He found Ellana in the atrium, staring at the frescos with a wistful expression on her face. It appeared she was supposed to be reading the stack of papers next to her, but she seemed lost in her own memories instead. He slowed and studied her, her pale appearance taking him out of his own anger. Maker, she looked ill. Her cheeks were hollowed and utterly without color, and he realized that at the War Table and on the throne, when she was the Inquisitor, she wore a determined face that was as much pose as reality. Now she was only a woman, and she was so motionless that it seemed she would never move again.

Until she saw him. She jumped up, dislodging some of the papers, and came towards him. "Cullen. Are you okay? I've been worried," she said. She ran her eyes over his face. "I heard what happened in the yard. If I'd known we would upset you like that…"

How could she not have known? Leliana he could understand. Icy and professional, she would never consider love paramount to anything. Even Josephine, with her negotiator's mind, might not recognize a world that saw love for what it was, rather than another tool to be wielded. But Ellana knew what love was, in the bones. And she knew him.

He shook his head. More likely she'd known but had hoped it would work out. When it came to decisions, Ellana was the ultimate optimist. "Inquisitor. I need to go on patrol," he said. "Please." The request was somewhat perfunctory, because he was going to leave anyway, but it would still be better if he kept up the appearance of duty. He'd been a poor enough example to the troops already.

Her shadowed eyes widened. "Are you sure? You haven't done that in ages," she said. She bit her lip. "Does Cassandra know?"

"No," he said. A burst of laughter rang out from the library above, and he ground his teeth at the intrusion. "Please. I can't be here now."

"You shouldn't run away," she said fiercely. "Talk to her."

"We'll only fight," he said. "I don't want to fight. I want to think."

She seemed to argue with herself and eventually sighed, though whether in victory or defeat he couldn't tell. "Very well. Go on patrol. One night, you understand?"

"Of course," he said. "Tell her that I'll be back tomorrow. If she asks."

"Cullen. You know she'll ask. She loves you."

He shrugged noncommittally, but he prayed she was right. He knew it was the height of adolescence to run away and hope Cassandra would worry about him, even feel his loss and reconsider, but he took comfort in the knowledge that it was also something he needed to do for himself. Patrol was a code for him, a way to let the Inquisitor know he was losing control. An assignment outside the walls, from her, let him leave Skyhold without the world knowing his weaknesses.

They hadn't used their code since his lyrium withdrawals. He hadn't needed it. Until today.

He turned to leave, then stopped. "Oh, and there's a Captain Flynn somewhere near the tanner's whose company needs an orientation. Send Lieutenant Renson. She has a knack for assessing new people diplomatically. And I think they'll want to go to the tavern tonight. Dorian's planning something."

"Alright," said Ellana, puzzled. "The guards said the captain met with you already."

He chuckled without mirth. "There was a bit of a mix-up. It won't be hard to sort out," he said. He thought about telling her to see a healer, or to suggest she retire to her room, but she never liked it when he treated her like something that could break. "I'll be back tomorrow."

The cave lay ten miles away, sheltered in the crevice of a join in the rocks that barely seemed to exist if a traveler wasn't looking for it. The space inside was large, large enough to hold a horse and sleeping supplies, which was good because it was well outside of Skyhold's lingering protection. The fur of his cloak helped chase away the bitter ice of the afternoon, but Cullen was grateful when a sweep of the cave found it clean and empty of threats. The sooner he built a fire, the sooner he would only be cold on the inside.

He did notice signs of a recent kill and found rations of food, piles of wood, and crystal wards to place when he slept. A rueful smile crossed his lips. The cave was supposed to be a secret, a place that was only his, but of course nothing was secret in the Inquisition. Scouts had originally found the place, after all, and every potential hideout had to be checked regularly to make sure it was clear of intruders. More importantly, the Commander couldn't go off where no one could find him, no matter how urgent his need, and obviously his captains kept the place neat and pest-free. Or someone else was using it for their own escape. Either way he was alone and unthreatened, and that was enough for now.

