"Commander, is that you?"

Cullen looked up from the ground, where several children had wrestled him into submission. An Inquisition scout, one of Leliana's by the look of her, stood over him with a smirk and a salute. He rolled to his back, dislodging a few small bodies, and sat up with the most dignified expression he could muster. The attempt was ruined when a particularly energetic boy hopped onto his shoulders and gripped his hair hard enough to water his eyes.

"Corporal," said Cullen, trying to extract himself. "As you can see, the natives in this part of Ferelden are very difficult to subdue."

A shriek cut him off, and a hard hit to his back had him wheezing. The scout's mouth twitched, once. "Yes, I'd heard tales. The Keeper always warned us about wandering too close to them," she said. To Cullen's vague surprise, she leaned down and scooped up a passing girl. The child played with the scout's ears, but she didn't seem to mind. "Fortunately we brought weapons. Fresh food in the wagon!" she called across the group.

In seconds, the children were racing towards the bait, and Cullen could finally stand up. The little girl in the elf's arms kicked and fought, giggling, until she was released to run free. The shouts had already begun around the shocked Inquisition soldiers.

"I'll help them," said a voice behind him, and Cullen stiffened immediately. Cassandra didn't look at him as she passed. He watched her go with trepidation and tried to remember the last time she hadn't greeted him in the morning. He'd made it out of his office less and less as the days passed, but whenever he did, the Seeker had always given a solemn wave at the least.

He scowled. She was the one who'd upended his life, not the other way around. Yes, he'd said some things that he wished he hadn't. He would write and apologize, as soon as he'd gotten enough distance. But he'd stayed for her. She'd guilted him, and he'd stayed, and she could be just a little more grateful that he had.

Thank the Maker for the children. He'd spent the evening and morning entertaining them as best he could, both as a balm against his own pain and to ease their own. The fact that Cassandra had spent her time on the other side of the camp, speaking to her old comrades, had been the only thing to save the Inquisition from an embarrassing public squabble between its higher ranking members. Or nominal members, in his case.

Even then it had been a near thing.

He realized he was glaring at Cassandra's back, and he turned back to the scout with effort. "You arrived very quickly, Corporal. Did you use magic to get here?" he asked.

"No, ser. We were already en route. Inquisitor's orders. Of course, we weren't to approach until we got final word from you, but it was all timed pretty well," she said.

Yes, Ellana was much better at all of this than he'd ever given her credit for. He shoved feelings aside and focused on logistics. He'd only just begun outlining the composition of the camp when a wail came from the wagons. "I want Ser Lion!"

Cullen colored. "That's me," he said. He turned around to see a girl of around eight folding her arms and glaring at a hapless private. His short but comprehensive experience with Jenny had been enough to learn she shared enough traits with a certain Red Jenny to be more than a junior soldier could handle.

"I should see what she needs," he said hurriedly.

"Of course, Commander Lion," said the scout. Because he wasn't technically her commander anymore, he ignored both it and the brief giggle that followed.

She followed him when he set off, and he muttered as they walked, "You're not going to tell Leliana about this, are you?"

"She'd demote me if I didn't," the scout answered promptly. "I like being a corporal, ser."

He thought about arguing that Leliana would never know to punish her if she didn't tell her, but there wasn't enough time before they reached the supplies. And besides, he knew better than that.

"Jenny," he said, folding his arms to match the vibrating girl, "are you being difficult?"

"He says that we have to eat first and then the grown-ups can," she said. She pointed at the private as she spoke, with all the vigor of a Reverend Mother banishing a slapdash lay brother to his room. "I want to eat with you. Lions need food, too."

"They do, but this food is for you. And a proper lion always waits for the cubs to finish before he starts," he said, trying logic.

It failed. "That's stupid. They'll never be done," said Jenny. Her dismissive gestures now included her fellow children. "They're babies."

Cassandra disappeared from the corner of his vision, and he envied her freedom to extract herself. "That's not a nice thing to say," he said. "And you aren't done yet either." He nodded to the cheese and bread still clutched in her hands.

"That was a mistake," whispered the scout behind him.

He barely had time to be puzzled before Jenny shoved both hands into her mouth and chewed with a rapidity that would have made even the Chargers blink at her table manners. She swallowed heavily and grinned. "Your turn!" she said. She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the wagon.

