A/N: The doc uploads are being super lame at the moment, everyone. Sorry for the small delay, but back to our regularly scheduled programming. Please note there are several breaks in this chapter - completely intentional. Also be aware that this chapter focuses predominantly on Cullen. The next will focus more on Evelyn. This and the next chapter began as a series of one-shots which I've smooshed together to create some kind of Optimus Prime CullenxEvelyn love transformer.

Yeah

Once again, thank you for all of the kind reviews.

There was nothing quite like the feeling of being cooked alive inside one's own armor.

The unrelenting sun bore down on Cullen's dark plate from the cloudless sky, reminding the Commander exactly why he hated this Maker-forsaken place with such passion. Nothing but sand and blue sky surrounded them in all directions. Only when they reached a small outcropping of rocks did they chance to stop and enjoy the shade.

Cullen didn't particularly enjoy the lull in activity. Since his very badly handled conversation with Evelyn the night before he left Skyhold, he had the misfortune of bearing a conscious and subsequently a desire to return to that painful encounter in his head every time he had the chance. While he hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise, he still felt as if he had failed in conveying his feelings on the matter. He hadn't meant to soothe her with meaningless platitudes like so many others. He simply wished to offer her support - to lend an ear, a person to rage at, even a shoulder to cry on if she so chose.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he tried to will away the sudden ache in his chest at her rejection. It had been returning with a persistent and annoying frequency the further he drew away from Skyhold. Cullen had never been so open or honest with any of his previous paramours, and so this brand of pain was completely unfamiliar to him. He had felt disappointment, sure. Sadness? Maybe a time or two. Never this too-powerful, crushing weight bearing down on him.

Maker, he'd been ten different kinds of fool to think two people who were so different could hope to have...something together.

"Commander," Rylen called from behind him, "a rider is bearing down from the north."

With a frown Cullen drew up beside his second in command and looked in the direction the man had pointed.

"Glass," he said evenly while holding out his hand. All trace of his previous emotional turmoil forgotten for the moment. Rylen placed a well-worn, but functional spyglass in the Commander's upturned palm. As he extended the scope and placed it to his eye the small dot on the horizon suddenly revealed itself to be a single rider galloping out in their direction.

He collapsed the spyglass and returned it to Rylen, giving the all clear. This man was not a threat - at least not to the Inquisition.

A short while later Peter dismounted from his horse with a grin, one which Cullen found himself reflecting in kind. Like Evelyn, Peter's easy nature made it easy to hold him in high esteem.

"It's good to see you, Cullen!"

The two men approached one another, clasping each other's forearms in greeting before turning toward the center of camp.

"Likewise, Seeker Trevelyan," Cullen replied, to which Peter almost wrinkled his nose at the stuffy title.

"I thought we were past this."

Cullen and Peter had exchanged a few letters since their agreement after the events at Therinfal, but the Commander had always struggled to separate Peter from the Seeker title he bore. Having been raised a Templar since childhood, Cullen had always understood that the Seekers were his superiors and therefore meant to be treated with honor, respect, and difference. It was a difficult frame of mind to break away from, much to Peter's amusement.

"I apologize," Cullen began with a smirk. "Perhaps I forgot our arrangement after being exposed to your father for a few weeks."

Peter laughed, ruffling a hand through his hair to get some of the sand out as the two men walked into the shade. "I thought they might have finally gone to Skyhold. While they trust my word, father has always been over-attentive when it comes to Evelyn. That and I'm sure the business with Michael didn't help things much."

Cullen tried to hide the wince that name brought about, but the reaction didn't escape the Seeker's notice.

"Tell me what happened. Father outlined the mess in a letter, but he spared me the particulars."

"Before or after Aaron smote your sister?" Cullen asked, a touch of anger still lacing his words.

Peter's brows hit his hairline at his surprise. "Shit."

"I feel the same way."

With the army rested, watered, and fed, they began to march again toward the location Hawke had indicated. The scouts before them had already made contact with the Champion, and Harding had secured a safe place for them to camp for the night once they arrived.