Cullen placed the fire near the entrance, far enough from the horse to avoid panic but sheltered enough to stop detection. He sat with his back to it and stared out into the frozen expanse. The mouth faced east, over his homeland, and even though the mountains hemmed in the view, he pretended he could see all the way to Denerim and the market, or Kinloch and the ruined Circle, or Honnleath and the pond that was his peace. To something familiar. Anything at all.

His breath drifted across the snow as he tried to pull some of the calmness of the world into him. His tension slowly eased, the press of people and things and stone that was Skyhold vanished, and his mind quieted as it spread across the open space. Except for the faint huffs of his horse, he was alone.

But never truly alone. When his heart was finally still and open, he closed his eyes and began to pray. First it was the portions of the Chant for thankfulness, for peace, for devotion, then the prayers for the men and women he commanded, and for his friends and family he could never get to do anything he wanted at all. Snow began to fall, brushing lightly over his cheeks as he worked through the supplications and meditations that brought him to himself. And then, finally, at the end, the prayer was for him. Maker, he thought, Andraste, don't let her do this. Show her another way. You led me to her when I was lost. Please. I still need her.

He shook his head, knowing this wasn't right. It wasn't a true prayer if it was simply begging for what he wanted, but he couldn't stop himself. I need her, he thought again uselessly.

He opened his eyes and she was there.

A half-mile off, struggling through the now-heavy snow on her mount, looking for all the world like the rawest Antivan recruit, but there. The shape of her was the thing he always knew.

His lip curled. He shouldn't be able to see her shape at all. Where was her cloak, her heavy boots, her mail? For Andraste's sake, she was dressed like a noblewoman taking a scenic ride through the summer dells. He pushed himself up with a growl and grabbed his own cloak, striding out into the freezing snow with a hiss.

He didn't dare wander too far, lest he be caught up in the same drifts and banks, but he watched her with tense eyes until her mount was close enough to grab. They made a spectacle, he was sure, on their way back to the cave - him pulling an exhausted horse, her protesting that she was perfectly capable of finishing her journey on her own - but they made it. The horse wasn't keen on walking past his fire, but the presence of Cullen's own horse seemed to calm the mount enough to make it workable.

As soon as the animals were secure, he whirled back to the shivering, indignant woman at the entrance. In a few strides he was beside her, his cloak around her shoulders and her body pressed against his warmth. "What were you thinking?" he demanded. "This is the Frostbacks, not Val Royeaux. You're barely wearing gloves."

"What was I thinking? What were you thinking?" she asked through chattering teeth. "You just left! Without even a word."

"You're hardly in a position to judge me for silence, Cassandra."

"So you choose to pay me back? A though you are a child who claims he owes another a punch because he received one first?" Cullen couldn't see her face, but he could picture the exasperated look she wore.

"No! Like I'm a man who needs to think. Alone. I don't need your permission to make decisions. You certainly don't ask me about yours."

"And so I was supposed to worry and pine in the fortress until you decided to return?" she asked. She pulled back, not enough to lose his body heat but enough to stare him down. "I do not pine, Commander. I act."

He snarled. "Don't call me that."

There must have been something in his voice, some hint of agony, because her eyes softened just a little. Her hand, too-lightly gloved, reached up between them to stroke his cheek. "Cullen," she said in that voice that was rich and exotic and totally hers.

A lump rose in his throat, and he wanted to step away and gather his anger again. But she was still shivering, cold and wet, and he didn't dare leave her to her chill. Part of him knew that he should insist on removing her wet clothes to help her warm more quickly, but if he did that there would be nothing in Thedas that could keep his hands off of her. Instead he drew her back to settle against the wall, where the fire's full power could reach them, and tucked her to his side.

Her head settled into its usual place on his chest, and he sighed against his will. She was something familiar, but newly dangerous as well. He rubbed slow circles on her back, exhausted. "How did you even know where I was? Did Ellana tell you?" It would be like her, to meddle.

She shook her head against him. "No. When you took your cloak, I knew you where you would be. But it took me some time to extract myself from your worried relations," she said. "And to convince Dennet to give me my horse once the snow was falling."

