It would have been more poetic if a sunrise greeted them as they emerged from the depths of the deep roads. Instead, the afternoon sun blazed down through the red cliffs crowded around them. If he'd stepped out an hour earlier or later, the light would have been blocked by the rocky precipices instead of into his eyes. They'd only been in the darkspawn lair for a day and a half but it felt a week passed. Cullen glared at the sun when he should have felt ecstatic at seeing it again.

A hand gently tapped his arm and he turned away from the sky. Lana had remained silent through their climb out of the deep, only gesturing to some danger or drop off and trusting he'd remain close enough without losing her. He had only the drum of his shoes upon the ground to keep him company through a mile of climbing back to the surface. By the summer day light her cheeks appeared wan, her eyes blotted and strained. She thinned her lips in a restrained thought, probably one he didn't want to hear. He'd tried to think of something to say to her as they walked away from the mage's body, but every idea warped in his mind into only renewing their buried argument. After a time, Cullen decided that if she wanted to talk she'd say something and it was best to let sleeping mabari lie.

"We can continue along this dried riverbed," Lana said, her voice rough as the rocky edge. "There's no need to climb the cliffs."

"No?" Cullen rolled his shoulders, trying to waken his strained muscles. At this point, the best his arms could offer was a meager shrug, scaling anything was out of the question.

"No death defying leaps off crumbling stairs this time," she sighed and tapped her fingers against his arm.

"Oh, that's almost. I mean, it wasn't so..." She wanted something, she needed something from him. For the Maker's sake, say it! "Where are we?" Not that.

Lana didn't catch on to the internal war ravaging behind Cullen's eyes. She slipped ahead of him and waved a finger that he should follow. Silently, she led him down the dead riverbed while limping over the red clay cracked like broken eggshells. It wasn't until they'd stepped out of the tower that Cullen realized she'd been injured in their fight against White. Lana silently tied up her ankle and relied upon her staff to support her. She didn't turn to him once for help.

Pausing at the edge of the riverbed where the land fell away as if a giant snatched it up, Lana pointed a finger below them. Cullen sidled up beside her and a southern wind blasted sea salt into his eyes. Gulls shrieked above the clouds while dipping in and out of masts of ships decorated with the flags of Nevarra, Kirkwall, and Ferelden. Despite over five years in Kirkwall, his knowledge of ships reached somewhere in the 'that's a big one, and that's a little one' range. There were a lot of big ones bobbing along the sea, most glinting in the glare of the sun off the calm waters. A handful of the smaller ones took up near the coast itself, the wooden docks extended like a complicated maze into the sea.

"Cumberland, or near enough to count," Lana said. She peered over the edge down at a dozen dock workers scrabbling against cargo. Two elves held a box between them, the crates marked with the symbols of every port they'd ever landed in, while a qunari of all things stood stone still watching over them. Lana pinched her nose and sighed, "I wonder sometimes if they have any idea how easily all of this could fall. Without the grey wardens maintaining the seals on the deep roads..." Her thoughts trailed off as she watched a box slide off the ramp and bowl through the elves. The qunari tipped her foot up and stopped the box without shifting.

"I..." Cullen understood her message and why she brought him here without her having to say it. He threw his shoulders back to stand in attention in the hope that would blot away the regret blooming in the back of his mind. "I can...shall take a ship back to Kirkwall."

Lana turned from her vigil and that ornery spark of hers twinkled in her eye, "You know I'm going to need that armor back. The wardens get very particular and grumpy when people 'not of the order' wear it."

"Oh, I..." He patted down the steel griffin that'd been horribly abused in the short time he wore it. "I hadn't thought..."

"So, unless you plan on traveling back to Kirkwall naked, I think it's best I stick with you." Her tone was flat, but for a brief second her eyes flickered down his body.

"That would be preferable to...the, uh, sunburn I'd have to explain," Cullen stammered. "And other things too."

Lana didn't laugh at him, her energy seeming to be already spent. Instead, she gestured to a path dug into the cliffside that led right into the heart of the port. "I know where we can rent some horses. Shouldn't be more than a days travel back. And no brontos this time, I promise."

