ludicrously distressed expression. "Oh Maker, I'm so sorry, Cullen."

Her color was high as she blinked owlishly at him, and he smiled despite the sting in his shin. "It's fine."

"He's been treed by a big goat, a little kick won't hurt him at all," said Alice. She turned to Dorian and leaned forward on the table. "Why is your father trying to kill you? Is that what they do in Tevinter?"

"Not kill me, my dear. Would you kill your most prized thoroughbred? Never!" said Dorian. He leaned over conspiratorially and put his free hand around Cullen's shoulder. "I hope you appreciated that farming metaphor, Commander."

Alice giggled as Evelyn elbowed her, and even Mia seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face as Cullen gently removed the heavy arm. "I'm not a commander of anything. And farms don't have thoroughbreds."

"Details," said Dorian airily. "As to the Commander bit, well, Evelyn is quite persuasive where men are concerned. Quite the little diplomat."

"Dorian! He didn't mean that," Evelyn added quickly to the rest of the table. She avoided Cullen's gaze as her hands crawled inside the long sleeves of her tunic. She balled the ends of it into her fists.

"You have me wrapped around your smallest finger, I know that," said Dorian. "You promised that everything would work out. And, except for this charming dinner from our lovely hostess." He leaned over to kiss Mia's hand with gusto, drawing a growl from her husband and another laugh from the rest of the table. "Except for this, very little is working out. I have been the victim - the victim! - of your boundless and unwarranted optimism."

The mage glared blearily across the table, and Evelyn sighed. "I'm sorry. Okay? He was supposed to be happy to see you. He's your father for Andraste's sake! Fathers aren't supposed to be like, well, like kidnappers. Your dad wasn't, I'm sure," she said, jabbing at Alice.

"No, the worst thing he ever did was sing in the bathroom," said Darren. "Though, to be fair, he did that much more frequently. And loudly." He grinned secretly at his brother. "Cullen's singing voice isn't much better."

Cullen glared at him as the room began pounding on the table, demanding a song. Even Solas made an encouraging movement as he took another roll from the center of the table. Evelyn was the loudest of all, a grin threatening to split her face as she chanted his name, but this was one thing he wouldn't give her. No matter how lit from within she was as she urged him on.

When Dorian started to do a dance routine to the chant, throwing his hands in the air with abandon to the peril of his neighbors, Cullen shouted, "Enough!"

Silence fell, punctuated only by the breathing of the enthusiastic dancer beside him. "I don't want to sing," said Cullen, well-aware of how childish he sounded.

"Please?" said Evelyn with an ingratiating look. "If you sing, I'll do my impressions!"

"Your impressions?" asked Darren doubtfully as Dorian groaned.

"Don't let her," he said. "They're appalling. Her Tevene accent sounds like a dwarf buried in a pile of nugs."

Evelyn stuck out her tongue. "You're just mad that you can't do them. Vivienne says that my Orlesian accent is beautiful."

"Who's Vivienne?" asked Cullen.

"The First Enchanter in the Montsimmard Circle," said Solas. The way he said it, all in one word, made it clear he'd heard the phrase many times before.

Cullen sighed. "Do you have any friends who aren't mages?"

"Ha ha. At least the mages agreed to work with me. Unlike the stupid Templars," said Evelyn sourly, staring into the distance, and Cullen stiffened at the bitterness in her voice. "They're all idiots."

An uncomfortable quiet glided around them, and Evelyn looked up, startled. "Um, present company excluded."

When he didn't say anything, not trusting his voice not to betray him, she lunged across the table and grabbed at his hand, upsetting her cup and dislodging a few dishes. "I didn't mean it. Cullen. Look at me," she said. He did, and her warm eyes were anguished and no longer fuzzed. "I didn't mean it. Okay? You're not an idiot. You're wonderful."

The moment stretched out between them, a bubble of time where he wasn't flushed or embarrassed but lost in the intensity of her gaze and the pleading in her face. Was he wonderful? He didn't know, but he'd like to think he was. He'd like to think she thought he was. He had no words for what he thought of her, but the feelings were flowing from him, tracing through the conduit of their fingers. They were so strong that he felt himself trembling with the effort of holding them back. Or was she trembling? It was hard to tell, here in this heartbeat.

Dorian shifted next to him, and Cullen dropped her hand. "Apology accepted, Inquisitor."

Evelyn sat back down gingerly, looking at the varying expressions around the table. She gave a halting smile. "Does that mean we'll be blessed with a song?" she asked in a lilting Orlesian accent.

A series of snorts broke the tension, and Cullen looked at Solas. "Is that why you told me she might sound Orlesian?"

The elf nodded. "I thought she might attempt something of the sort, in a misguided attempt at concealment," he said. He looked over at the Inquisitor indulgently, but with a touch of censure. "My friend is not always the best judge of the appropriate moment."

She flushed and looked down at her hands miserably, and Cullen supposed he would do this thing for her after all. He cleared his throat. "Very well. A demonstration for a demonstration. Your song."

