Incorruptible

by super ginger

Alduin is dead. Purpose and duty fulfilled.Uthreida, Dragon Born, Yesimir of the North, is ready to return, But Tsun's shout is redirected, and finds herself in a land that is similar yet so very different from her home. Commander Cullen is hopeful for the future of the Inquisition. Until an unknown Dragon Slayer falls under his Command that makes him question everything he knows.

12. Chapter 12

A/N: Owners own stuff. Here we go.

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Cullen closed his eyes and tried to breathe. The sounds of clashing metal. The grunts of exertion from the soldiers as they learned in the rings. The shouts of the Lieutenants as they shouted at them to get up. Press on. Get the citizens back. No quarter.

Andraste preserve him.

The sounds of servant women laughing in the distance. It was too much. His armor was too heavy. His lungs were constricted.

He was safe. He told himself. It was Skyhold.

He smelled the rain in the air and could've sworn he smelled the electricity as the fade was pulled and ripped.

Maker.

His throat was dry but he would choke on the water. He was starving but was sick to eat. He looked at his men to keep his cool. Breathe. No smoke. No fires. No-

A purple woman passed behind his peripheral. Cullen turned to see nothing. A Chevalier in deep red waving to a fellow across the yards.

The sharp sounds of metal crashed against the metal shields like nails against Templar plate.

His knees felt weak and he wanted to kneel to pray. Maker, give him strength.

He placed one hand over his eyes to block out the light from his headache as his other rested on the grip of his weapon. Breathe.

Breathe.

He heard rattling and only realized it was his sword in its scabbard. He's fine. He's fine. This is fine.

He swallowed back the saliva that told him he was about to be sick. He's not fine.

Cullen abandoned his post of watching over the morning drills and headed to the smithy. Cassandra was sitting on a stump, reading a book. She didn't notice his approach until he grabbed her by the arm to stand. "Commander." Her tone indignant as he pulled her with him.

He pushed the door open to the smithy and saw the six workers hammering and pumping the bellows. The anvils song racked his head more. The heat made him want to rip off his armor. "Out." He ordered quickly. All eyes turned to him and his heart was in his throat as one of the workers tilted a smithing helm back that looked like horns. Another moved to wipe the sweat from their brow and smeared in blood. "Out," Cullen demanded again. Louder.

The workers each looked at their work then back at him. Slowly, the six smiths made their way out the door and he could feel the heat from Cassandra as the door closed behind the smiths.

"Commander. You had better have a-"

He found an empty bucket and dry heaved twice. Four times. He hadn't eaten anything in three days. There was nothing to give. He dropped to his knees, leaning over the bucket, spitting and cursing to himself. Frustrated at everything around him.

Cassandra placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing through the furs and armor to reassure him. "Are you alright, Commander?" Her tone was firm, but after their months, he could read through her demeanor to hear her concern.

He swallowed the bile, his body wracked with the heaves as he stood on shaking knees to meet her, but not her eyes. "I need a replacement." He said around the rough constraints of his throat.

Cassandra sighed at him. "That is not necessary." Cullen held a hand to the bucket to indicate that it was, in fact, necessary. She took a breath before speaking. "Cullen" she said softer, "you've come so far. Don't give up now."

"You don't understand. Do you know how many demons I've seen in the last three days? At least six, a day. How many times I've smelt the fade sundered? Several. I keep hearing the chants and chorus of battle at every waking moment." He took a step back and covered his face with a hand. "I keep hearing the whispers." He confessed quietly.

Cassandra crossed her arms as she looked him over. "Cullen. No one is fit to replace you. Only you can lead this army."

"To what?" He shouted at her. "To death? To its own disparity?"

"To hope."

Cullen scoffed as he looked about the room. "Anyone with half a head for leadership and battle could replace me."

Cassandra steeled her jaw and stepped forward. "You are the Templar that survived Kinloch. The Captain that stood against his immoral commander. The Commander that freed Kirkwall. The men need you."

"I'm also the Templar that wanted to slaughter the tower." He retorted back. "That turned a blind eye to the mad Meredith. Who has yet to seek justice for my crimes. But instead given more authority because of it."

"You have become more."

"I can't do this, Cassandra." His voice was deeper but felt the weak plea in his heart.

"I believe you can." Her voice steadfast in her own convictions and stubborn pride.