Cullen smiled from her jibe, but the edges stung. Her lighthearted nature was buried under the mask of command, the glint in her eye matted and her sharp smile dulled. She shielded herself and her pain behind the grey warden banner. He wished he could find some way to speak to her, to get her to speak of whatever weighed upon her heart, but he knew he was too incompetent to manage such a feat. And, a dark part of him taunted, he did the same damn thing with the templars as she did the wardens.

Lana was true to her word, seeming to know everyone on the docks of not-quite Cumberland. They procured two of the better horses and rode away from the setting sun towards Kirkwall. She kept far enough ahead perched upon her bay that Cullen was left alone with only his thoughts and the sturdy horse below him. He found himself missing the bronto.

By the time they broke into the outskirts of Kirkwall, the sun was rising. It was mostly farmland, save the occasional stand and ring of houses. She did not offer for them to stop, and he did not challenge the idea of riding through the night. Lana dismounted from her horse and let it slip off to a creek for water.

The city woke below them. Smoke poured out of the foundry in Low Town mutilating the pinks of the sunrise into a foggy grey. He knew the sounds of Kirkwall - peddlers belting their lungs out until it rang in your ears for days - the smells of Kirkwall - there was a delicacy to detecting the scent of various fish rotting on the docks - and the pain of Kirkwall. But here with only untamed grass wafting in the breeze and a few herds of sheep chomping away upon it the city looked deceptively peaceful. Dare he think it, even inviting. To his right was the Waking Sea, more of the biggest ships sliding through the opened locks to drop off that rancid fish. And in between them lay the gallows. He could just make out a few of golden statues, their heads clutched in their chained hands.

"Well," Lana stood alone, her own inscrutable eyes canvasing every inch of Kirkwall. "Back where we began, and the city isn't aflame."

"It's a wonder," Cullen commented. "I'd have assumed at least a dragon attack." Lana scrunched her face up and touched her shoulder as if in a memory. He caught the familiar pain and remarked, "You've fought dragons as well?"

She shrugged her perhaps once dragon mutilated shoulder and continued to gaze across the city. "A couple...dozen."

"Andraste's tears," he exclaimed. Why didn't she rant and rave? Thunder from on high to every man or woman who dared to rise against her the terrors she'd clipped away from Thedas? That her opposition might as well turn around and head home before she turned her wrath on them? If anyone deserved to retire to the quiet life away from the pain and blood it was the hero of Ferelden.

"Well," she said, turning to face him, "you might as well strip."

"Beg pardon?" He tried to not whip his eyes to the gallows and what felt like hundreds of eyes judging him from across the water.

"The armor," Lana said, her hand breaking away from her staff to point at it.

"Oh, right, uh..." He should be able to take it off in his sleep, but his fingers slipped against the buckles yanking the chest piece tighter than it already was. Lana'd been the one to pull it off him in the...Cullen swallowed back that memory trying to stuff it deep into his mind. So deep he could almost trick himself into thinking it never even happened. It was only his imagination playing him the fool.

"You can put it in my bag," she said, only glancing over him as he struggled through undressing himself. She kept a vigil across Kirkwall, her eyes piercing the movement of a waking city the way a distant hawk would.

Cullen stuffed each bit into her pack as it came off until he stood in only the blue under layer, the starched collar tight upon his neck while the deep cut exposed his nearly translucent chest hair. A cool breeze wafted through the thin linen freezing his skin before the summer sun rose. He grabbed onto the hem of the tunic when Lana's fingers wrapped around his.

"No, that's, as much as I'd enjoy watching...you can keep it and the pants," her voice bobbed around and she shook her head. "I'm not so cruel as to send you bare assed back to the templars." A flush rose up her cheeks and she bit down on her tongue. Tell her now! It's the perfect time!

"Thank you," Cullen said while flattening the edge of the shirt back against his hips.

"You look good in blue," she mused. Her fingers drifted above the tunic as if she regretted letting him keep it.

