"Where's Cassandra?"

The blonde head tried to peer around him and through the door. He took in the turn of her nose, the curl of her hair, and the glint in her eye and quickly shut it behind him. She'd only been four when he'd last seen her, but that had been quite old enough to be afraid of her. "Hello, Alice," he said. "Nice to see you, too."

His younger sister gasped and threw her arms around his middle. "Of course, Cullen! I'm so happy you're back," she said. She squeezed him tightly enough to make him wheeze, but she didn't seem to notice. "It's been ages and ages and ages. You're a giant!"

When she let go, he gulped a breath. "It has been some years, yes," he said. "I've grown a bit."

"So of course I'm glad to see you," she said. "But I hear about you all the time. I know you better than Mia, by now. And you can't blame me for being excited. You brought Cassandra with you! Is she beautiful and perfect, like I always imagined? Mia says she's a princess."

Cullen threw a helpless look at Mia, but she didn't seem inclined to help him. Typical. "Cassandra is a much better warrior than a princess. And right now she's resting, not waiting for questions from you," he said. Maybe she was already slipping into bed, curling up with Varric's words, running her fingers across the pages. He shook himself and looked sternly at Alice. "Leave her alone, little piglet."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "No one's called me that in forever."

"Maybe they should," he said. He looked at his things strewn across his bed. "What in Thedas have you been doing?"

"We were unpacking for you," said Mia. The smile in her voice had his palms sweating. What had he been carrying? Mia held out a closed fist. "What are these?"

She revealed the bag of bulbs from Ellana, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Plants, from the area around Skyhold. The Inquisitor thought it might be nice for me to have a reminder of the place. I didn't tell her that I wouldn't be able to plant them for fear of where they might spread."

"Why not? I have plenty of space in my garden, and it's quite well-contained. At worst I can plant them in pots, inside," said Mia. "I'll do that for you, unless you've grown a green thumb at the end of your sword arm?"

"Ah, no. Thank you, that would be welcome," he said. She was still smiling , and both his diminishing battle-instincts and his very rapidly returning brother-instincts were screaming.

"Genevieve looked at Rolan with fiery heat. 'I must marry the Viscount in the morning, to save my sister from ruin,' the heiress said. 'But for this one last night, claim me, my love. I am yours, until the sun rises," read Alice in dramatic tones. When Cullen spun to look at her, she grinned. "The handsome rogue pulled her to him roughly. He knew he shouldn't. This woman was a winter storm in summer, the roiling seas threatening to overturn the ship of his life, but when she whispered his name, he was hers once again."

Alice stopped and held a hand to her open mouth. "Cullen, this man is no gentleman!" she said, but her eyes sparkled.

"Give me that," he said. She made to pull it away from him, and he growled. "Don't damage it. It's Cassandra's."

She looked contrite as she handed it over, but soon another smile blossomed. "You're reading this for Cassandra?" she asked. She turned to Mia and clapped her hands. "You were right! Oh, I'm going to be sisters with a princess. How lovely."

"We aren't engaged," he started, but Mia's voice drowned him out.

"Of course I'm right. I always am. The woman is besotted with him. Anyone can see it. He's simply trying to hide it," she said. "What's the trouble? Is it because she's royal and gently reared? Too commanding? Too tall?"

He set the book down on a table and ran his hands through his hair. This was all feeling very familiar. Maker save him from sisters. "Her blood may be royal but she's about as gentle as a dragon. If I couldn't deal with people ordering me around, I would have made a very poor Templar. And I like tall women," he said. He tried to put a little battlefield thunder in his voice. "However, she is not besotted with me in any way. Her interests lie in another area entirely. As do my own," he added, but they didn't seem to hear him.

If anything, Alice looked even more excited. "She's interested in women?" she asked.

"No," he said, puzzled when her face fell. "It's a man. Another soldier. A very large one," he added under his breath.

But not far enough under. "Ah, so you're worried about inadequacy," said Mia, nodding sagely. "I'm sure she would overlook anything like that. She's very well-mannered."

Maker's breath. "I'm not talking about this," he said. He pushed past Alice to his bed and started organizing the haphazard piles they'd left while digging through his things. Clothing. Food. Personal items. Writing materials. Each item in its proper place.

When he finished, he moved the clothing to a dresser drawer and saw both women staring at him. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Mia. "Only you are clearly not my brother. He barely knew what a drawer was, much less that you could put things in it using any kind of order."

"The Templars emphasized neatness," he said. A thought struck him. Maybe if he could get them to leave… "Also a good night's sleep."

Alice put her hands on her hips. "Nonsense. We want to hear everything about your whole life since you left. And then we have to tell you about ours!" she said.