Cullen rolled his eyes at the Seeker. "I'm glad your faith is unshaken, but it does little to foster my own."

She huffed at his retort. "Remember your vows Cullen. Find strength in them and you will-"

"I need a replacement."

Cassandra took a half a step back from him. Her eyes roving over him. "When was the last time you slept? "He didn't know anymore. Four if he had to guess. A few hours a few minutes. It all blurred. "You need to rest. The battle you're undergoing is a hard one. One that only your determination can endure."

Cullen jutted a laugh but held his head at the ache. "Do you honestly think I'm the best choice the Inquisition has?" His tone scathing the woman.

"Yes." Cullen snarled at her and turned away. "You asked for my opinion and I gave it. Why do you think I would change my mind?"

"It's relentless. I can't function. I can't think. If I can't keep what vows I've made, then no good will come of this. Would you rather save face than admit-"

The door opened and Uthreida stood there, with her black gambeson, and Inquisition banner over one leg. She looked at the two curiously. "I take it this is why the smiths are afraid to enter." She jutted a thumb over her shoulder at said smiths. She looked between the two and smiled awkwardly as she read the room, reaching for the door handle. "I'm just going to-" and started to close the door.

Cullen shook his head at Cassandra as he moved to exit. Uthreida looked at him with an arched brow, studying him with a crease of concern on her face. He was too weak. Too weak to hold true to any promise he had made her. "Forgive me." He whispered as he exited.

"And people say I'm stubborn." Cassandra scathed as the door shut behind him.

He made his way back to the privacy of his office. Maybe Cassandra was right. He needed to rest. But as he entered the office, all he saw was the stack of letters, maps, and requisitions. Cullen leaned over his desk. His teeth ached, his mind collapsing on itself from the pressure of his skull, and his knees felt like they were ready to give out. Maker. How much longer? Four days without sleep. Three days without food. Two days of shakes. One day of its singing.

The pine box sat on his desk. Open by deft hands of years of addiction. He wiped a hand across his face. The smell of leather temporarily reducing the scent of pine. The image of Andraste's as she held the holy weapon engraved on the lid. Protecting the tools of his suffering. How long must he suffer? How long must he bend to the will of the Order?

A frustrated rage filled him as he gave into the primal scream and threw the box across the room. Royoc moved out of the way in time and looked back at Cullen with wide eyes. "Makers breath, I didn't hear you enter. I-" he shook his head at the sight of the Inquisition leader. "Forgive me."

Royoc gave a smirk and looked at the box. "Well, so long as you weren't aiming at me, I'm sure the box had it coming."

Cullen grunted. Though the thought of throwing things had crossed his mind. "I swear, I didn't know you were com-" he took a step and his knees gave out under him. He slammed a hand into the desk to keep him up.

Royoc moved, but Cullen waived him off. Feeling the tightening grip of pain shoot up and down his leg. "I never meant for this to interfere." He turned his face away.

"Is everything alright, Commander Cullen?"

Cullen met his gaze for a moment but stood. "I'm fine."

Royoc gave a deep breath. "I was passing through to ask of recent events or news, but I think this requires a conversation. What's going on?"

"It's" Cullen rubbed his neck in stress. He wanted to say nothing, but as the Inquisitor, he should know. "The withdrawals, they're getting worse."

Royoc took a deep breath with a nod. "Is there anything I can do?" Cullen wanted to scoff, knowing that he was of a mind of the Inquisitor on finding a replacement now. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Yes" he stated quickly, but looked inward. "I don't know." He took a step away, clearing his mind and body of the pain that was racking him. But Royoc wanted him gone or to keep taking lyrium. Cullen felt the need to tell him exactly what happened in hopes of changing his mind about the lyrium. He knew he needed a replacement. But he didn't want to take the lyrium. He didn't want to be that man anymore. Cullen knew lyrium was the cause, but maybe…maybe. "Did you know that the Fereldan Circle was taken over by abominations?" Cullen looked at him to see Royoc give a slightly confused look at the change in conversation. "I was there. I saw it all happen. The Templars, my friends, were slaughtered." He moved for distance. He stood before the open arrow slat eager for air. His mind going back to the tower. The flesh sacks. His brothers. Watching as recruits fought one another for the entertainment of the demons. Then his own prison. The purple pink of his clear cell as the fingers snaked into his mind. "I was tortured. They tried to break my mind and" he felt a sardonic chuckle escape at the idea. Seeing his forbidden lust hold him and smile at his own shame. "How can you be the same person after that? Still, I wanted to serve." A writhing hatred filled him at the memories. "They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight Commander and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirckwalls circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. Can't you see why I want nothing to do with that life anymore?" His full anger turned to Royoc. Hoping, demanding he'd understand and why Cullen didn't want the lyrium anymore.