"That's, I, uh...will you be able to carry all that?" He pointed to the bag now overflowing with armor and all the necessities of surviving the deep roads she began with.

Lana bowed her head, a smirk twisting up her lips, "I learned a few tricks over the years. I think I can handle it." She didn't grab up her bag, but traced the edge of her fingernails down her staff. "I...I feel as if I should pay you for, uh..."

Cullen paled. He knew what she meant, but the implications rattled him, "No, that's, that's not necessary. I was acting as a...templars do not accept coin."

"Right, forgot about that." She turned away from him until she stood in profile, her haunted eyes gazing across a world that didn't care one whit for what she did. How many other drunks in how many other taverns spoke of the hero of Ferelden as if she were only a conspiracy? How many people dismissed her as nothing more than that little mage who got lucky?

"Lana, I..."

Her eyes blinked against dawn's light and she turned to him. A soft smile turned up her lips. "Yes?"

"I..." love you. I love you. I've loved you for years. The thought of you feeling hurt, or lonely, or broken rends me apart. I want you to be happy, to love in return. "I was wondering why White called you Lady Mage?"

She sighed, "A joke on his part. Everyone knows who I am by reputation, so I tend to come with no introduction. Since none was offered he referred to me as 'that lady mage.' It stuck and I found it refreshing in a way. He...he was a good man once."

"He was a blood mage."

"He was that too," she admitted. Her fingers ran down the length of her staff, and Cullen noticed that she wasn't haphazardly flicking at the wood. Each movement traced one of the names carved in it. Lana cocked an eye at him, "You noticed them? It began with those lost in...when I wasn't there at Kinnloch. I keep adding more. I'm uncertain what I'll do when I run out of staff. Every person I failed to save."

Cullen grabbed onto her hand wrapping his fingers around the top of hers and holding it above the names of the dead. "It's not your fault."

He expected her to yank back her hand, but exhausted eyes turned to him and she twisted it in his grasp. Threading her fingers around his, she sighed, "That's not how it works. You of all people know that."

Cullen felt struck from her words. How did she know him so well? How did she cut to his quick without even trying? Lana glanced out at the sea, then slipped her free hand around his back. Their bodies pressed together. With Cullen still holding her hand they looked like two people about to dance together on the hills at dawn. His right hand lay limply at his side, uncertain what to do, when Lana placed her head against his shoulder. Her fingers massaged the small of his back in tender circles. Even aware that one of the other templars could be wandering the outskirts, Cullen enveloped his arms around her.

"Mage and templar," she whispered.

"You should hate me," he said, his breath warming her forehead.

"I would say the same," Lana countered back.

"I could never..." Cullen began when his tongue tripped over itself. Yes, he could have. If she'd been in the tower when Uldred and his army of blood mages began the revolt he knew he'd hate her with the same fury as he did everyone else who survived. Maker, he was so tired of this anger. "You're special to...so many people."

"Cullen, I could be any mage in any circle. I stumbled into a chance opportunity. How many more never even get one?"

"That's specious reasoning, for all you know just as many would falter in your position, or use that power extended to them for their own ends." His arms stiffened around her, the anger rising.

Lana didn't prod him, instead she folded her arms tighter around him, her forehead nestling deeper into his chest. She sighed, "You still see mages as problems, not people."

The starkness tripped him up. "I...I don't see you that way."

She lifted her head and searched through his eyes. Sweet Andraste, he wished he knew what do, what to say. Even to return to the man he was before the circle fell for a few days...Lana rose up on her toes, her eyes slipping tight as she kissed him. She didn't prolong or tease with her tongue, but she put all of herself into what he realized would be their last meeting. Cullen wrapped his arms even tighter, trying to memorize the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips, and the curves of her body before it all fell apart.

Lana slipped down breaking contact, but his lips still buzzed from her presence. "Your heart belongs to the templars," she said patting his cheek.

He found enough presence of mind to stare into her eyes to say, "And yours to the wardens."

"That's..." she snickered, "that's perceptive of you."