He must have looked horrified. Mia smiled. "Well, if you'd only written us more often, we wouldn't have so much to catch up on," she said.

"But you have children to care for."

"Brandon's already putting them to bed. And Alice is still too much of a child herself to have any of her own."

His younger sister was too busy giving him a speculative look to acknowledge the insult. "Unless you have somewhere else you'd rather be," she said. Her eyebrows waggled suggestively.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, sitting on the bed hastily.

They bounded over and settled on either side of him. "Everything," they said in unison.

Mia and Alice had done him two favors with their persistence. He'd been so exhausted when he finally slept that there had been no chance of sliding into the Fade. It would have been doubling embarrassing to dream of Cassandra, as his sisters had fallen asleep in his room, Alice curled at the foot of the bed and Mia draped over the chair in the corner. He didn't see how it could have been comfortable for either of them, but they'd woken without visible ache and dashed off to arrange breakfast.

The second favor became apparent when he found Cassandra cleaning and arranging their equipment. Cullen had half-convinced himself what had passed between them had been a waking dream, or his imagination, but one glance from her dark eyes was enough to reassure him. She'd been thinking about him as well. And they were a little nervous, a little less certain than they'd been before. The waiting had rattled her. It was nice to know it wasn't just him.

She fought a yawn when she handed him his breastplate, and he smirked. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Yes. Someone was having a - what is the word? A slumber party, next door to me," she said.

"Ah," he said, smiling. "I thought it might have been the distraction of dreams."

She gave him a cool look, then swung behind him to help him buckle the straps that were harder to reach. "Perhaps," she said quietly, and he smiled even more widely.

When they stepped into their self-drawn ring, neither of them were at full strength, but it hardly mattered. The entire farm gathered to watch them spar, and their awed looks, even from the ones who served as guards when needed, reminded him of how much he'd gotten used to skill as a matter of course. He and Cassandra were likely the best fighters they'd seen since the Blight. Maybe since before.

And if Cassandra made him look a little better than he was, well, that was a kindness he would try to repay.

After breakfast, Alice took them on a tour of the expanded farm, with his niece and nephews tagging along. Mia's oldest was Peter, after their late father, though he was neither so tall nor forthright. At fifteen, he was well on his way to manhood, but Cullen was relieved that there'd been no hint of hunger in his face when watching them fight. Cullen would have accepted it, trained him if he wanted, but it was clear the boy didn't have the heart for it. He was introspective, quiet, and loved nature and language. Cullen would still make sure he knew the right way to hold a weapon, but it was well that he wouldn't seek the life of a soldier.

The middle child was a girl, Katrine. She chattered enough to be well-matched with her Aunt Alice, but she was neither so dramatic nor so unfocused. Her questions were sharp, intellectual, and he quickly fell out of his depth following the flow of her thoughts. She wanted to be an adventurer, a healer, and a great scholar in turns. From what he could tell, she was already well on her way to them all. She reminded him a little of Dagna, Skyhold's arcanist, and he told her as much. Katrine loved the stories of her work and begged him to write Dagna a letter soon to introduce them.

The youngest was Alistair, after the King, and he was eerily like his namesake. He spent most of their walk making up jokes and naming every animal they saw, and the rest of it tripping over his own feet like a puppy. Alice saw Cullen shaking his head and grinned. "The youngest children are always the best, don't you think?"

"I've seen no personal evidence of that," he said, and Cassandra chuckled in front of him. He traced the lines of her back briefly. She was wearing a light tunic, borrowed, and the fabric was much thinner than what she usually wore. He allowed himself a minute of indulgence before turning his eyes and mind back to Alistair. "I was just thinking how aptly named he is. I assume Mia is an admirer?"

"Don't get her started," said Alice. "I think Brandon is slightly worried she'll run off to Denerim and try to enter the court."

"I think he's safe. His Highness is very much in love with his queen," he said.

"You know them?" asked Alice. When he nodded, she groaned. "Definitely don't tell Mia that. So what's he really like?"

Cullen pictured the other ex-Templar, settled and in love in Denerim with his Hero. "Lucky," he said. And no matter how Alice pressed him, that was all he would say.

They ended up at a pond a few miles away, one he remembered well. Cullen looked around in wonder as Katrine and Alistair chased rings around the same trees he'd climbed so many years ago. By unspoken agreement, the older Rutherford children had always allowed each other their one private place when they needed it. Darren's had been the hayloft, Mia's the flat stone in the easternmost meadow, and his the pond. When he'd sat on the pier and dreamed, he'd thought it bigger than any ocean could ever be.

He'd been on real seas since, traveled the length and breadth of Thedas. It still looked bigger to him.