He resisted. "The food is still for your family, cub. By order of the Inquisitor." He turned the last into a faint question to the nearby private, who nodded. "I may be a lion, but even lions take orders."

It was again the wrong thing to say. Jenny pouted and swiped tears away from her eyes. "But if you're not family, does that mean you're not coming with us?" she asked in shaky voice. "I prayed to the Maker last night that you would. The Maker never answers me, but I thought this time He might." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I prayed so hard."

Cullen's heart sank. How could he answer this girl who'd known nothing but abandonment and change? No parents, nothing familiar, not even a home she knew. She was the face of every Kirkwall orphan, every lonely Skyhold refugee, every Sera, and the world was never as kind as they needed or as hopeful as it pretended. He knew the Maker worked all the miracles a person needed to keep her on her determined path, but that was no comfort to a child.

He felt the moment stretching out and knew he wasn't equal to its needs. Soon she would cry, and he still had no words.

Just before the scene shattered, Cassandra was back and kneeling next to him. She set a bag on the ground and stretched her hands out to the girl's shoulders. "Jenny," she said, "look at me."

The girl sniffled and glared suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Comm- Ser Lion's friend," she said. Jenny looked at him, and he nodded. As soon as the girl turned back, Cassandra continued, "Many people pray for him to stay with them. He's brave and strong and good and so many love him. Do you believe that?"

"Yes," said Jenny reluctantly.

"The Maker can't grant so many prayers, even though He would like to. Ser Lion is only one person, and there are many needs," said Cassandra. Jenny opened her mouth to protest, but Cassandra overrode her. "What the Maker can do is give him, as a gift, to the ones who need him, for long enough. Like you. And once Ser Lion's been with you, he always will be if you know the secret."

"What's the secret?" asked Jenny.

"That he remembers everyone who remembers him," said Cassandra. "Always. Close your eyes and picture him, and he'll be there to give you courage. His strength can travel across all of Thedas, past rivers and mountains and into the hearts of everyone who knows him. You'll never be alone." The Seeker smiled sadly, a pained expression that hurt Cullen's heart. "I've even done it myself, from time to time."

Jenny gave him a skeptical look. "Is that true?"

Cullen knelt down without hesitation and kissed her head. "Always," he whispered, and she looked more hopeful.

Cassandra picked up the bag again. "In the meantime, the food in the wagon may be for your family, but there's nothing stopping him from eating his own alongside you," she said. She plucked out some of the food they'd bought at the last town and handed it to him with a brief, indecipherable glance. She turned back to the child. "Go, eat. Learn to remember him."

He stood again, and when Jenny tugged him forward he let her. He swore to himself that he would lend the child his full attention for as long as he could give it, but he couldn't resist a look back at Cassandra. She was talking to the scout leader, ignoring him again, but it seemed like some of the tension was out of her shoulders. He prayed that was true. He didn't deserve friendship from her, but he needed it all the same.


The Inquisition forces and their new charges disappeared over the crest of the horizon too soon for his liking. He waved at them until he could no longer see. Jenny's face disappeared last, and her eyes screwed shut as she vanished. He closed his own and sent what strength he could to her. Her life wouldn't be easy, but no one's was. And perhaps it would be better than it had been.

Perhaps his would, too.

Cullen wiped away a tear as he turned around. He let them fall away from his heart, as he'd let everything else fall away. Everything except a stony Seeker, who was patting the horses and waiting for him.

"You can still catch them, you know," he said.

"I could, yes," she said. When he didn't move, she sighed. "Do you want to lose a fight again?"

He thought back to their first icily polite discussion. When the corporal had informed him that Cassandra planned to journey with him on his trek home, he'd been at her side in minutes, demanding an explanation. She'd barely looked at him while she'd outlined that she'd been given orders to accompany him on his trip, that those orders hadn't been countermanded, and that while he may consider himself above it all, she respected the chain of command.

Before he'd been able to formulate a reply, she'd left to load the empty wagons, and now she waited, implacable.

"It was less of a fight and more of a monologue, as I recall," he said.

"That is simply what someone thoroughly defeated would call a loss," she said. "Mount."

"Yes ser," he said, and she rolled her eyes. "This is ridiculous," he added. "I'll be to Honnleath by nightfall. There's no danger on the road. I don't need a protector."

"The children were quite wild. Your back may not stand the journey."