After their conversation about his siblings, Peter had fallen into a contemplative silence for much of the journey as he penned a letter. When he had finished, he folded the parchment only twice and tucked it away beneath the leather chest piece of his armor.

"When you conclude your business here, I will return to Skyhold with you," he said finally.

Cullen nodded. He'd expected that. "Of course, but I warn you that I'm not sure when we will be returning home."

"Who has command of your armies while you are away?"

"Seeker Cassandra."

Peter hummed, seeming satisfied with that answer as they passed through terrain that now began to look less like an endless sea of sand. Formations of rock began to crop up in greater numbers until the landscape shifted into a red-stoned canyon. When they had finally come upon Harding and her scouts, Cullen recalled that he had probably never been so delighted at the sight of a featureless pool of water ever before in his life.

He had stiffly dismounted from his horse and began to rifle through his saddle bag when he heard her behind him. As always, she was hoping to get the jump on him.

"Have a nice trip?"

He merely glanced over his shoulder at Hawke, then cast an eye around at their fairly desolate location. "It had its moments."

"You mean the ones before you had to get out of that fur ruff you're so fond of?" She flashed a smirk, remembering a comment she had made about his dress armor being ridiculous and impractical.

Cullen secured the leather bound journal in his hand and turned away from his horse to walk up to her. "The same. I find I miss it already."

She pretended to look offended at his sarcasm, the shocked o-shape of her mouth flowing into an easy smile. "The snark returns. What would the Revered Mother have to say about that?"

"Three lashes and kitchen duty for a week."

She laughed outright, turning to follow him as he passed her to consult Harding on their situation and send off a letter to Skyhold to let Cassandra and Leliana know they had arrived without incident in the Approach. He sighed inwardly, thinking of the last letter he had written, and hoped Evelyn would discover it because he had lacked the conviction to place it into her hands himself. It was cowardly, but the nightmares had been particularly bad that night.

"Cullen, I have a letter for you," Peter spoke, striding toward him with a hawk shifting to balance on his wrist.

The Commander frowned. He supposed it wouldn't be all that unusual to find a missive waiting for him, especially if Harding had let the others know where they were to be stationed. Still, he got the feeling that this message was not from Leliana, Cassandra, or even Josephine. In fact, he sensed the small thrill of magic shoot to the base of his spine that told him this particular bit of parchment had been in Evelyn's presence.

All at once he felt both excited and nervous as he took the tri-folded letter in hand and slipped it into his gauntlet. If it was concerning their last conversation, he would not wish to read it in present company.

Evelyn

The name was written on the front in the assured, crisp and formal script utilized by Cullen in all of his official correspondence. There was nothing particularly unusual or alarming about it, save that she could not recall having ever received a letter from him in all their acquaintance. Indeed, she had never been so far removed from his presence to require it.

Breaking the wax seal, pressed into place by the ring he bore on his forefinger, she unfolded the missive and hungrily devoured its contents despite the trepidation coiling round in her gut like a snake waiting to strike.

Do not be fearful of this letter containing a reprimand in any fashion, nor worry that I think any less of you for acting out your grief. I assure you now because I know it is in your nature to dwell on confrontation like Ferelden gnaws on his bone.

All levity aside, I wish to enlighten you on subjects which you came to miss during our time away from Skyhold, and I hope that by revealing these matters to you, you will cease to blame yourself so completely for what transpired in the Emprise. May it never be said that I have a way with words, so please disregard any phrasing that would seem irreverent or otherwise offend you. I assure you from the bottom of my heart that it is not intentional.

The first matter which I would lay to rest would be to recount the death of your brother, Michael Trevelyan, at the blade of your father. Lord Trevelyan and I happened upon Michael in the thick of the battle, and as such we were unable to distinguish him from the other enemies that had assailed us. While it may pain you to read this, know that Michael did engage us, and as a result was struck down by your father's hand, suffering a grievous injury. When you had come upon us we had already determined your brother's identity. We had given him his last rights and were simply waiting for the Maker to take him. You will recall that no one moved to heal him, and that was because he had already become infected with the tainted Lyrium. You could not save him. He was too far gone, and for that you must not blame yourself. He died well.