"There's not much hope, is there?" he voiced the words that'd followed their every touch, every kiss.

Lana shut her eyes and he watched a few tears dribble down her cheek. "No. I'm afraid not. Doomed before it even began. Perhaps, perhaps there'd be a chance if you left the templars and I the wardens." She knew the finality of her sentence. It would never happen, neither of it. He needed the templars as much as she needed the wardens. While the chantry had him bound through lyrium, something in Lana's words told him she was just as knotted up in the wardens. The chance of their rekindling anything was a dream to survive through an empty night, nothing more.

She broke her hands away and placed them upon his chest. Cullen lowered his own, prepared to let her slip away. Her fingers traced his chest below the thin linen following the curve of his pec. Lana paused and closed her eyes. Fade energy snapped out of the world below her fingers. A warmth spread all through Cullen's body leaving behind a renewed vigor in his bones. He felt as if he could jog the entirety = of the wounded coast now.

"What did you do?" he asked.

"A simple protection spell. In case, I heard there was a lot of criminal activity in Kirkwall and...I didn't want to leave you unprotected."

"Lana, that's not-"

"Please," she blinked away the last of her tears while sliding away from him, "let me do this. It helps." A cold wind whipped between them carrying the stinging sea air and the sound of ships rocking against waves.

"I should return to the gallows," Cullen said aloud to remind himself of where he belonged.

Lana nodded as she dabbed away any regret clinging to her face. What was left behind was the fearsome Commander of the Grey, cold and aloof so she could rise every day. He wondered how many wardens under her knew about her staff of the dead, knew that she carried the burden of them all even if she didn't need to. Extending her hand, she gripped Cullen's for a polite handshake, "Thank you for your services, Knight-Captain. I believe it's best to part ways here."

"But you could take a ship from the gallows." That selfish part of him didn't want to do what was necessary, didn't want to give her up. Just a few more minutes.

Lana smiled as she shook her head, "A mage covered in blood, I wouldn't make it two steps before someone cut me down." His eyes fell away from her, smothered by the truth of it. It was doubtful they'd even let her dock before picking her off from the walls. She hauled up her pack, his lost armor jangling together, and motioned her head towards the city proper.

Unable to watch her leave, Cullen turned to face the sea. A gull drifted in and out of the clouds, unwilling to decide upon a spot to land on the waves. The other clustered birds squawked at it, but that gull chose to remain apart.

"Cullen," her voice cracked above the cry of the lonesome bird. He glanced over his shoulder. Only her silhouette was visible against the rising light of the sun. "Stay safe." And before he could answer, she resumed her walk out of his life.

Securing passage to the Gallows was easy, the dock workers more than happy to move anyone there free of charge. The fact that the only people who traveled to the gallows - templars, mages, and chantry - were also ones that could make the sailor's lives hell aided greatly. As his feet stepped upon the stone ground, Cullen heard the rare sound of laugher echoing amongst the statues. In his absence, someone decided a few of the apprentices should have a little run around the landing area. They varied in age and height, the youngest perhaps ten while some of the apprentices closer to their harrowing slowed to let the boy catch up. Kicking about a ball with no true end goal, the real fun seemed to be in stretching their legs away from the cell walls of the circle.

Nodding at his boatman in thanks, Cullen stepped crisply towards the gallows while ignoring the game when the ball skittered across the front of his feet. He stopped in time, but the girl chasing after it didn't. She smacked into him, her elbow digging into his side.

"I'm so sorry for that," she laughed while pulling her wild blonde hair from her face. Her smile froze as she looked past the blue undershirt and into his face. "Knight-Captain, I didn't realize it was you." Terror crept along her eyes and her mouth bobbed with unspoken words. The game was abandoned by the others, the court falling silent as every apprentice turned to look at them. "I...please forgive me."

How did he not notice the way they looked at him? It wasn't respect but fear that shook the girl...the mage. He tried to summon a smile, but it flipped to a broken frown as he spoke, "It is all right. Accidents happen." Leaning over, Cullen snatched up the errant ball and pushed it into her hands, "You may continue."