Peter had the same look of happiness on his face, and Cullen wondered if he came here, too. He was just moving to ask him when Alice's voice carried across the grass. "Cullen had his first kiss here, you know. He was so nervous he nearly kissed her nose."

He whipped his head around and glared at her. Cassandra's face only held the suggestion of a smile, but it was enough to embarrass him. "How would you know? You were barely walking," he said.

"Darren told me. He was watching."

"Well, I'm better at it now," he muttered. "For the record."

"Peter kisses his girlfriend here, too," said Alistair. "I think her lips look slimy but he likes them."

Katrine and Alice both laughed. Peter reddened but made no reply, only walked away from them and stared out at the water. Cullen reprimanded the girls with his eyes, but neither seemed repentant. He followed the boy and stood next to him quietly for a minute.

"There's no shame in kissing a girl," he said eventually.

"I know that," said Peter. He gave Cullen a scathing look. "I'm not a little kid."

Cullen held up his hand in apology. "Then what troubles you?"

"Alistair calls her my girlfriend, but she's not. I want her to be, but she's just my friend. I only kissed her once. I don't know if she liked it. And now every time I talk to her I say stupid things, or get nervous, and then it's too late. And she's so beautiful. Everyone likes her. Maybe it will always be too late," he said in a rush of trapped words released. His face was resigned and defeated.

Of all of the people in Thedas, Cullen was quite possibly the least qualified person to give this boy advice on women. But he'd volunteered for the duty, and he would see it through. As soon as he could think of something to say.

"I need your help, Uncle Cullen," said Peter. Cullen started at the honorific, spoken so casually, and he realized they talked about him often. The boy shifted on his feet. "You've seen the world, known lots of people. Not like Mother, who just tells me it will be as the Maker wills. What should I do? I don't know if she likes me. But I know I like her. Maybe even more than like," he added defiantly.

Cullen knew better than to tell him he was too young to think of love, though Mia certainly would have asked him to. He remembered well how old he'd felt in the Circle. How young he'd been. He searched for the stories he'd told new recruits and found one to suit.

"When I trained, at Kinloch," he said, "it was on an island surrounded by a moat. Most of the time we had to wait for a boat to get us, but if the water was low, and the day was clear, there was a broken bridge of stones that could take you all the way to the other side, if you stepped right. Some of the young Templars went slowly, trying to know where to place their feet. All of them fell in. Their caution betrayed them. The ones who succeeded, even the first time, were the ones who didn't wait for certainty."

Peter looked at him in confusion, and he tried to clarify. "We'd all like to be sure of our steps, to wait to cross the unknown until we know we'll be safe, but love isn't always a boat over the waves. Sometimes it's stones under the water, hard to see but easy to feel. If you let the small part of your mind carry you, the instincts, you'll know where to go. You won't always avoid a wetting, if the time isn't right, but you'll at least have a chance of reaching the other side," he said. He thought of his past, all of the chances he'd never taken. He'd never even tried for the far shore. "When you're with her, let the next step fade away. Look at her as she is, not how she might be. Listen to your instincts. You'll know when to speak."

The boy shook his head. "I'm too afraid," he whispered.

"Be afraid, if you need. A risk deserves respect. But don't be cautious. Use the courage I see inside of you," said Cullen, lying with his commander's voice. Peter looked anything but courageous.

The boy's eyes reflected that same doubt, and Cullen smiled. "I've been a warrior for a long time. I know what bravery looks like."

Peter shuffled his feet again, considering. "Her family's coming to the dinner tonight," he said. "I'll try to be brave."

"You will be, Peter," he said. He clapped a hand on his shoulder, the same way he would a soldier facing his first patrol. "When a man knows what he wants, he'll never be anything less."

Alice shepherded the children away soon after, citing waiting chores in a way that practically leered. He ignored her, but only because she was doing exactly what he wanted. The longer Cassandra stayed silent, the more prominent she was in his thoughts. As soon as his relatives were out of sight, she strode to his place at the edge of the water and slid her hand into his. She moved her thumb in lazy figure eights across his hand, and he bit back a groan.

"I like your family," she said. "They're very open. Very Fereldan. They are not so guarded as my own was."

The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his family, but if she desired it, he would play his part. "Yes, very open about prying into others' secrets. Please tell me if they ask anything inappropriate. I won't be able to stop them, but I can give them meaningful looks."

"That won't be necessary," she said. "What were you speaking of with Peter? It seemed very serious."

He pivoted to face her, still a little surprised that her eyes were level with his own. "Girl troubles. He's pining over his first love, though she's not yet aware of her status," he said. "Sound familiar?"

"I believe I've heard a story like that before, somewhere. Perhaps Varric wrote it," she said, smiling. She looked around. "This does seem to be the place for Rutherford romance."