The mention of this brings me to the second matter I must address. My restraint of you when you tried to heal Michael I know was unwelcome. It would have been my preference not to have done so, but I could not risk you exposing yourself to the infection. It is selfish of me to admit that I could not lose you - not like that. If you had become infected, and had I needed to strike you down, I honestly doubt my present ability to do so. I do not know what it is between us, but it is enough that your end would be my undoing. I would not see you harmed, even if it meant taking your from your brother's side as he lay dying. For that I humbly beg your forgiveness - both for my selfish desire to keep you and failing to protect you from the events that transpired at the hands of your brother Aaron.

Finally, I am aware that missing Michael's funeral has left somewhat of a void in you that you have yet to fill. If you look in the bottom left drawer of my desk, I have something there for you that I believe may help. Perhaps you may also see fit to keep it for a memorial service of your choosing, so you can say goodbye.

I understand what it feels like to never have that chance.

I hope this letter finds you well. Remain safe, and please help yourself to my books. I do not know when I will be returning home.

Yours,

Cullen

Evelyn folded the letter and dropped her hands to her stomach, eyeing Cassandra at the desk who regarded her with poorly veiled curiosity.

"What did it say?" She asked, unsure of what Evelyn's silence meant.

The two women had come into his office in an attempt to gather the notes he had been taking on a potential operation in the Exalted Plains. In their attempt to sift through the inordinate number of correspondence, Cassandra had accidentally knocked a tome to the floor that had lay half-buried beneath the papers. Upon lifting it, a letter slipped from between its cover and pages bearing Evelyn's name. Thinking nothing of it, the Seeker had handed the item to Evelyn, who at first looked horrified and then downright curious. Cassandra had known something was going on, but it was not her business to pry. Nevertheless, it did not stop her romantic heart from fantasizing over the contents of such a well-hidden letter; secreted away between the pages of a book titled The Orlesian War Machine - Glory 2:10-20.

"An apology," Evelyn finally replied, thumbing the edge of the paper absently as she held it against her stomach.

Cassandra made a face. "What for? You were the one who didn't want to see him."

Evelyn sighed and nodded, well aware that she handled that particular situation very poorly. Cullen was her friend, and she had treated his offer of comfort as if he had been the reason for her brother's death. She understood now, she thought, glancing again down at the letter.

Michael could not be helped. Even if she had successfully managed to heal him he would still have been under the influence of Red Lyrium, and perhaps no longer himself. It was a kindness to let him die, and everyone but her had seen that. She still would not forgive Aaron, however. Thankfully, her father didn't seem all that concerned over her spiteful treatment of her overzealous brother.

"He is worried what I think of him. He didn't say as much, but that is what he meant."

Cassandra pursed her lips. "How so?"

Evelyn sighed, thrusting the letter into the Seeker's hands. "Read for yourself." There was no helping it now. Nearly half of the Inquisition thought they had spent the night together anyway and Cassandra was hardly the gossipy type.

"Huh," she said a moment later, sliding the paper over the surface of the wooden desk back toward Evelyn.

"Is that all?" The mage's mouth kicked up at the corner in an amused smirk. Part of her appreciated that Cassandra was taking this as seriously as she was, but another found the woman's concern endearing and rather adorable. Whatever Varric said of her, she was not unkind.

"Are you two pursuing a relationship?" she finally asked.

"Maker, no. I mean...I don't know. We never got the chance to talk about it."

"Huh."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. "What is it? I can see the wheels in your head turning."

With probably the world's best poker face, Cassandra plucked up a blank sheet of paper, quill and pushed them toward Evelyn along with the inkwell.

"Write him back."

She frowned. "Write him back? And tell him what, Cassandra?"

"Whatever comes to mind."

"There is an awful lot on my mind and none of it should be put to paper, I can assure you of that."

The Seeker's brows rose as she let a small laugh escape her at the thought. "Then perhaps you should start small."

Cullen

Friends forgive each other, right?

