By the time Ellana returned from The Undercroft with her armour and weapons, Cullen had their mounts ready to go by the gates. He'd quickly handed over his guard rotations and training schedule to Rylen.

They were only going to Haven and back. Only a few months ago the trip would have taken nearly a day and a half each way on horseback. With the traders and pilgrims still making their way up and down the mountain, they'd created paths and roads. Cullen had even set-up a guard station at the half-way point where they could change mounts to shorten the travel-time even further. It was now only an hour after dusk, with the worry of what was happening in Haven to fuel them, Cullen expected them to arrive in Haven by morning. As long as they didn't end up lost in a blizzard, of course. With that in mind, he'd selected a pair of sure-footed swift mountain ponies for their descent; a breed the Avaar used to traverse perilous terrain. He knew they'd be in a hurry, taking one of their more exotic mounts was only asking for trouble.

"What? No Mr Tiddles?" Ellana asked as she swung herself into her saddle. Cullen rolled his eyes, at least her bad sense of humour was still working.

"I wanted to keep my fingers thanks, that damn nug still hates me."

Ellana glanced over at him as Haven came into view; a frown, caught somewhere between confusion and concern, creased her brow. The eastern edge of the horizon hadn't yet turned pink, but Haven was lit up like a beacon. After their darkened trip through the mountains, the glare of reflected flame on the snow was dazzling enough to leave spots on the back of Cullen's eyelids whenever he blinked. That light wasn't just from their guards on the walls; it was far too bright.

What could have happened in Haven to warrant every torch burning?

The concern on Ellana's face chilled to something darker. Her expression bordered on fierce, her jaw clenched, reins wrapped tight around each tight fist. It was almost enough to make Cullen pity whatever fool had decided that targeting their first home had been a good idea. Almost, but not quite.

The ground levelled out, and she clicked her tongue, nudging their mounts to a faster pace. Snow kicked up by hooves billowed into wet, silent clouds around them, turning them into ghosts from the knees down as their mounts went from a trot to a gallop.

Cullen hailed the guards on their look-out posts and several of them scurried off to open the gates for them. Rebuilding Haven after the avalanche had been a group effort. The residents had done much of it themselves, they'd insisted upon it, in fact. It said volumes about them, they refused to be beaten. They'd rebuilt, as they had after the Blight. Haven was now bigger than it had been when The Inquisition called the village home, new buildings replaced the ones that were destroyed (the tavern had been the first, naturally). Though the large stone chantry had somehow survived. It had needed repairs; large sections of the roof had collapsed and the inside had been decimated, but the structure itself remained. It had quickly become the symbol not only of the Chant, but also of Haven itself; battered and bruised, but still standing.

Despite the hour, Haven bustled with activity. New and old residents alike were scurrying through the village with nervous glances and hurried steps. The relief on their faces when he and Ellana rode through the gates was palatable. The Commander in him was pleased to bring these people peace after they had endured so much. Another, rather more personal, part of him was frustrated with the fact that wherever they went people expected The Inquisitor to be able to fix everything, that they relied on her so heavily made him uneasy.

Their reaction hadn't gone unnoticed by Ellana; she rose higher in her saddle, spine stiff and head held high — despite hours spent on horseback trying to navigate the treacherous mountain paths — her expression severe and authoritative. It couldn't have been plainer that she was here to fix things, and not to bring welcome, but ultimately fruitless, comfort. It was comforting in-and-of itself he supposed. This was what they needed right now: action, not sympathy.

A trio of guards hurried over to them as they dismounted. Two relieving them of their horses while another led them through the village and explained what was going on,

"Inquisitor, Commander," he greeted them respectfully with a salute over his chest, "Thank you for coming so quickly. I think you'll want to see this. Everything is exactly as we found it, though almost every person in Haven has taken notice. If you were hoping to keep this quiet then I'm afraid the cat is out of the bag, so to speak."

The guard was almost stammering in his eagerness to give his report, to push whatever this mess was up the chain of command. Ellana found a tight smile for him, it was small and barely pulled at the corners of her eyes, and was leagues away from the beaming smile she'd bestowed upon Cullen just a few hours ago. He could hear her mutter quiet assurances to the guard, but Cullen was barely listening. After hearing the story of what had happened at The Cross Roads he was studying every face they passed carefully, looking for enemies where logically he knew none existed. Maker, he was getting paranoid. He was so busy staring intently at the villagers they passed that he almost walked directly into Ellana when she came to an abrupt stop outside the doors to the chantry.

A small group of guards were hovering by the chantry doors, they parted as he and Ellana approached. If Cullen hadn't been stood so close to her then he would have missed the sudden hitch in Ellana's breathing, the small gasp that she smothered in her throat as it tried to escape. He hadn't thought she could tense any further, he was, apparently, wrong. His own joints winced in sympathy.