Royoc kept his usual cool facade as he looked at Cullen. "I understand what was required-"

"Don't." He stated quickly, taking two steps towards the man. "You were right to question me." Royoc crossed his arms as Cullen felt the need to move. "I thought this would be better. That I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won't leave me." His breath began to tighten as he paced. Thinking of his duties, responsibility. "How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause. I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry." He scolded himself. Remembering his vows. His promises to himself. The self-hatred and blind belief rose in his chest like a fire that refused to be quenched.

"Cullen."

He looked down at his useless hands that wanted to reach for the potion. "I should be taking it" he vented. Slamming his fist into the book shelf to feel the real pain rather than in his mind. "I should be taking it." he hissed, hoping the realization was enough for the poison.

"Cullen" Royoc stated with more urgency. Cullen looked at him to see his eyes taken to the north door.

Uthreida.

Cullen clenched his jaw and looked away. She stood there, without armor, without weapon, and watched him struggle. But her eyes held an empathy even from across the room. How much did she hear? See?

Cullen heard her boots cross the room. "Lady, my apologies, but we're in a-"

She stood before Cullen, her eyes on him alone. She looked down at his hand that was still on the shelf. She took his hand in her own. Her other hand covering his and called forth magic.

Healing. Touching the fade as she did. He looked away from her ashamed. Feeling her magic heal away the bruising. Barely registering that Royoc was still talking. Trying in vain to heal his pains.

"Cullen, we can get through this. But now is not the time for this. We are so close to our goals. Please, for your safety and sanity, take the lyrium. We can try another way after the war. After Corypheus. But our men need their commander. They need you to lead. Take the lyrium."

Uthreida looked at the Inquisitor slowly, then back at Cullen. Her eyes and warmth making him forget the pain for a moment. "And what do you want?" She asked softer. "Do you want this?" She asked gently, her eyes searching his for answers.

Cullen dropped his eyes. "No. But" he looked away from her. "These memories have always haunted me. If I cannot endure, If I can't-"

She laughed softly and smiled at him. "It is not a question of if, Cullen. It is a question of will. Will you succeed as you have before? Will you remain strong? Will you do this?" Her soft voice dropping to a whisper between them as she spoke. Her eyes holding a hope as she looked at his hiding face. "You are a mystic. Your will can change the world." He looked away from her but she wasn't having it. She tilted his chin again to look at her. "A lion is not born with a mane. They must grow into it. Aye," she looked at Royoc, "you can keep taking the lyrium. Be the puppet the chantry requires. Be the monster the mages fear. Remain safe in your dependency. Or," she looked at him with a soft smile. "You can inspire others to break their own chains." He swallowed back the idea. "As you are currently doing now." She smiled again. "Knight Captain Ameriline looks to you. And wonders if she can. Knight Captain Rylen looks to you, and sees hope. Knight Lieutenant Bryone looks to you, and wonders if it's possible."

"Lady Uthreida" Royoc stated quickly, "what you suggest has never been done before-"

"It only takes one" she said over her shoulder, her eyes still on him. "It only takes one to show that the impossible is possible. And if not you, then someone else will. And you are so close."

"What you suggest is dangerous and leaves the entire Inquisition without a commander," Royoc stated over her. His voice growing in impatience at the woman.

"Meaning you have yet to find a replacement." She smirked coldly at the Inquisitor. "No one else wants the job. No one wants to be the sycophant to the Chantry. That no general will relinquish their position, for you." her smile warmed as she looked at Cullen. "Meaning no matter the choice you make, it will be the right one."

"I will not watch him die," Royoc stated with an authoritive tone. Uthreida shot Cullen a warning look. "Cullen, please, take the lyrium." Cullen looked over to see Royoc holding the vile from his desk out to him.

"No man is free when he is shackled in chains. Even those of his own making." She gave a hard breath. "You must choose, Cullen. What do you want?"