Evelyn

The brief message was scrawled out on the very middle of one of his most expensive sheets vellum. Were it anyone else writing him, he might have had the inclination to box their ears; however, since it was Evelyn, he simply decided that he would be happy she deigned to contact him at all.

His eyes skimmed over the page, catching something he didn't see on his first examination. At the very bottom near the edge of the paper there was another line of writing. So the profligate use of his stationery had been deliberate.

I appreciate that you even thought to keep his ring. I would apologize to you presently, but my thanks cannot be conveyed by putting words to paper.

Well, at least her reply had assuaged the worst of his fears. She did not hate him - at least it didn't appear so.

"What's that dopey smile for, Commander?"

She snatched the letter out of his lap before he could hide it, her calculating eyes pursuing the contents before a knowing little smirk danced at the corner of her mouth.

Cullen wanted to groan in frustration. Why the Maker sent Hawke to test his patience time and again was beyond his understanding. This was borderline torture. He blew out a tense breath and scrubbed his bare hands over his face in a vain attempt to scour her from his presence.

It didn't work.

"I had been hearing rumors," she began, that damnable smile still in place, "but I had dismissed them because I was under the impression you were far too prim and proper to have any extracurricular activities."

"Shows how little you know of me," he replied with a grimace.

Then suddenly she plopped down in front of him, legs crossed and chin resting in the palm of one hand while the other held out the folded letter as if in some kind of peace offering.

"Do tell."

He took the letter, tucking it beneath his breastplate before he narrowed his eyes on her far too expectant expression.

"Absolutely not."

She appeared disappointed for all of two seconds before she she turned and called to Peter who, Maker only knew why, was already walking toward them. In her hand she held a piece of vellum remarkably similar to the one she had given…

Fuck!

"Marian, you do know that Peter is-"

"Evelyn's overprotective, I'm-going-to-threaten-everyone-who-makes-her-cry-under-pain-of-death, and drop dead gorgeous older brother? Yup." She grinned. "I need some entertainment. Unless, of course, you wish to tell me the story yourself."

He didn't want to tell her anything. He wanted to wrap his hands around her pretty little throat. He could not, however, expose Evelyn in such a manner. So it was with great reluctance that he began to recount his minor dalliances under the probing and incredibly uncomfortable direction of Hawke's questions. The woman could give Cassandra a run for her money as an interrogator. The entire situation was made even more awkward when Peter did join them, seating himself on the ground next to Cullen while he nibbled on a piece of bread.

"Wait, wait wait," Hawke held up a hand for emphasis, frown firmly in place. "You're telling me that you and Solona-?"

Cullen snorted. Really? "Is that so surprising?"

"Yeah, actually. I mean, she has a type and you're it, but I wouldn't have guessed you - Mr. Straight-laced, rule abiding, model Templar - would go along with it."

"Like I said before, Hawke, you know very little about me."

Peter frowned at the hunk of bread he held to his lips, brow furrowing in his own curiosity. "Do you two know each other very well?"

"Not by choice," Cullen answered quickly, leaving Hawke to simply grin at his peevish expression. "The events of the Kirkwall Rebellion made it necessary for us to work together."

"Mm, yes, I'm familiar with that. I was one of the Seekers tasked with observing Hawke and her friends for a few weeks after the Qunari invasion."

Cullen took much pleasure in the shocked and nervous expression that had suddenly replaced the smug self-satisfaction Hawke usually wore.

"You spied on me?"

"Of course we did. We weren't sure if you were just a really lucky, really powerful apostate or if you actually had some agenda outside of reigning in loose Templars and putting down a few mercenary groups."

Her sharp gaze would have gutted him if she had anything to say about it. "I did have a bone to pick with the Chantry, at least as far as the Divine was concerned."

"The Seekers never thought anything of the sort, matter of fact." He chewed a piece of his bread, looking thoughtfully up at the darkened sky. "You were getting by, barely, and it was clear the only person of your acquaintance with any intention of doing the Chantry harm was Anders. You're shit with a knife, you know that?"

