A/N: I admit, I did not quite fully comprehend where this chapter was going until I was actually writing it, but I'm having all the feels now. I was always intrigued by a certain Commander's expanding character during the first two games, and I was so excited when I heard you could romance him in Inquisition. Aaaaand then Solas showed up with that honeyed tongue and mysterious backstory of his, and the rest is history. Any Solamancers with a soft spot for Cullen – please enjoy!

Guest1995: Thank you! The line at the end of the last chapter refers to kintsugi, a Japanese tradition of mending broken pottery with gold, silver, etc. The idea is that the breakage isn't something to hide, but part of the object's history, which often results in the object being even more beautiful and unique. I'm sure there's more behind the philosophy of it, but that's a quick summary. ;)

Rogue Heart

"The Dread Wolf's birthplace. Then you travel to Tarasuvun? I wish you a safe journey," Feynriel bowed gracefully, his eyes wandering about the peaceful forest Inara had chosen as tonight's meeting place. Light filtered in through the towering trees and danced on the surface of the babbling brook at their feet.

Suledin did not reply immediately, closing her eyes to breathe in the crisp air while she adjusted her gloves.

"Thank you. I thought it would be a good use of what you taught me – allowing the Fade to show me the memories of the place rather than imposing my own imaginations upon it. The village should have plenty of history to offer. I need the practice away from politics hanging over my head."

"You cannot find the Solas of the present, so you want to see if the place of his childhood will allow you to see the Solas of the past?" the mage softly accused, his tone a mixture of doubt and admiration. "You take a great chance on a possibility. And it is unlikely to bring you closer to your goal."

"One can dream," the lady smirked briefly before her face darkened, "and perhaps it will help me understand. I must ask you before we go any further: Will I encounter any Solasans in this ruin?"

True to her word, Lavellan did not often pester the somniari about his ties to the elven group, but her sharp eyes always watched him closely for any clues. It helped that he assured her he was not familiar with the Dread Wolf's location…at least, not at all times. She had resigned herself to this quest being a marathon, not a sprint. And she did not wish to jeopardize her Dreaming with her curiosity.

"No," he replied calmly. "If I remember correctly, Tarasuvun is nothing but a pile of rubble, left neglected and exposed to the elements for far too long. The Solasans would find no use for it. Now, if your curiosity has been sated…?"

Inara narrowed her eyes briefly, clearly desiring to continue her interrogation in more depth.

"Very well. What adventures await us tonight?"

"Tonight," he smiled, "you will learn to pass unseen in the Fade."

"Wh…as in, be invisible?" the woman stuttered. "Why didn't we try that before facing a Pride Demon?"

Feynriel chuckled.

"Because in the Fade, you cannot always run and hide, no matter your skill. In your own dreams, have you not sensed that you were being watched? Have you not caught the Dread Wolf out of the corner of your eye before he disappeared again?"

"I presumed that it was simply the nature of the Fade," she shrugged.

"In a sense. How do you conjure this forest?"

"I…wished for it. I wanted to see my childhood home, and here it was."

"Exactly," the man whispered. "Your memories, will, and emotions were conjured into what you now see. But desires and fears can quickly change that. To go unseen by spirits and fellow dreamers, you must wish for it. The moment the wish falters, it will fail. Though it is less certain and more difficult to master, I believe learning to hide your presence in the Fade will give you an advantage."

"An advantage," she repeated uncertainly, "over Solas?"

"A simple advantage," he bowed mockingly, to her renewed annoyance.

"How does one begin to learn to such a dubious skill?"

"I'm glad you asked. Is there anyone, a non-mage, who you would wish to visit? Someone you wish to leave to their own devices without knowledge of your presence? Someone you can find easily?"

"Yes," Inara answered a little too quickly, her jaw tensing. "Just tell me what to do."

The former Templar had revisited this day an uncountable number of times, yet it never lost its sting. Young Ser Cullen Rutherford knelt on the cold stone floor of the Tower, trapped in the magical cage, begging for respite with unanswered prayers. He had lost track of the time he had spent here, tortured and taunted by demons, abominations, and blood mages.

And there she was again, standing before him – teasing, innocent, trusting. Her dark hair framed her face, that one unruly strand dangling in front of her grey eyes that held far too much wisdom for one so young. It was too much!