"That was a long time ago," he said, flushing. "I was young."

"And now you are wise and experienced and advising others."

"Hardly that. I hope I did well enough," he said. He smiled wryly. "I mostly counseled him to do the opposite of what I've done."

"That is good advice, then. Peter is too much like you," said Cassandra.

"But he doesn't want to be a soldier," he said with confusion.

"Is that all you think you are?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "He's serious. Too serious. He thinks deeply and wants life to be more ordered than it will ever be. He'll talk himself out of happiness, too, if the world lets him."

He tried to glare at her, but the faint smile on her lips was distracting. The continuing movement of her thumb over his palm was even more so. "Lucky for me I have you to instruct me on the true path, then," he said.

"I'm pleased you have come to recognize this truth," she said. She squeezed his hand. "And he will have you for his instructor. What was your path for him?"

Cullen slid his free hand around her neck. He smiled at the flash of heat in her eyes. "I told him to be brave," he said.

He pulled her to him with a speed that surprised him. He swallowed her gasp with the slide of his mouth over hers, and oh she was as soft and strong as he'd imagined. She responded with a fervor that only fed his own hunger until it was the only thing remaining. They both staggered as they clung to each other, warring and surrendering in turn. He walked back, still holding her to him, to steady them against a nearby tree.

Her free hand drifted down his back, light and delicate, until it dragged his hips flush against hers. Cullen moaned into her mouth as he felt himself hardening. He spent a moment wondering if his quick reaction revealed too much about his long abstinence, but there was no time for thought when her mouth was inviting him deeper. Everything faded in the face of the physical sensations, and he couldn't believe he'd been without them for so long.

It seemed like they stayed that way for hours, a snarled ball of mutual need. He barely noticed when her fingers worked their way under his shirt. He was lost in the short hair twisting between his fingers, the sweetness of the mouth pressing against his, the hard muscle under his fingers, and the heat of her core rocking against him in steady rhythm. There was no room inside him to hold it all, and the wanting built with undeniable force. He was reaching a point of no return.

Maker, but she felt amazing.

Still, even though there was no one else around, this was still too public. He couldn't take her here, the way his body wanted, with the world watching on. But worse was the growing fear he might simply come in his pants, like an inexperienced young man. Cullen started to ease the pressure of his mouth, trying to draw back, when her questing fingers abandoned the planes of his stomach and unsnapped the first button of his trousers.

He jerked away in self-preservation and was rewarded with pain as he hit the tree. "No," he said, breathing heavily. "Cassandra, you can't. I'm too close."

"Good," she said.

Her hand followed his hips easily, adroitly undoing the rest of the fastenings. Her long, slender fingers reached under his smalls and brushed his cock. He whimpered.

"Please," he said, struggling to hold on. "We're outside. I can't…"

She stepped closer to him, trapping her arm between them but also shielding what she was doing from anyone who wasn't right next to them. Her hand stroked him while she planted soft kisses on his jaw. "Let me, Cullen."

Her voice shook, just a little, and that more than anything almost took him over the edge. He closed his eyes. "It's cheating to use my name," he groaned, but he didn't try to stop her. He was so hard, and her hand was just right around him. She knew exactly when to push and when to slow down, when he needed more and when he wanted the anticipation of it. He held tightly to her, too desperate to do anything but submit.

Without warning, he was thrusting into her fist, caught up in the end before he knew it was starting. Cassandra dropped to her knees, pushing his clothing aside just enough to wrap her lips around him, and it shocked and aroused him beyond thought. He exploded into her with a hoarse cry. She held him through it, her hands around his clothed thighs, and he didn't know why that felt even better than her mouth.

When he was finished, his legs were too wobbly to support him. He sank to the ground next to her with a sigh. He should make himself decent, he knew, but he didn't seem to have the energy to cover himself. He summoned the last of what he could find to calm his breathing and pull her against his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said into her hair.

"For what?" she asked. The surprise in her voice was evident.

"You didn't get much out of that."

"I'm content."

He frowned. Contentment wasn't happiness. "That's not enough," he said. "I don't want you to think…" That this was just his enjoyment. Just something he was taking from her, like a stranger would. He'd never been with anyone outside of brothels and quick, hidden couplings, but Varric's books had told him there were other ways for a woman to be pleased. "What can I do?"

"Nothing now," she said. She threaded her fingers through his, her grip strong and comforting. "This was satisfying. But I will be composing several reports to the Inquisition tonight. I'll need privacy. And I'd have your help, if you'll give it."

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. "Gladly."

"Thank you, Cullen," she said with emphasis, and he grinned. He let her go and finally readjusted his clothing. They sat in silence, watching the mayflies dance across his pond and through the flowers of the shore while the world wound itself into their peace.