Hawke visibly bristled at the painful memory of slipping that dagger between Ander's ribs. His betrayal had elicited such an acute and pervasive kind of rage in her that she didn't need to even think twice when he asked her to end it. One less problem she had to deal with.

Despite her anger, she had faltered. The wound had been fatal but sloppily executed and he would have taken ages to die. She didn't care enough to stay. She simply left him there to die in the slop and muck of the street - as if he hadn't saved her worthless ass a hundred times.

"Yeah. I know. What of it?"

"Fixed that problem after you left."

"Huh," she thought, feeling some of the tension leave her shoulders. Ander's suffering had always weighed heavily on her mind. "Thanks, I guess...err.."

"Peter Trevelyan," he spoke, biting the bit of bread between his teeth to extend his hand to shake hers. She responded in kind, though she wasn't any less guarded around the Seeker.

"Marian Hawke, but of course you already know that."

Peter chuckled, and Cullen relaxed enough to take a drink from his water skin now that he knew Hawke wasn't going to do anything he would regret.

"So about this massive crush you have in the Inquisitor, Altar Boy…"

Cullen choked on his drink.

Void take the damned woman!

"If we live I'll entertain the notion of speaking to you about my sister." Peter spoke quietly, standing with Hawke and Cullen as they eyed the rather intimidating edifice of the keep they were about to take. A firm breeze picked up enough to stir the hair that had fallen loose from Hawke's bun against her neck.

Cullen grimaced. Peter hadn't said a word to him on the subject after Hawke had tightened the proverbial noose around his neck. If anything, that made the Commander more uneasy than if he'd just come out and confronted him on the matter. Cullen was very good at tackling a problem head-on, but this shifty-eyed business was irritating him.

"How about we just focus on living in a general sense for the moment?" he replied.

"That sounds blessedly simple to me," Hawke broke in with her snark, one hand resting on her cocked him while the other held her staff. "You two done talking or are we going to crack some skulls?"

"I think I'm beginning to like you!" Peter shouted over the sudden wind that had swept down from the high country over the parched sands of the Approach. It roared in their ears as millions of grains of sand tossed against each other, bouncing into their hair and beneath their armor.

"May the Maker have mercy on your wretched soul, Trevelyan!" Cullen called back.

Hawke only answered with a toothy grin.

Getting rid of the exterior guard was a simple enough matter. Surprisingly, the Venatori were a predictable lot with limited battlefield experience. Much to Cullen and Hawke's amusement, they got all kinds of nervous when the Commander rushed into their personal space. They would focus so much on the big intimidating man with the armor that they neglected to keep an eye on the nimble little mage picking them off with several well-placed fireballs. Peter assisted as well, but for the moment he was tasked with getting into the keep undetected and raising the gate for their forces.

Cullen swept his blade low, removing one of the legs from the warrior who'd thought it'd be a good idea to engage him one-on-one. Really, were mages in Tevinter the only people who knew how to fight? He must write Dorian and ask.

A deep groan and the sound of metal screeching against metal alerted the Champion and the Commander to Peter's success, and Cullen briefly assessed the situation before ordering his company to charge. Though he'd only brought a small number of skilled men, it was better than having so many soldiers one could not tell his enemy from his friend in the mayhem.

They entered the keep, filling the courtyard with the sounds of battle. Clashing steel, rending flesh, and the thump of bodies hitting the ground surrounded them, but to the seasoned warriors among them, these gruesome sounds were the familiar notes of a song imprinted upon them at a young age.

Seeming to desire confining the Inquisition to the courtyard, more Ventori and their soldiers rained down on them from the upper levels of the keep. Cullen met them fearlessly, bashing one with his shield while striking out at another with his sword. A familiar smoky scent overrode that of the blood running at his feet as a warm body pressed against his back.

Hawke leaned against him heavily. "Cover me!" He busied himself with blocking another blow, keeping his shield angled over her while she uncorked a flask with her teeth and poured a potion down her throat.

"Good?" He called.

She nodded in response and dodged away again, leaving him to the remainder of the mages.