He shook his head quickly. "I don't know. I swore I would be free from the Order. I prayed to Andraste for the strength to ensure it. But-"

She took his hand in his and he pulled away. She took his hand and wrist so he couldn't run. "No one can make this decision for you. You must make it yourself. So, I ask again," she placed her hand that held his wrist to his heart. "What do you want? Not what your blood screams for. Not what your soul aches." She tapped his heart again. "What do you want?" He met her patient eyes and hopeful expression. Waiting for him. His eyes moved to Royoc to gage his response. She cupped his chin to look back at her. "He does not guide your fate. You do." Her hand dropped back down to his chest. "You cannot look to others now. This is about you. Ask yourself, what do you want?"

His throat sealed as he looked down at her. Her firm jaw set as if ready to receive whatever he was about to say. He had to make this choice. Like she said.

Royoc moved and she held a hand to stop him. "There is no wrong answer, Cullen. We stand with you. But this decision must be yours alone. Choose."

The memories of demons, of weakness, of blood mages, of heavy armor and heavier orders. But she was ready to stand beside him. Like she has before. "Freedom." He said from his sealed throat. He swallowed it back and almost chocked on his own choice. "I want freedom."

"Then it is freedom you will have." He looked away. A shaking breath entered his lungs. "Freedom has a bloody history of rebellion. But do not fear." He met her calm eyes and set jaw. "Everything you have done has prepared you for this path. You know what must be done. You know this enemy. How it attacks. When it strikes. Let me help you battle it. Let us help you hold the shield wall with you." She searched his eyes, her hand gripping his tighter. "There is honor in fighting the life of power. Let us defeat this demon together. What do you need from me?" He looked away from her. He didn't even know what he needed from himself. She tilted his chin to look at her. "Get me your potions. I will not see you tempted and kneeling on a whim. Go."

Cullen turned to his desk.

"Cullen" Royoc barked. "Think of the Inquisition. You swore to give everything-"

"His choice is made," Uthreida stated over him.

"By you." He scoffed. "Cullen, she's forced you to see a smaller picture. Do you not see what we are trying to do here? What we are trying to build?"

"You're own empire?" She stated quickly and lowly. He shot her a dark look that she pursed her lips at. "If the Inquisition truly is trying to change the Chantry for the good, why do you offer slavery? Less of course, you're the one who wants to hold the leash." She canted her head at him. "Chains rarely come easy to mortals, Inquisitor."

"Cullen-"

"The choice is made." She said above him.

Cullen collected the three remaining vials from his desk. His eyes flicked between the two. The Inquisition, or himself.

He reached his hand, and heard the glass click as the vials fell in her hands.

Royoc shook his head at them. "Slayer, you overstep your bounds. Return the vials, or return to the king."

Her eyes flicked to Cullen. And he looked away with a heavy heart. She never wanted to be here. She never wanted him. But if she leaves, Maker. But is she stays.

"As you say." Cullen heard the click of the vials. She moved to dump them.

Cullen could only watch in horror as she drank the vials. She smiled coldly at Royoc and threw the vials back onto the desk. He watched her with wide eyes as her face contorted into disgust at the taste.

"You bloody, idiotic, stupid, drunken berserker." Cullen roared as he looked down at her. "Do you have any idea what you've done!"

She waved it off. "It's fine."

"Fine?!" He bellowed at her with his hands in fists. "You just drank a month's supply." She looked away as if just now considering what she did. "You can't just drink everything that's put in front of you."

"It's fine." She waved it off again. Cullen growled in frustration. "What would you have me do? Dump it on the ground? Just to watch you kneel to taste it. No. It's a magical potion right? I'll be fine."

Royoc gave a deep menacing chuckle. "You might want to sit down."

"No," Cullen corrected, he grabbed her by the arm and made for the door. "You need to vomit. Now."

"What?" She locked her knees and dug in. "No, why-"

"You need to purge or you'll get lyrium poisoning." He moved to hoist her on his shoulder to do just that.

She fought him as he dragged her. "I don't like being sick. Cullen, stop" she waved a hand and fire spewed forth from her hands, lighting the lower level of books on the shelf on fire. She gave a panicked sound and looked at her hands. "Sorry." She stated quickly and called ice to put out the fire. To which she successfully froze the books to the shelf. "Sorry" she said again, indicating her helping wasn't helping.