Bless the man for trying. "But no one outside of my command knows of this place."

"Did you think I would have let you leave Skyhold without knowing your destination? At the height of the war? With your withdrawals?" she asked. Her arms tightened around him. "I always knew where you were."

His heart beat against his chest painfully. She'd loved him so completely, so fiercely, and he'd never known. And now that he did - "But you're leaving me now."

"No," she said. "That's not what this is."

"Isn't it? A year of negotiations and invitations? Parties and dresses and engagements? A husband won't exactly suit."

"Perhaps not a husband. But a lover is another matter," she said. "The negotiations will take place via letters, with notes and offers that will have little to do with me. Josephine will handle them all. Nothing needs to change, beyond when the guests are here."

But he heard the doubt in her voice. "Can you risk the insincerity?" he asked quietly. "If it's important, if you'll do it at all, it should be done perfectly. And you know you're incapable of lying."

Cassandra stiffened, and he knew he'd judged correctly. "Why is it so important?" he continued, trying to keep his anger leashed. His hand stilled on her back and tightened into a fist. "Nevarra is nothing. If we're worried about it rising up, let me fight it. My forces are more than ready. I'll send in Templars and mages and soldiers and scouts. I'll make them submit."

"You can't." She pushed away and stared at him with new intensity. "We can't attack them."

"Why not?"

She looked away and breathed in deeply. "Because we have enough enemies," she said. "Tevinter will see a new battle as a sign to return to their war."

He snorted. "The Imperium has exhausted their power. I could bring them to heel at the point of my own sword, if I had to. Alone," he said. He'd do it, he knew. Anything to stop this madness from happening.

"We must ally with Nevarra," she insisted. "It's important for Thedas, and for the good of the Inquisition. I am its vassal. A soldier for the cause. I must do my part." She leaned forward when he raised his eyebrows and said with more emphasis, "It's important."

He heard the inexorable finality of it, the tone of decisions made that he knew too well. Her face held no uncertainty, only steady determination. She'd been given an order, a critical one by the sound of it, and orders defined them both. He'd lost.

"As you say," he said. It hurt to look at her, so he stared at the fire. Its crackling and their shallow breaths were the only sounds in the cave, and he was grateful she'd moved away from him. Far enough that her scent was lost in the smoke and the wind that swirled between and around their silence.

"What will we tell everyone?" he asked finally.

"Tell everyone?"

"About why we're no longer… why we parted." He cleared his throat to fight away the emotion that was thickening it. "My family will need some reason, at least. I'm guessing we can't let it be widely known it's temporary." Assuming it was.

Then there was uncertainty in her lines, something she hadn't considered. "I don't know," she said slowly. "We must blame me, I think. Say that I am ambitious. Anxious for alliance."

"And that I'm not good enough to satisfy those ambitions?" He laughed once, a wild, uncontrolled sound. "It's always best to stay close to the truth in these things, I suppose."

"Cullen," she began, but he shook his head to forestall her next words. He didn't want to be comforted.

He pushed himself up and began to pace. "How can this be so damned easy for you?" he asked in low tones. "If it were me, if they'd commanded me, I never could have…" He spun back to look at her, strong and unyielding on the ground. "I love you too much to even think it. I never thought you… You're my wife," he finished, broken and small.

Her lips trembled. "Would you prefer me to cry?" she asked. "To lose control? To admit fear of what must be done?"

"Yes," he said. Andraste help him but he needed to see her pain, just to know it was there.

"Very well," she said. She dropped her eyes to the cave's rocky floor as her tears began to fall. "It's not easy. It is hard, and harder still, and a duty I loathe. I thought if I didn't show you this pain it would be easier, but if you desire to know then know. Hate me, if you need it. I understand. Ellana has given her command, and I will obey. But I do not wish to do this."

Perversely, he dropped to his knees, desperate to take away the sting of what he'd begged her to give him. "Then don't," he said as he wrapped his arms around her. He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear and spoke rapidly. "Stay with me. If you love me, refuse them."