"So much for me being brave and strong," he muttered. "Now I'm just an old man who needs coddling to make it six hours on a horse." He shook his head and started to remove his armor.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I sent my formal resignation with the corporal. I'm not a soldier anymore. And I'll be damned if I'm going to wear the armor like I can still claim it," he said. He tossed his gauntlets to the ground with a clatter, then slowly picked them up and tied them to the saddlebags.

He blinked when Cassandra removed her armor as well. "You can wear yours," he said.

"I'm aware," she said. "But it would be unbalanced for one of us to be protected."

"Unbalanced? To whom, the bandits we're unlikely to meet?"

"No. To each other," she said, then stepped towards him too quickly to dodge. She put a hand on each of his shoulders and said, "Look at me."

Her eyes were frustrated, but he couldn't stop a smile. "This is familiar. Are you going to call me Jenny?"

"She does not deserve such an insult," she said. His smile vanished.

Cassandra sighed. "The child at least asks for what she wants. Demands it, of the soldiers, of you, even the Maker himself. When she is disappointed, it's honestly. She does not sit idly by and allow herself to be buried by her own mind."

He tried to shift, but her hands held him firmly. "I've heard this before, Seeker," he said. "You've been quite clear."

"Not clear enough, it appears. I've been too soft. I've coddled you. No more," she said.

"This trip was you being soft?" he asked, only half-joking.

Her expression didn't change an inch, and he realized she'd spent the day getting ready for this. Preparing to win. "Joke if you wish. Shy away from the hard truth of yourself. I'm a Seeker. I do not shy away," she said. Her eyes hardened further. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Cullen."

Whether it was the shock of her words or the lack of title in her address he couldn't say, but he only gaped at her. It hardly mattered. She kept talking without waiting for any input from him. "Suffering does not make you worthy. Purposeless sacrifice does not make you noble. Moping will never make you deserving of pity," she said.

Her voice lowered. "If you must quit, do so. If you can no longer stomach Skyhold and its citizens, if you no longer wish to shoulder the burden of command, set them aside with an easy heart. The world is settling. The need is not so great that happiness must be forsaken in its service. Even for a man of so much talent, who would offer so much. But do not pretend it is hardship. Do not pretend this exile is not your choice."

"You think I'm choosing this?" he asked. He wrenched himself away from her and began to pace. "That's ludicrous."

"Why else would you be reading messages where there are none? Insisting on interpretations that have no foundation in the truth?" she asked. Again, she didn't seem to want an answer. "You were forged to believe in suffering and pain above all else. You were a Templar in a dark time, and the Chantry's message turned dark to suit. Magic became terrible and alluring, and denial of it and the self was an honor above all others in the Order. You are suspicious of happiness in all its forms.

"But the Chant is not only warnings and exhortations. It's joy. It's celebration. They could exist in you as well, if you would stop convincing yourself you deserve to hurt," she said.

"I don't do that."

"You always have," she said. "Do you know why I feared you might succumb to lyrium again? Not because you are weak to its temptations. No, you have a strong will. The fact that you succeeded at all proves it. How many of your fellows who attempt to follow your example have done half so much?"

Very few, he knew. He stopped pacing and folded his arms, curious against his will. "Then why?"

"Because Ellana loves Solas. Not like the heroine in my trashy novels," she said with a quick grimace, "but with a love that is too real to measure. It's been distracting you, for now, while you're still in its center, but even your infatuation would eventually fade under it. This would leave you restless. I knew you would search for a new source of grief. Lyrium would have been easy. Only I guessed incorrectly, and now we are here."

Cullen rubbed his temple. "I've hurt people, Cassandra. Killed mages and citizens by giving in to things that never should have tempted me in the first place. You think I chose to do that out of some kind of sick need for pain?" he asked. Solona had stayed for him and died at his hand. Kirkwall might never have come to what it did had he given Hawke true freedom to do what was needed instead of wavering within desire.

"The Seekers aren't the only ones who failed," he added.

"You did nothing more than find calf love just as a Tower fell," she said. He flushed, and she said more gently, "We knew about Amell. You were not the first nor last Templar to love, but you are the only earnest enough to believe it was a sin that destroyed the world."

"It was weakness."

"It was strength, simply at the wrong time. Though you won't believe it. You've protected so many, but you see only the few," she said. She sighed. "I knew you would find a new way to punish yourself. I never thought it would take you so far as to actually leave."

