They decided to begin by telling Josephine and Leliana, the two who were arguably most affected by their changed relationship. The spymaster and the Ambassador exchanged glances, then Leliana admitted, "We knew."

"And we are very pleased for you," Josephine added. "Although there will be some devastated young Orlesian ladies."

"I am glad you told us," Leliana said. "Now we can stop pretending to believe your ridiculous excuses about 'Inquisition emergencies.'" She gave them both a scolding look, but there was a great deal of affection in it.

Cecily and Cullen blushed in unison.

The next person Cecily wanted to tell was Dorian, whom Cullen predicted would be "insufferably smug" about the news. She found him in the garden reading a heavy Tevinter tome. She had tried to think of a way to bring up the topic naturally, but she'd failed, so she simply sat down on the bench next to him and opened with, "About two weeks ago Cullen and I kissed. We've been courting ever since."

Dorian immediately set his book down and gave her a very satisfied smile. "Well. I rather thought as much."

Cecily blinked. "You did?" Maker's breath, does everyone already know?

"It was just a suspicion, mind you. But the looks you were giving each other seemed to go from 'puppy-eyed longing' to 'I need to get you alone so I can remove your clothes with my teeth.'" He laughed at her expression. "Which I think is adorable, by the way! Now, tell me," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Exactly when did you first kiss? I have five sovereigns riding on two weeks ago Thursday."

"Dorian!" Cecily scolded. Then she began counting. "… actually, you won your bet. But don't you dare tell Cullen people were gambling on this." She placed a finger on his chest for emphasis. Dorian simply laughed and hugged her.

"I must say I'm impressed. How have you managed to keep this so quiet?" he asked. "Are you slipping out of each others' beds in the middle of the night to avoid detection? I wouldn't have thought the Commander so sneaky."

"We haven't even—I am not telling you this," Cecily said, blushing.

Dorian groaned. "What do you mean, you haven't even?"

"We're taking things slowly."

"Of course you are. How nauseatingly romantic of you." The Tevinter mage's eyes glinted merrily. "I insist on hearing all of the details when you do."

"Absolutely not," Cecily said, laughing. "Would you tell me all of the details if you were bedding someone?"

Dorian cleared his throat. "I. Well. No, I haven't been."

Cecily's jaw dropped. "Dorian! Who?"

He paused for a moment. "The Iron Bull," he said. He was looking at her as if he wasn't quite certain how she would respond.

Cecily raised her eyebrow. "I have to know: who seduced who? Because he's been eyeing you ever since I dragged you two out to the Western Approach."

Dorian's expression relaxed into a smile. "He seduced me, of course. And anything else he tells you is a ridiculous lie. Now then." He released her shoulders and slid his arm through hers. "Come with me. I need you to tell Bull."

Cecily stood with him and smiled. "Is there a specific reason?"

"Who do you think owes me five sovereigns?"

As they crossed the Skyhold courtyard towards the tavern, Cecily noticed Mother Giselle, standing in the gardens and watching them. Her face was serious, concerned. Cecily made a mental note to speak to her when she had a moment. Giselle would approach her if anything were truly wrong, she hoped, but she did not like the unhappy look in the Revered Mother's eyes.

By nightfall, it seemed as if everyone knew.

Cassandra sternly advised Cullen not to let himself be distracted, or to let himself distract her, before saying, "You are good for each other. Treasure what you have." Which was a much more romantic sentiment than Cullen had expected from the Seeker, and he was moved by it—although it did make him curious about the books she was reading.

"The task before our Inquisitor is difficult; it is good that she has someone with whom she can find respite," Solas told him seriously.

Others were less poetic. "Good for you, Curly," Varric said as he and Cullen passed in the hall. "I hope she makes you crack a smile once in a while, it'll be healthy."

"Heard about you and the boss. Finally. I thought someone was going to have to draw you two a diagram," The Iron Bull told him during their afternoon sparring match.

Sera just looked at him and chortled something about peaches that he did not ask her to repeat.

It was unexpectedly nice to realize how many people at Skyhold cared about them enough to notice and wish them well. Even so, Cullen was feeling a bit wrung out by the time he saw Cecily the next morning. And more than a little ready to escape the attention, however well-meaning.

"How has it been?" she asked anxiously, as they looked over the war table and waited for Leliana and Josephine.

"Better than I'd expected," he admitted, taking her hand. "I had a thought, if you'll indulge me?"

"By all means," she said with a little smile.

"I thought it could be nice to—that is to say, I'm leaving for the Hinterlands tomorrow to oversee some troop deployments. There's something nearby that I would like to show you. Do you think you might have some time?"

Her grin made every embarrassing comment more than worth it. "I think we're in luck, Commander." She pulled a report from the pile. "It just so happens that there's a dragon in the Hinterlands."

When he had first met the Inquisitor, back when he'd been Blackwall, he had not entirely understood her. He'd quickly developed a vague sense of the type of person she was—a Bann's daughter, cool, serious, accustomed to being obeyed—and patterned his behavior accordingly. They would not be friends, he knew. But her cause was good, she was a fair and thoughtful leader, and he could play the loyal retainer for such a person.

He had been thoroughly shocked the first time he saw Sera run up behind the Herald, smack her playfully between the shoulderblades, and yell, "Oi! Cecily! Guess what I am!"