Peter had struck down more than his fair share of Tevinter supremacists though he appeared as if he was merely out for a stroll. The rogue leaned against the wall of the battlements above the gatehouse, several bodies bleeding out around him as he fired an arrow into the throng. Most of his attention was fixed to Cullen and Hawke, ensuring that the pair weren't surprised by those garishly clothed excuses for assassins. He thought he had taken care of most of them until one simply popped into existence beside him.

Despite his lackadaisical posture the Seeker sprung into action in the blink of an eye. Jumping back and away from the assassin, he freed two throwing knives from his belt and launched them at his foe. Surprisingly, they missed. Miffed that his skills were being challenged, Peter hooked his bow around a nearby sconce and drew another throwing knife in addition to a very large dagger. The assassin didn't wait for him to challenge him with any witty one-liners, much to the Seeker's disappointment, and simply struck out a series of blows against him with the needle-like weapons they carried in each hand. Belatedly he wondered where he could procure such things. He blocked the flurry of strikes easily with his vambraces, each blow resulting in a small blue flash as the clash made contact with his armor. Enough was enough.

He retaliated with precise and forceful jabs. One strike and the left hand buckled under the force of the blow, another left his right side open enough that a third blow pushed the whole of his very large dagger straight into the assassin's gut. He jerked his hand, drawing the blade across the midsection before using a booted foot to shove the body off of his weapon.

The Venatori staggered backwards, not seeming to understand the entrails he was leaving behind. His knees hit the low wall separating the high walkway from the courtyard below, and in his stupefied state he lost his balance and toppled over the edge.

Almost too late Peter realized the body's trajectory might crush someone below, and he hurried to peer over the wall, taking his bow in hand. He snapped the arrowhead off of the shaft with his teeth, aimed, and let the blunted bit of wood fly.

There was a yelp, followed by a quick jump, then the heavy thud of the Venatori's body.

"Who the fuck shot me in the ass!?" Hawke practically screeched, rubbing her backside with a horrified expression - like she'd never been shot with an arrow before.

Peter didn't see what the fuss was about. He blunted the strike and saved her from a rather undignified death despite probably leaving a few splinters in her bottom. Foolishly perhaps, he grinned down at her and raised his hand in a small wave.

"Here!"

Still cupping her abused bottom, she glared up at him. Suddenly Peter wasn't worried about the Venatori assassinating him, but Marian Hawke.

"How 'bout you get down here so I can return the favor?"

Baiting her was just too much fun, especially when she wielded enough sarcasm for the entire army.

"Promises, promises, Hawke!"

She snarled at him, looking for all the world like she was going to singe him into charcoal before Cullen stepped in.

"We can deal with Hawke's ass later. We have a fort to capture. Peter! Get to the upper level and help with the forward party. Hawke and I will meet you there."

Both Hawke and Peter rolled their eyes at Cullen, though Peter acquiesced and deftly scaled the scaffolding leading to the top most floor of the keep. Meanwhile, Hawke complained loudly about her superficial injury.

"Oh my god, there's blood!" She wailed, pulling her hand away from her bottom to reveal a more substantial amount of blood than Cullen initially guessed. She also had one pronounced limp. Perhaps she wasn't complaining without reason.

Heaving a small sigh, he resigned himself to his fate, stowed his shield, and held his hand out to her.

"Come on."

She looked dubiously at him, starting to walk under her own power before realizing she was not going to get very far very quickly without some help. Her ego was feeling a lot like her ass at the moment.

When she didn't respond immediately Cullen narrowed his eyes on her. "Or I can leave you here and send the guy who shot you in the ass down later to collect you if you don't want my help."

"Damn it. Fine," she groused, allowing him to slip his arm around her waist.

Cullen didn't so much assist her as carry her up the steps, but she was grateful just the same. He was alway, and had ever been, a knight in shining armor - the kind of hero fairy tales were built around so little girls everywhere had some crazy perfect standard by which to hold all others. Despite her love for Fenris, Cullen has always been a subject of fascination for her, and perhaps once she had been enamored by his geniality toward her despite his knowing she was a mage. Sure, he was prickly as a bloody porcupine back then, but he had slowly begun to mellow out since the last she'd seen him. Evelyn was a damn good influence.