The sight that greeted them was so familiar, and yet so alien at the same time; a strange echo of when he had posted the declaration of the founding of The Inquisition so long ago. Cullen felt every drop of oxygen leave his lungs in one long exhale. Instead of a writ by The Divine, it was now a note from The Believers pinned to the chantry doors. Six words that mirrored every note they'd found at every destroyed village. The words screamed at him from the white parchment.

Inquisitor,

Open The Breach.

The Believers.

They'd been in Haven? How was that possible?

A thousand scenarios flew through his mind, each as unlikely as the last. The headache that had started when they were practising purging spiked painfully through his eyes and down his neck. He knew, knew, The Believers were goading them, trying to make them angry. This knowledge did little to help stem the sudden flush of rage.

They were in our home? Our home!

Cullen forced himself to breathe, to grip the pommel of his sword when all his hands wanted to do was find these people and wring the life out of them.

He recovered faster than Ellana, he was pretty sure she'd hadn't taken a breath since they'd arrived at the chantry. He released the death-grip he had on his sword to place his hand on the small of her back. She was like a coiled spring, the muscles of her back bunched and tense, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.

"You men are dismissed." Cullen said to the soldiers, "Ensure there are guards posted at all the gates, then get some rations and rest."

The soldiers saluted them before heading away to follow his orders. Ellana didn't seem to notice they'd gone. Her gaze hadn't shifted from the chantry doors and the note held in place by a dagger.

"They were in Haven." He heard her whisper, mostly to herself. Her expression hadn't changed; on the surface she was still Inquisitor -don't-mess-with-me- Lavellan, only Cullen could see what lay just beneath. Could see just how thoroughly the rug had been pulled out from under her, because he knew to look and knew what to look for.

He moved in closer, blocking the view of anyone stood behind them, and pressed his fingers more firmly into the small of her back. She leant against him, but none of the tension left her small frame. He didn't like the hollow look in her eyes, the almost empty helplessness, transfixed on the paper. He did the only thing he could think of that might shift it. Stepping around her he pulled the dagger and paper down. It wasn't until he examined the dagger more closely that he recognised it,

"This knife..." he started,

"It's mine." Ellana said in a small voice, almost as hollow as her eyes had been, "It's the one I left behind at The Cross Roads."

"At The Cross Roads?" he whipped around, "They were watching you?"

"I felt like we were being watched in The Hinterlands, but I thought it was my imagination." she shrugged, her hands came up from her sides to wrap around herself, her constantly active fingers tapped out a rhythm on her arms, "We found the remains of the fourth village, it was eerie, creepy. Like walking around a crypt. I put it down to that."

"If you left this knife at The Cross Roads, then maybe one of the refugees from there did this? From what you said it sounds like they'd be angry enough."

"No. It's them. I just know it is."

She closed her eyes for a moment, took several deep breaths and shook her head. When she opened her eyes again, the glassy stare was gone, confidence and righteous fury had taken its place.

She was The Inquisitor again. Cullen wasn't sure if he was impressed, terrified or in complete awe. Probably all of the above.

"Alright Commander, let's work."

She took the note from him and tucked it in her pocket. Cullen nodded and let himself fall back into his role as Commander, as she had with hers. He was used to her Inquisitor mask, was used to the surety and confidence it leant her. It was one more aspect of her personality that he loved, but a small voice in the back of his head nagged; he wasn't sure how much longer it would hold out. How much more of a beating it could take. But he understood the need to work, to put purpose in the place of worry. Maker knew he did the same damn thing himself. Right now she needed strategies, numbers, facts. A problem they could solve, instead of ghosts that vanished without a trace and left nothing but bodies, destruction and blighted notes in their wake.

Without realising he was doing it, Cullen found his spine straightening, his body reacting of its own accord to the authority he could practically feel oozing from her. He'd met seasoned leaders — the veterans of wars and battles beyond counting — that couldn't command as she did. She had a way of making it look natural, almost effortless.

"Somebody must have seen who planted this note."

"Agreed." she nodded, glancing around the village, "There are only three gates into Haven."

"And they're all manned."

"So unless they tunnelled in under the walls, someone has seen them come or go. We need to talk to everyone here."

"Let's bring them into the chantry in groups for questioning."

"We're going to need some coffee."

They'd set up in the room that had once been their War Room. It had been somewhat jarring to walk in and see their map and markers missing. The corners of the table that had once belonged to either Leliana or Josephine when they'd held meetings looked oddly cold and dark without them. The last few hours had seen Cullen and Ellana on one side of the large wooden table, and various inhabitants of Haven on the other. Empty cups and glasses were scattered among the papers, notes and balled up pieces of paper. At some point, a thoughtful guard had brought them some food, but they'd only picked at it to be polite, neither of them had felt much like eating.

They were finally on their last group. The last half-dozen people in Haven to be interviewed. Cullen tried not to scowl as he rose from his chair to open the door for them to leave. They'd spoken to everyone, every man, woman and child that called Haven home, and not one, not one, had seen who had posted that message.