He felt her shiver again, not from the cold, and he realized he'd given up the field before he'd exhausted himself in battle. He shifted until her side was pressed against him and ran his fingers down her back. They found the hem of her shirt and slid underneath as if of their own will.

"Stay with me, Cassandra," he said. He pitched his voice at a rumble that made her breath quicken. She arched into the hand slipping across her skin, and he kissed the space below her ear reverently. "I could never hate you. I love you. You have no idea how I love you. The world can burn itself to ashes as long as I have you. Like this. Always mine."

Her tears fell faster as her breath caught, and he moved his free hand to wipe them from her cheek. He cupped it when he was done and brought her lips to his gently, insistently, and she parted for him without hesitation. A needy sound tore itself from her throat, but he stayed soft and loving as his tongue explored her. His roaming hand provided a counterpoint to his tenderness, squeezing and sliding and bringing her closer. He pulled away only when he realized her own hands were on her shirt and leathers, tugging them up and trying to remove them without breaking contact.

When they were cleared and discarded, he immediately brought his fingers to her breast and circled her lightly. "Beautiful," he breathed, turning his attentions back to her ear. When she tilted her head back and presented her throat, he claimed it for his own, nipping and biting to the join of her shoulder. "I still dream of you every night, even when you're next to me. I wake in the darkness desperate to bury myself inside of you and hear you call my name. Every night, and it can never be enough. You ruin me."

"Cullen," she whispered.

He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her nipple to make her gasp. Gooseflesh rose on her skin, and he smiled. "Cold? I'll keep you warm, my love. Forever. Leave with me. We'll go to Antiva. I'll learn to buy and sell, you'll teach assassins to fight, and we'll make love every night under the stars."

She huffed a laugh, light as a single flake of snow, and grabbed at his shirt. Her eyes opened to drink him in when he wrested it from her hands and drew it up and away. He leaned back to let her stare, loving the way her gaze traveled over him, the way it hitched and stuttered and craved him.

Eventually he couldn't take it any longer and pulled her back to him with a growl. Her breast was lovely and perfect against his palm. "I won't ever wear a shirt. I'll join the Avaar if I have to. And I'll give you this," he said, running a hand over her stomach. "Children. Ours. A dozen, if you want. More. A family. Yours and mine."

He kissed her again, no longer gentle but rough and demanding. She straddled his lap, close enough to feel his hardness against her core even through their remaining clothing. She rolled her hips against him, and it was his turn to gasp. Her skin was hot and pliant against his chest and beneath his hands. When her own fingers found his hair and wound into it, he knew he was winning. "I'll be enough for you. I swear it," he groaned between kisses.

Her hand tightened possessively and pulled him down by the roots of his hair in exquisite torture, scraping the stubble of his jaw along her cheek. Her hips sped up, and he joined her, finding a rhythm that gave her more friction. He moaned when she pulled herself closer, pressing even more tightly to his cock. "That's it, sweetheart. Feel how much I want you," he whispered. "Just you."

She shuddered and ground herself into him, and he held her hips with bruising force as she rocked. He bit his lip to stave off his own need - he knew he wanted to be inside of her - but she was quickly losing herself on top of him, and it was impossible to listen to her desperate noises and not be close to begging. He murmured more wordless encouragement against her neck, licking the place where her heartbeat throbbed. As his teeth scraped her skin, he felt her gathering into herself, tightening like a bowstring. One last plea from him and she cried out, trembling and cresting over him.

She collapsed against his chest as her motions slowed. "Cullen," she said again, dazedly, as if it were the only word she knew.

He hummed happily. "Me," he said. He hooked his fingers around her leggings and tugged them away, slower than he wanted. He could smell the familiar scent of her pleasure, and he almost lost control completely. But he wanted her to be with him on this, side-by-side, and he waited until she raised herself up to let him uncover her. She fumbled at his pants clumsily, and he grabbed her hands and brought them to his mouth. He kissed each finger, trying to ignore what was straining against his trousers for her touch. "Let me."