"Since we're alone," Hawke began suggestively, shamelessly wagging her eyebrows up at the Commander.

He bit back a groan at the thought of the questioning to come. Why couldn't she just leave well enough alone?

"Have you told her you loooove her?"

He scowled. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because it hasn't come up."

"So you do."

He had half a mind to drop her and leave her there, but revealed his answer through clenched teeth. "Y-yes. I think. I don't know."

Hawke's lips quirked upwards in a knowing smile. "You do. Don't think too hard about that shit or you'll lose time. Trust me, happened to me and it was a bitch."

Cullen seemed to relax a bit. "Fenris?"

"Mhm. This may come as a shock to you, Commander, but I'm a big dumb idiot when it comes to romance."

"That makes two of us," he replied, feeling comfortable enough to smirk at that.

"Have you kissed her?"

He immediately stiffened again, a flush creeping up from his neck and into his cheeks. "Ah...well…" He sighed. "Maker's breath. Yes."

"Aannnd?"

"Can we stop?"

"Yes, can we?"

Both Champion and Commander turned to find Peter shadowing them, nearly toppling over in their surprise like a pair of guilty schoolchildren.

The Seeker only fixed them with a steely gaze before walking past, leaving Cullen almost positive he was going to hear it when things had finally settled down. Here he was hoping to find time to write back to Evelyn.

Hawke snorted at Peter's attitude. "Well at least one person here is a gentleman!" She sniffed indignantly, poorly playing the part of a waspish noblewoman. Clearly she was pulling on some of her mother's failed attempts at teaching Marian manners.

Cullen didn't comment, but she forged on ahead and succeeded in making him even more uncomfortable.

"For the record, Cullen, if you were banging my sister, I'd be cheering you on."

In an instant the Commander turned a rather charming shade of red from his neck all the way to the very tips of his ears.

"Damn it, Hawke!"

The keep was secured with no trouble at all aside from the initial battle. It was a defensible and sturdy fortress once held by the Grey Wardens who had named it Griffon Wing. The reiteration of the initials of both the names wasn't lost on him. In fact, he might have said it was a bit clever.

Following the influx of the rest of the Inquisition's forces into the keep, Cullen had begged off from dinner with his men to find some peace. His own office, complete with locking doors was certainly one thing he missed back at Skyhold - one of two. Unbidden and unwanted, his melancholy descended upon him with force as he looked out from the battlements to the empty desert. Night had fallen, and only the faint shimmer of the sand caused by the sliver of the moon established where land merged into sky. Maker, why did the color of the sky remind him of her eyes?

He had it bad. Really bad.

Cullen reached around his arm to unbuckle his gauntlets, thinking he might lose himself in the task of cleaning his bloodied armor when his bare thumb brushed over the enchantment Evelyn had placed. He drew in a sharp breath, having not expected the sudden shock of feeling her magic against his senses.

Hesitantly, he drew his fingers across it again, smiling faintly as he did. The sensation became familiar when he repeated the action once more.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Peter's voice drew him out of his reverie, and Cullen looked up with a small, forced smile.

"Want me to be honest or tell you what you want to hear?"

The Seeker raised his brows, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth.

"Let's go for honesty, since I trust you."

Cullen sighed audibly. "I miss her."

Surprisingly, given Peter's earlier behavior on the matter, he seemed remarkably relaxed at Cullen's admission.

"I do too." A pause. "Mind if I ask how this all came about?"

The Commander shrugged, turning to face the other man as he leaned his back against the stone wall behind him.

"I can't name the time or place." He smirked up at the Seeker. "Honestly."

Peter was a very astute man, and with just one look at Cullen while the Commander spoke of his sister he could tell he was smitten with her. Strange, he thought, that at first he'd thought they hated each other. Perhaps that was why he had been so shocked when Hawke threw Cullen under the carriage, so to speak.

"And what of her?"

"Well she didn't slap me when I kissed her, so I assume that means the attention was welcome."