"Why bother with me, if I'm so hopeless? Why don't you just go back?" he asked.

At that she growled and advanced, and he was sure she would strike him. He understood why she hadn't wanted to be the only one armored, now. But her fists didn't move above her waist. "Don't place me in that role," she said through gritted teeth. "I am not a channel for your self-sabotage. I chose you in Kirkwall for your heart. Your goodness. Your justice. They have not abandoned you, nor have I, but I will not sit by and watch you destroy yourself. You can be happy."

They stood in silence for a time, until she asked him in a softer voice, "What do you want, truly?"

The enormity of the question struck him between the eyes, and he had no answer. What did he want? Nothing. Everything. A life of purpose. A life that fit. Love without fear. Magic that was gentle and kind and welcoming. Friends. A home. All of Thedas to find the peace of an afternoon settled on the greenest grass by the coolest river.

Start small. He tried a smile. "I want to get to Honnleath before nightfall," he said. A terrible defeat washed across her face, threaded with hints of regret. He winced.

"I want to stop fighting with you," he added more seriously. "I don't want to end this trip with the alienation of my last -" She glared at him. "My dearest friend."

"I'm not fighting with you, Commander," she said. "I am helping you, by explaining why you continue to behave foolishly, and how you can stop. How you can find peace, no matter your path."

She believed her words. There was no dissembling on her face and no lie in her eyes. Cullen started to laugh, then, a strong laugh that shook its way through his body and left him howling under the blue sky. A pair of nearby birds chirped in alarm and took off from the trees, the horses on their leads swished their tails in annoyance, and all of it only made him laugh more.

Cassandra stared at him with a nonplussed look that did nothing to stem his hysterics. "What's so amusing?" she asked.

He gulped down another burst of laughter and nearly choked. "You," he said.

The effort of speech set him off again, and she waited patiently for him to subside. He finally did, with little aftershocks of chuckles. Tears streaked down his cheeks as he blinked them away. "I'm very grateful for your all of your help. Even if I tend to leave the sickroom even more bruised than I entered."

He kept his voice light, and she smiled wryly. "I've never claimed gentleness."

"Nor should you. I've seen your definition of coddling," he said. He sobered. She wasn't gentle, but she was trying. It was more than he'd done for her. And he hated this anger between them. He sighed. "I don't agree with your assessment of me, Cassandra, though I will consider it. I always do. But do we have to agree, to be friends?"

She thought for a moment. "It would be a rarity," she said finally.

Without thinking, he drew her into a tight hug. When she responded with her ever-present ferocity, the tears that gathered in his eyes weren't from laughter. "I don't know how to make things right with us. I try to leave, and I disappoint you. I stay, and you won't speak to me but to tell me where I step wrong. I'm lost, Cassandra," he said. She murmured wordless comfort, and his body responded to the low vibration of it without his permission.

Without her armor, her body was solid and muscled pressed against his. Her breath felt hot on his neck, steady and soothing, and her lips were so close to his skin that he could almost feel them. His hands flexed on her back as he drew her tighter. Just once. He was afraid, and soon he would be nothing, and she was so very real.

Before he could wet his own lips to press them against the place where her shirt brushed her neck, before he could beg her for the real comfort he wanted, her breath hitched. The sound shocked him back to the day before, when he'd insulted her past all decency. He had no right to ask.

He pulled back and looked at her with eyes he hoped were clear. "I'm sorry for what I said. About the books, and the other. Any man you chose would be a fool to look at another. You should never let him," he said. "And I shouldn't have questioned your motivations. I know you would never undermine me deliberately." His mouth curved. "You aren't that good of a strategist."

"And I apologize if my frankness, about you or others, gives you fear. I don't desire you to doubt yourself," she said. Her eyebrow arched. "You have little skill in accepting criticism."

She studied his face, and he held his breath, wondering what she saw. When she finished, she stepped away abruptly. He felt the sudden absence like a physical blow, but it was made bearable by the humor in her eyes.

"I promise not to pity myself until you leave," he said quietly.

"And I promise to control my helpful nature," she said.

They stepped apart softly within their new peace. As they finally mounted, he was struck by a thought. "You asked what I wanted, but I never returned the favor. What is it that you want?" he asked her.

He couldn't see her face when she answered, "To reach Honnleath before nightfall."