"This trick again?" he cried. Much more of this, and he might go mad! "I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong."

"Cullen!" the mage cried, her voiced soothing even in its alarm. "Don't you recognize me?"

"I know, only too well. How far they must have delved into my thoughts!"

"The boy is exhausted," one of the temptation's companions commented. Wynne. "And this cage, I've never seen anything like it. Rest easy. Help is here."

"Enough visions!" the warrior shouted, cowering to hide himself from this latest horror. "If anything in you is human... kill me now and stop this game. You broke the others. But I will stay strong, for my sake... for theirs." He continued to rock himself back and forth, failing to suppress his panic. "Sifting through my thoughts...tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have...using my shame against me...my ill-advised infatuation with her...a mage, of all things. I am so tired of these cruel jokes...these tricks...these..."

Tears came to his exhausted eyes. Why couldn't he just die already?

"I'm real," she cooed.

"Silence!" Cullen screamed, bounding to his feet, an action he instantly regretted in his weakened state. "I'll not listen to anything you say. Now begone!"

But they didn't leave! She only stared at him! The woman he knew would become the Hero of Ferelden. The woman who would give her life to defend her homeland, never giving him the chance to tell her how sorry he was for his harsh words later in the conversation:

"And to think…I once thought we were too hard on you!"

Covered in a cold sweat, Cullen continued to stare at Warden Amell as the scene continued to play out. Despite his continued quest for growth and redemption – after all he had accomplished and seen since he left the Kinloch Circle – why did these memories continue to hound his steps?! Would a day ever come when the nightmares would cease?

"Fenedhis!" Shaking and gasping for breath, the man froze at the sound of a new voice emanating from the darkness – mature, commanding, and tormented, yet comforting. "I'm sorry, Feynriel, but we are finished for the night. I did not come here just to watch him suffer."

The retired veteran's vision cleared as the voice drew him away from the memory. Magical cage, Warden, and corpse-filled Circle Tower all melted away while he tried to remind himself of the interminable journey he had taken since then. He recalled this voice with utmost fondness – how it had inspired, counselled, and consoled him in the darkest of times.

Slowly, painfully, that horrible Tower was replaced by his office in Skyhold. He was no longer a shivering young Templar, but a matured and hopefully wiser commander with a thick fur wrapped around his shoulders to guard against the cold mountain air. Relieved, he breathed in the scent of leather and ink before he caught sight of the woman standing in the doorway.

"Cullen."

The dreamer's breath escaped him, seeing how real she seemed. She carried herself proudly, arms folded and a sad smile playing on her face as she studied him. Pointed ears peeked out from her cascading crimson locks. Her clothing was clean and practical, just like their days spent in the war room.

"Inquisitor," he greeted, mirroring the old days with nervous shift of his feet.

"Oh," Inara Lavellan breathed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Her arms dropped to her sides in surprise. "You can see me?"

"I… Yes."

The clarity of her presence, the solidness of the desk under his fingertips, and the warmth of the fur tickling his ear gave Cullen a growing feeling that something was different about this dream. He had received a letter a few days ago from Leliana detailing the Herald's budding abilities as a Dreamwalker, but he didn't quite believe it…until now. He had to know for sure. Still addled from his previous vision, the soldier closed the distance between them. Inara calmly stood her ground while he towered over her petite frame, studying her with stern eyes.

The commander's heart quickened as he removed his glove. He gently brushed the hair away from her exquisite, world-weary features, and he allowed his hand to linger along her jawline. The warmth, the softness of her cheek… This truly was no ordinary dream, a thought that almost saddened him. Inquisitor Lavellan had become one of his most cherished friends, standing by him even as he fumed over Samson and struggled against his lyrium addiction – fighting against Corypheus all the while.

Once, he would have hoped for more, and he was sure his feelings had been shared to some extent. She dragged him out of darkness and became a redeeming light that had, for a time, allowed him to leave his past choices behind him. But it was not meant to be. She had chosen another man – no, not a man – a god. A god who had taken her hard-earned trust and complete devotion and tossed it aside as if it meant nothing. One of the most incredible and powerful women in the world, she did not deserve such disregard and abandonment. Cullen could not blame her for her place, but he could blame Solas. And he could still be there for his friend, a commitment he admittedly had neglected, thanks to the distance between his Templar sanctuary and Skyhold.