Peter let out a short laugh, rubbing his jaw with the back of his hand. "She would have too, I think, had she not wanted you to."

They stood companionably for a small while before Cullen spoke next. "Here I thought I was going to be interrogated at knife point and warned away from your precious little sister."

"I could, if that would make you feel better, but I trust you Cullen. It goes without saying that if you do end up hurting my little sister I will be the very last thing you see."

The Commander scowled. "Fair warning, then."

His thumb brushed against the cool metal of his gauntlet again, and he took a small measure of comfort in the familiar wake of Evelyn's magic.

"Where is that?"

"Griffon Wing Keep?" Leliana asked, her expression indulgent as she gazed at the Inquisitor over the war table.

The Spymaster circled a location on the map of Orlais with her finger near the carefully written label stating "The Western Approach". She further explained the Inquisition's location by tapping the edge of her fingernail down on the edge of something called "The Abyssal Reach". That certainly didn't sound happy - or particularly safe.

"That's a long way away," Evelyn mumbled. Truthfully she was a little dismayed that Cullen was so far from home, but reminded herself that he wasn't some green recruit. The man could clearly take care of himself. Still…

"His report states that two days from the postmark he and Hawke will investigate the Wardens. Apparently they are to meet someone named Stroud." Cassandra's voice filled the room from where Cullen usually stood. "They seem to have also picked up your brother."

"Peter?" That seemed to perk Evelyn up, Cassandra noticed.

"Yes, Evelyn. He's going to return with them to Skyhold once their business is complete."

"Hopefully they finish up soon, then," She smiled to herself, keen on seeing her brother and having a chance to properly apologize to Cullen for her behavior. She couldn't bring herself to do it on paper. That just wasn't personal enough.

She had more trouble than usual sleeping that night, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. The sensation had grown in intensity since her arrival at Skyhold. After a year, things were finally getting...interesting - depending on your point of view.

Getting to her feet, she wrapped herself in her robe and headed down the stairs into the hall which was completely deserted at this hour but for Ferelden sleeping by the throne. The weight of the atmosphere had lifted considerably now that she had come down from her tower, and she was not keen on returning anytime soon.

Evelyn padded down the stretch of stone along the dark runner that flowed the length of the hall, veering off into the library where she spied Solas. The elf was still awake, and regarded her with some measure of surprise when she appeared at such a late hour.

"Good evening, my friend. Is there something I can help you with?"

As ever, despite his kindness and the fact that she really did like him, something about Solas didn't quite add up to her.

"I can't sleep." She paused a beat, considering whether she should be forthright with him on this matter. If anyone would understand her connection to the Fade, it would indeed be Solas. "Have you encountered many demons outside of the Fade having not possessed a body? Without a fade rift nearby, I mean," she added at his curious look.

"No, I can't say I have. What do you mean?"

She recounted her experiences with whatever had been inhabiting her room with her. By the time she was finished he wore a frown and, unusually so, looked concerned.

"You haven't taken any action against it?"

She flushed. She hadn't, but it wasn't for lack of trying. "I've tried to make contact in the Fade several times, but I can't seem to find it. That or it won't approach me, which doesn't even make sense. It keeps asking me the same question."

Solas cocked his head, seeming to consider something. "Sleep here tonight." He gestured to the couch on the far end of the room. "I will help you tomorrow when you are better rested. I think it would be wise to bring your father as well."

He handed her a folded blanket from beside the couch, snapping it out over her when she sat.

"I wish you would have come to me earlier about this, my friend."

She offered him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to having so many talented people around who actually understand me when I speak."

He smiled in return, nodding his head before moving off to his desk where he sat and resumed the book he had been pursuing. Still unable to sleep, Evelyn pulled out her own bit of reading material.

The parchment was well-worn from its journey, but the handwriting was legible.

Evelyn

Your brother is fine company, but he isn't you.

Yours,

Cullen

His letter was just as brief as the one she had sent him, but the words he had written conveyed a very clear message to her.

I miss you, it said.

Same here, she thought with a small sigh.