"Do you need anything?" Ellana asked them, as she'd asked the others, "Is there anything more we can do for you?"

"No, Inquisitor. Thank you." one of the men answered, his head bent, nodding respectfully before steering his wife toward the door.

Ellana smiled slightly at them before bending over the table to attend to the papers laid out in front of her. The young woman stopped in the doorway and looked back, ignoring her husband's attempts to hurry them from the room,

"Do you need anything, Inquisitor?" she asked. Ellana's head jerked up from the table, confusion furrowing her brow,

"I'm sorry?"

"I mean no disrespect, your Worship." the young woman continued, a small nervous waver in her voice, "But is there anything we can do for you?"

This time when Ellana smiled it was brighter, more of her and less of The Inquisitor shined through, "I'm fine, Helena. But thank you very much for asking."

Cullen had no idea where she'd pulled the woman's name from, he couldn't have produced it if his life had depended on it. The brightness of Helena's smile outshone Ellana's as her husband finally succeeded at shepherding her through the door and out into the hall of the chantry.

Cullen closed the door gently behind them with a sigh,

"How is it possible we still know nothing?" she asked, slumping in her chair and letting her head fall back to look at the ceiling, "They moved in and out of Haven and nobody saw them? Nobody? How are they doing it?"

"There are so many new people in Haven, refugees arrive every day. It wouldn't be difficult to slip in with a group. We wouldn't even know someone was out of place." Cullen said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and blinked hard to try to force the exhaustion from his eyes,

"But why come all this way, go to all this trouble, just to put up a note and leave? It doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense." he glanced at her, surprised he'd caught it when she hadn't, "They're sending us, or, more specifically, you a message. Look at how much they've been able to say just by pinning a note to a door. They've told us they can get in and out of Haven without being spotted, they've told us they're watching us by using your knife. They're saying their not afraid of us."

"Yeah? Well all they've managed to do is piss me off."

"That's part of it too. They're trying to anger you off, they left your knife pinned to the chantry door of The Inquisition's first home. Of course they're trying to anger you. You can't let them. We get angry, we make mistakes. They win."

"It isn't right." she scowled, "We told these people they'd be safe with The Inquisition, they've been through enough."

"I'll increase guard presence, but -"

"But The Believers have already made their point." she muttered, "Fenedhis."

"Exactly, I doubt they'll return."

He crossed the room to lean back against the table, rubbing absently at the tired muscles of his neck. This had been a total waste of time. They'd been at it all night, or day, or whatever Maker forsaken hour it was, and were no closer to stopping The Believers. Ellana tapped a finger thoughtfully against her chin then looked over at him, mouth open to speak then closed it again with a blink that was definitely Ellana, his Ellana, not The Inquisitor. She instantly got to her feet, moving around the table to stand in front of him. Her hands slipped around to the back of his neck, seeking out the small pressure point that eased his headaches. Cullen felt the instant she found it, he hadn't realised how much tension he was holding in his shoulders until he felt it run out of him. She somehow always knew what he needed. He dropped his forehead onto hers with a grateful hum, his hands rubbing up and down her arms as her fingers continued to knead the muscles of his neck,

"It's from the Templar training, isn't it? I should have realised sooner, I'm sorry. I'm -"

"Distracted?" he provided, opening one eye to peer at her,

"That's one word for it, I guess." her smile was tired, tinged with sadness around the edges, but it wasn't her Inquisitor smile, that was something, "It's just a mess." she waved a hand to encompass the stacks of folders, all bereft of any real information.

Cullen wanted to ask if she was alright, the question was certainly in the offing, he could almost feel it tingling on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it back; asking would only force her to lie, to tell him she was fine, so she could keep believing it was true. She tried to push a hand through her hair, scowling slightly when her fingers hit the barrier of braids that held her silver mane in check, and Cullen realised he probably wasn't the only one with an archdemon sized headache. Unfortunately, Ellana didn't have a conveniently placed bundle of nerves he could manipulate, unless -

Her fingers were still probing under the tight crown of braids twisted around her head, he nudged them out of the way, carefully withdrawing one of the hairpins and dropping it to the table. It was fiddly, he was sure that Ellana's small, nimble fingers would have the braids unravelled in a fraction of the time, but with each loosened strand he saw another ounce of tension leave her shoulders. By the time he was done and could pull his hand through the wild silver curls she was resting her head in his palm with her eyes closed. Cullen felt inordinately proud of himself when she sighed in relief, a small smile playing around her mouth,

"How long do you think it'll be before Varric writes that whole dagger thing into one of his stories?" he teased lightly,

"If he does, then I will literally kill him." she replied, still smiling,

"No, you won't."

"No, I won't. But he doesn't know that."

"I hate to break it to you love, but yeah, he probably does."