The elf began growling and moving her hands in the air, her fingers tightened into claws; the Herald had giggled, seeming genuinely amused by Sera's silliness. "Um. You're … Varric?"

"Well, if you're not going to take this seriously, I won't bother," Sera complained. "Seriously! Raaaargh!"

"A demon?" she'd said dryly.

"There ya go. Now you do one, Blackwall," Sera had said.

He had made an excuse—something about not having a talent for playacting, an ironic claim now that he thought about it—and he had never been able to bring himself to be as familiar with the Herald as most of the others she took into battle. But he had looked at her with new eyes from that point forward. Not every Bann's daughter would have deigned to speak to an elven archer with food on her tunic, much less laughed at her jokes.

Cecily Trevelyan was not just a good leader—she was a good woman. She had spared him execution in Orlais, but he did not expect that she would ever trust him again. So he was surprised, and not a little anxious, when he found her waiting for him in the barn one evening, a few days after his return to Skyhold.

"Inquisitor," he said, his stomach twisting.

"I—I've been meaning to ask." She ran a nervous finger over the griffon carving. "What should I call you now?"

He knew he should say Rainier. But … "Perhaps we could consider Blackwall a title. Like Inquisitor," he suggested. "It reminds me of what I ought to be."

"Good evening, then, Blackwall," she said, only hesitating a bit around the name. "I just came to ask how things have been. Since you came back, I mean. You've not been seen much outside the barn."

A foolish question. "I'm bloody marvelous," he growled. "Aside from everyone hating me and talking about the worst thing I ever did, it's been a splendid homecoming." The self-pity he heard in those words made him flinch; he softened his voice. "My apologies, my Lady. I know it is no more than I deserve. But it seems wise to keep to myself."

She shook her head. "I knew it would not be easy for the others, or for you. Some of them may not forgive you. But some of them may surprise you. And Sera is worried about you. I believe her exact words were 'can you check on Beardy to make sure he's not gonna drown himself in his basin, yeah?'"

He chuckled; the Inquisitor's imitation of Sera's accent was actually rather good. "I will visit her, then. I promise."

She nodded approvingly. "I'll be going to the Hinterlands tomorrow. There are reports of a dragon terrorizing the local livestock. Are you interested? Sera's coming, and I promise to leave Vivienne here."

"Leave Skyhold? Maker, yes," he said instinctively. "I mean—my sword is yours, my Lady."

Her mouth curved—just a brief flicker of amusement, but a welcome one. "We leave at first light. I'll see you tomorrow, Blackwall."

There were times when Varric missed The Hanged Man.

What he missed most, of course, were those comfortable games of Wicked Grace. Watching Isabela to make sure she didn't palm cards, reminding Daisy not to set her hand down face-up, coaxing a smile out of Fenris in spite of the elf's best efforts and laughing at whatever one-liner Hawke tossed out next.

But he also missed the bar itself, even though The Hanged Man was definitely no prize. Barely a night went by without a brawl (often involving Isabela), the whiskey was awful and the ale was worse, and pretty much every square inch of the floor had been vomited on within the past week. Oddly, those were the things he'd liked about it. The Inquisition's tavern was comfortable, but he missed that grime, the sense that you were taking your life into your hands by drinking from this place's tankards.

Of course, all taverns had one thing in common: gossip. So Varric was not surprised when he sat down in the Inquisition's tavern that evening and immediately heard one soldier telling another, "You know he's screwing the Herald."

The dwarf suppressed a groan. He knew the soldiers were bound to talk about their Commander and their Inquisitor—although he was surprised that the news had spread so quickly from their inner circle. But if these two were going to be crude they could at least be creative about it.

"I'd heard that, yeah," a second soldier said, younger and stockier than the first. "You think he's teaching her blood magic?"

Well, that made no sense. Varric edged closer.

"Maybe. I mean, he is from Tevinter. You'd think the Seeker would have gotten rid of him by now. He must have Her Worship right where he wants her." That comment was followed by a very vulgar chortle.

Varric's hand tightened around his tankard. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head to look at the two men. "Nah. You're both idiots."

The two soldiers glowered when they realized he was talking to them. "What's it to you?" one of them asked.

"Everyone knows the Commander's courting the Inquisitor—it's obvious she's crazy about him," Varric said genially. "And Sparkler, er, Dorian's not a blood mage. Believe me, I saw enough of them in Kirkwall to know."

The two soldiers muttered something that didn't sound entirely complimentary. Varric sighed. "Look, gentlemen. Do yourselves a favor and don't spread that nonsense around. If Curly hears you, you'll find yourselves scrubbing latrines with your toothbrushes. And that's if you're lucky. Imagine what would happen if Seeker Cassandra overheard that kind of talk about the Herald."

"Mind your own business," the younger soldier muttered. The two of them stood and moved elsewhere in the tavern.

Varric rubbed the bridge of his nose and grimaced. He knew Cullen wouldn't thank him for spreading the news, but in Varric's experience the only way to counter that kind of story was by offering another story to take its place. Unfortunately, a sweet tale about the Inquisitor being courted by her handsome Commander was not nearly as tantalizing as the image of the Herald of Andraste lying naked with a Tevinter blood mage. The fact that his story was true probably wasn't going to affect which one people believed.

Well. Shit.