He wrapped one arm around her waist to keep her steady and surged his hips off the ground. He drew his pants down in one quick motion, hissing when he was finally free. The energy of his roll brought her flush to him again, and Maker she was so hot and ready to be had.

It was her turn to kiss him, to wind her hands between his back and the smooth wall behind him while she rubbed herself against his length. He kept talking to her as she did, trying to give her understanding even while he rapidly lost his own. "Cassandra. I'm yours. My life, my heart, my body. Everything I am. Don't ever leave me. I need you so much." His voice fled when he slipped inside of her unexpectedly, and he choked back the cry that echoed around them. She hissed in a breath, and they both stilled their movements.

His wife traced his cheek with her thumb, and through the smoky haze of their desire he saw sadness. His throat tightened. "Please," he said, but it made no difference. She wanted him, and she loved him, but there was a hard place inside of her that he hadn't reached even now. The part that was for the Inquisition alone. It wouldn't be turned aside.

The tears fell again, this time not just hers, and she finally spoke. "I love you. Remember that. Always and only you."

Her lips found his with a surety he no longer felt. But she moved just a little, just enough, and he exploded in a crowning wave. His release came with a clench of his heart that was no less agony for being mingled with pleasure. She kissed him throughout his end, sending him strength and love through every painful place they met.

Cullen slept with his arms around her, when he slept at all, but when the morning came he rolled away and rose alone. Good-byes shouldn't linger, as his mother had always said. If they were going to survive this, he couldn't afford sentimentality. She needed him to carry his own burdens. And if he loved her when it was easy, he should love her even more when it was difficult. There was no other path.

Besides, he had something he needed to say. They'd groomed and readied their mounts, banked the fire, and were preparing to set out into the crisp dawn when he stopped her. He looked for the hard place inside of him, the Templar. The soldier who did what was needed. It was there and waiting to be used. "One more thing," he said.

The tears had ended long ago, but he saw wariness in her eyes. "Yes?"

"I release you from your vows," he said.

Her mouth dropped. "I'm sorry?"

"We're no longer married," he said. "It will make it easier for you." He was sickly proud of how in control he sounded.

"Cullen," she said, and he flinched. "I do not wish to be released. There's no need."

He hoped that was true. But he still shook his head mulishly. "You're a terrible liar. If you want to convince people that you're eager for a husband -" His voice hitched, but he continued with effort, "- your words have to be as close to reality as they can be."

She started to argue, but he held up his hand. "And it will be hard enough to watch you without knowing that… anyway, the Maker will understand."

Her gaze flicked up to the sky, then back to his face, which he was sure looked just as stubborn as her own. She sighed. "Very well," she said. She led her horse out of the mouth of the cave, then turned back. "But you have no power to release my heart."

They stared at each other for a long minute, until he broke the mood with a deliberately casual smile. Let the soldier out. "Maybe you'll enjoy it more than you think. All of that courting and romance. Leliana says that every woman likes being a princess sometimes," he said. Maker knew he'd never been good at noble manners. Or giving her the consideration she deserved.

"I suspect that's only true for those who may leave it behind at the end of an evening," said Cassandra. "I don't care for the gilding of a cage."

He shrugged. "A handsome prince makes the cage more palatable, so I hear," he said. "They're well-known for it." A joke, and his greatest fear. She was a romantic woman under the skin, for all she was a warrior.

She narrowed her eyes. "Royalty is rarely handsome, in reality."

"I don't know. People seem to like Alistair," he said as he swung himself up on his horse. "And you're the most beautiful woman in Thedas."

He swore to himself. Focus, Cullen. Be what's needed.

Fortunately she let it pass. "Perhaps you will enjoy being the sought-after bachelor again also. For a time," she said. She was mounting as well, so he couldn't see her face. "At the least you will have all of your pillows to yourself again."

A cold and empty bed, without her. There could be nothing worse.

When she wheeled around to motion him ahead, the soldier smiled at her again. "Yes, that will be nice."