"You're really here," the man sighed after a moment, finally convinced.

Inara's curious, ocean-deep eyes continued to watch the commander as he quickly stepped away, removing his other glove to distract himself.

"You still have nightmares." It was a deliberate statement, not a question.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he muttered. "I've spent the better part of a decade trying to atone for the words, actions, and inaction of my youth, but it still haunts me."

"I'm sure you've more than atoned, Cullen," the rogue insisted warmly. "You're a hero."

He breathed a laugh, retreating behind his desk when Inara attempted to approach him.

"I was never meant to be the hero. That unfortunate duty always fell to others. Did being the hero end as you would have expected, Inquisitor? Did defeating Corypheus earn the sense of accomplishment it deserved from all of the blood, sweat, and tears we shed to reach that point?"

"No, it did not."

The mirth of seeing her advisor for the first time since his departure had waned. They looked upon each other as two veterans, compatriots, and the dearest of friends. No words could successfully convey the admiration and gratitude he felt toward this woman, and the animosity he felt for the man responsible for the melancholy that had infected her. He knew the burden of duty when he saw it. She had come a long way from the wide-eyed young Dalish hunter with a ready laugh and a never-ending stream of questions.

"Your victory was grand, but the joy that should have accompanied it was robbed from you." Her jaw tensed at the mention of Solas. "Have you found anything?"

"Whispers of a trail, but nothing certain," she brushed him off. "I have reason to believe I will have more success sooner rather than later. There are more pieces falling into place. I need only put them together." She managed a teasing smirk. "You could receive updates more steadily, but you never write."

The soldier barked a laugh.

"I rarely even write my own sister, to her greatest exasperation."

"I understand," Inara chuckled. The smile fled just as quickly as it had come, her eyes growing cold. The dream seemed to embolden her words, as had seeing the torment he had endured in his youth. "Cullen, I… I'm sorry if I ever took you for granted. Leliana is most dear, and it has been good to have Dorian again, but… Sometimes, I wish we could go back to these times." She gestured around the office, her hand shaking ever so slightly. "We may have been fighting an immortal Darkspawn, but I still felt so sure of my place."

"I have a feeling you can make a place for yourself wherever the road takes you," Cullen attempted to jest, but the yearning in her eyes pulled him into the moment. His mind flitted back to only moments ago, how she had allowed his fingers to linger against her skin. "I'm sorry if I…overstepped."

Her lips thinned into a pained smile.

"If I could go back, I do not think my choices would have been different. But maybe I could have happier. Maybe I would not feel so driven to pursue what very well may be a suicidal venture. Maybe…" Their eyes met, conveying in mere seconds all of the longing, understanding, and could-have-beens that were now no more than a missed opportunity. Cullen had a good life, and he would not trade anything in the world if it meant losing the friendship of Inara Lavellan. But he knew the chance he had missed by not pursuing her, and it would remain yet another regret on a long list of regrets. "I can't give up on him."

As her voice broke into whisper, the man noticed her fingers hovering on the table but a few inches from where his own rested.

"I know."

Clearing his throat, Cullen enfolded her hand in both of his and warmly pressed his lips against her knuckles. He couldn't help but notice the softness of her cold fingers, despite the callouses they both possessed from years of swordplay. The elf twitched in surprise, but didn't pull away, even as he continued to firmly hold her limb hostage while he stood and strode back around the desk.

"Maker, I know," he repeated, voice betraying his emotions. "Your heart belongs to him. It always will; I could never resent you for that." With a shuddering breath, the warrior pulled his dear friend into his embrace, willing to shield her from the pain she carried so resiliently. She folded easily into his broad chest, trusting and relieved. He did not question how or why she had visited tonight; it was enough that she was here. "I cannot bear the thought of seeing you slip away on my watch, no matter how far I am. I promise I will write to you soon. Just remember, I will always be willing to take up the sword again in your name. You are not alone, Inara."

Thank you for reading, and don't forget to follow and review! Next stop: Tarasuvun and a visit from a certain witch.