He ran quickly through a verse of a familiar Chantry song, staring up at the ceiling to hide his chagrin. When he was finally done, he looked back at the table to see his family hiding smiles behind their hands, but the Inquisition guests just looked slightly stunned.

"Did someone tell you to sing that?" asked Dorian. He peered into the corner, and Cullen jabbed him with his elbow to stop that line of inquiry.

"No. It's just the first one that came to mind," he said. The Dawn Will Come was somewhat out of style, now that the Blight was past, but it wasn't that unknown. "Did I do something wrong?"

Evelyn shook herself. "No. Not at all," she said, smiling uncertainly. Cullen thought he saw the shine of tears in her eyes and wondered if there was any part of this dinner that wouldn't be painful for someone. She rubbed at her face and added, "But you have a beautiful singing voice. Why did your father's singing annoy you all so much if it sounded like that?"

"It didn't sound like that," said Darren. "Not in the least. I just wanted to make Cullen perform for you. He hates it, and we love it."

Alice laughed again and bent her head to Evelyn's ear, saying something that banished the tears and brought a smile back to her face. They started whispering again, and Cullen tried to listen to them without appearing to.

"So," said Mia, laying her silverware aside deliberately, "if you've captured the strange men, does that mean it's safe for you to return to the Inquisition?"

And leave us alone, Cullen heard in the hushed undercurrents. Solas obviously did as well, and answered slowly, "It would be safer for the Inquisitor to remain here until we know more. However, if we're a burden, we can seek such safety elsewhere."

"I just wonder if the danger to the Herald is putting us all at risk," said Mia.

Cullen sighed. The Rutherfords had always been known for their bluntness.

"I like you very much," his sister said to Evelyn, who'd stopped whispering. "Truly. But I have a family to consider."

"I understand," said Evelyn, her voice nearly a whisper. "I don't want to bring harm to anyone here. On anyone anywhere."

The quiet was back, this time louder than the noise had been, and they waited inside of it as though for a signal. Like strangers waiting for a coach, no one wanting to break the peace first.

Eventually Cullen spoke. He was the signal. "Stay," he said. "If it's the safest course, stay. I promised to help you."

Mia released a disappointed breath, but all Cullen could see was a mountain, falling on this woman's head. The way she'd twisted in the clearing, drawing the last demon to her even as she was collapsing. Saving him, even before she knew he was there to save. The unsafe world would come for her soon enough, dark and ominous and hungry, in a way he couldn't protect her from. Let him do this, now. He couldn't send her away yet.

"Thank you," said Evelyn. "I promise I won't let your children be hurt, Mia."

"Pie crust promises, Inquisitor," said Mia, staring at a knot in the wood. "Easily made, easily broken. But we'll honor Cullen's promise to you. He's family, too."

She pushed away from the table, and the rest of the table responded in kind. "Leave the dishes to me," she said. "It's time for bed, for the rest of you."

They obeyed silently. Cullen was the last one out of the room, and he looked back to see Mia leaning into her husband's shoulder, fine lines etched around her eyes as she held him.

Cullen walked back to his room in a fog, mind churning with guilt and embarrassment and, yes, a little pleasure at the fact that Evelyn would still be here when he woke up. He'd walked all the way into the room before he realized that she was there, now, in front of him, wearing an astonished expression. She looked perfect, with her parted lips and tousled hair, and he felt all the blood rush out of his face as he realized how little else she was wearing.

"I'm sorry!" he said, throwing his hands in front of him as though he were warding away an enemy. "I forgot that I'd… that this was your room." Thank the Maker Dorian didn't seem to be around.

"Hello," said a baritone behind him, and Cullen's heart sank. "While you do have a roomy bed, I don't think it will fit three. Unless we do something very athletic."

"No!" said Cullen. "I just… I'll be going. Away from here. Forgive me, Herald. I'll ah. I'll see you tomorrow."

Before Evelyn could say anything, Cullen brushed past the man in the doorway with speed. He whimpered when he closed the door behind him, then leaned against the cool wood and tried to calm himself. No matter how he tried, he couldn't get the sight of her pale figure out of his mind, and he put his face in his hands. Her legs had been so muscled, and the planes of her so hard, and the curves of her so soft…

Get a hold of yourself, he thought to himself fiercely. He winced when he heard Dorian's light chuckle behind the door and the unmistakable sound of the mattress settling into place.

"I told you," said Evelyn, barely audible even in the silence. There were more muffled words, things he couldn't catch, but he heard snatches like "polite" and "sweet" and "hopeless" that had his ears burning.

Worst of all were Dorian's answering laughs. When Cullen heard the mage say, "Absolutely gorgeous," in a rumbling, bedroom voice, he finally stepped away. He'd been unbelievably foolish. What did it matter that she would be here when he woke up, if she was in love with the handsome man who would leave with her in the end? She liked mages, not Templars.

But Cullen would still protect her. If he kept no other promises in his life, he wouldn't break that.