It wasn't until he stood at the door into the heart of the gallows that he heard a single mage breathe again. Their chatter picked up as a few of their exasperated words carried on the wind. "I thought you were done for!" "Andraste's tits, how are you not shaking to death?" "That was damn lucky, it was." Mage and Templar. Us versus Them.

Leaving the mages behind, Cullen crossed into the gallows. The stationed templars paused for a moment before recognizing their Knight-Captain. He clipped past them, aiming to find the Knight-Commander. Meredith was an early riser and today was no different as she paced about her office from behind the closed door. He thought he heard the barest whisper of her voice speaking alone, but it faded away after he knocked.

"Ah, Knight-Captain," Meredith stood leaning against her desk. No one else was present in the room. She shuffled some parchment scattered upon her desk and turned her full gaze upon him, "you have returned to us. I trust your mission went well."

"The blood mage is dead, ser," Cullen said, his shoulders straightening into formation. He wrapped his hands behind his back for balance.

"Excellent work. And your little accomplice, I assume she's skipped back across the waters to Ferelden?"

Cullen blanched. He hadn't told anyone about Lana. "Ma'am?"

Meredith's unyielding sight cut through him, "The chantry turns a blind eye to the dangers of the grey wardens but I trusted you'd keep a watch on her. Maker only knows the damage she could do if unleashed."

He could only bob his head along as if that'd been his plan the entire time. "I am ready to return to my duties."

"We've had a few interesting developments in your absence. Three suspected blood mages escaped the gallows."

"I will change and track them down immediately," Cullen said raising his hand for a salute.

But Meredith held a hand out to stop him while she glanced across a letter upon her desk, "That is not your orders. I've decided that it should be the Champion's duty to track down these dangerous mages and bring them in."

"The Champion? She's not a templar," Cullen stated the obvious in case Meredith somehow forgot.

"Ha," Meredith snorted, "that much is clear. But if she is to be the guardian of this city then she should be made well aware of all the dangers lurking within, no matter what she bleats on the steps of the chantry."

Cullen twisted his head trying to shake logic out of Meredith's words. It was the templars job to protect the people from magic. They ignored the Qunari threat looming over the city for far too long because of politics and so many suffered because of it. To drag the Champion into their work would only muddy the waters more, as if Kirkwall wasn't enough of a heaving mess without a Viscount. What game was Meredith playing at and why? "I don't understand," he said, watching his Knight-Commander continue to pace again. She seemed unable to sit still for more than a few seconds as of late.

"I have it under control, it will work to our advantage I'm certain," she blinked and turned as if seeing him for the first time, "Knight-Captain, you're out of uniform."

"I..." Cullen patted down the warden tunic, "did not stop to dress."

"You should do that, then return to your vigil outside. Let the people know we are protecting them...even as their Champion forgets," Meredith lapsed into her dark mood, the conversation over. Her Knight-Captain turned on his heel and left her to her own devices.

When Cullen opened the door to his room, for a heartbreaking moment he thought he spotted a silhouette of a woman standing before his window - but it was merely a trick of the light and his exhausted eyes. He yanked off the last of the warden attire, taking a special glee in removing the shortened pants and bunching them up for the launders. Something bulged in the pocket and Cullen yanked out the crystal vial that began this whole quest. White's phylactery was black now, as dead as the mage it was connected to. He could return it to the tranquil; they'd clean it out, polish it up, and fill it with some other apprentice's blood. That was the smart thing to do, the proper rules of the order to follow.

It was also the only thing he had left that connected him to Lana. Folding up the grey warden tunic, Cullen placed the linen deep in his sparse chest. Below that he secreted away White's phylactery.

Dressing quickly in his templar armor, Cullen returned to his duties. The apprentices had already gone, leaving the gallows empty save the few shops and the other knights pacing about. Whatever may come of Lana, whatever may come of the grey wardens or the future itself, at least he knew where his place in the world lay. The templars were his home and that would never change.