"Maker" Cullen rubbed his face quickly. She's losing control and being pulled to the fade. "You need to purge, now before-"

"Cullen, relax," Royoc stated with a chuckle. "She's a mage."

"I mean-" she corrected but was silenced as Cullen pushed the door open to the battlements.

She pulled her arm free and staggered back. Then lost her balance and fell to her knees. "I'm - I'm" Cullen lifted her to her feet. "Is it suppose to" she tapped her chest over her heart rapidly as she looked at him in concern. No. She had a look of Fear.

Maker, it's starting.

He picked her up and put her on the desk. He looked at Royoc. "Charcoals, brandy, bucket. Now." He yelled at the Inquisitor.

Royoc crossed his arms with a bored expression. "Cullen. She'll be fine. She's a mage."

"Who's never had lyrium." Royoc arched an unamused brow. "Ever."

"Cullen" her voice held a note of fear and he looked down at her. Her body started to shake as she looked up at him. "Cullen?" Her eyes scared of what was happening to her body.

He froze. He's too late.

Her eyes rolled back and she started to convulse. He took her head to his chest and laid her down on his desk. He quickly grabbed the loose tails of his cloak and shoved it across her mouth like a gag to keep her from swallowing or biting her tongue. He looked at Royoc who was watching the show amused. "Hurry up."

The Inquisitor only blinked slowly at him. Not even reiterating for Cullen to calm down.

Cullen grit his jaw. The slayer, his wife. The only one in the hold who believes whole-heartedly. The only one in the hold who he-

Maker she's

She's going to die.

If she lived, she now has the addiction too.

Maker, what was she thinking. His arms growing tired from his own trials and now holding her to keep her from flailing or falling.

The Maker. Cullen bowed his head, tucking her head under his chin as he held the gag. "Maker, please. Let her be strong. Give her strength to endure this. Maker please, don't take her." He rocked with her. His throat sealing at the idea of losing her. "Maker, my rock and redeemer. You have promised that you are able to bless abundantly, so that in all things at all times, you will supply everything we need. Let her be held in your capable hands. You are the God of peace, the great shepherd. May you equip us with everything good so that we may do your will. Work in me, that I may be pleasing in your sight. Andraste, please."

Her body stopped, and so did his heart. He quickly removed the tails of his cloak from her mouth and checked her throat.

A pulse.

"Thank you, Maker." Cullen sniffed back the pained tears in his eyes as he looked her over. Her body would be shutting down. He needed charcoal and-

Her eyes opened.

Cullen pulled back slowly. Her usual ice blue eyes were lit in an eerie blue that seemed to shine. To glow. Like lyrium.

He watched as the same glow emanate from her hands. She blinked. Cullen felt his heart stop as he looked down at her. She started to float. Above the desk. Maker, what in the-

Cullen took a step back, watching her as she levitated herself into an upright position. Cullen moved, drawing his blade as the mage floated above them. He looked over to see Royoc watching her with confused fascination. Cullen rounded the desk and held the Inquisitor behind him. She flexed her hands and the three doors shut with a slam at the same time.

"What is happening?" Royoc demanded behind him.

Cullen shook his head. He had no idea, he'd never seen this before. A mage taking that much lyrium should have sent them into the fade. Was is- is this, her harrowing?

Uthreida looked at her hands and smiled. "Ég skil." She looked at her other hand with glowing blue eyes. "Svo, þetta er þessi lönd máttur. Ekki frá fólki. Ekki frá anda, en þetta, þetta hjarta."

Cullen took a step back. Speaking in tongues was a sign of an abomination. But she wasn't changing. There wasn't a second echo in her voice. She wasn't possessed. What was happening?

"What did she say?" Royoc asked as he clutched at Cullens armor. Cullen shook his head, not knowing what was going on. His eyes fell to the shield that was on the other side of the desk. And her eyes rested on them. "Do something," Royoc demanded.

Uthreida smiled as she looked at them. "Ég er síðasta sinnar tegundar. Síðasta drottning Dovah. Vængirnir mínir mundu út sólina, tennurnar mínar muni brynja þig. Og þú heldur mér pólitískt gæludýr." She laughed deeply and sinister at them. The blue of her hands turned black as she held them up to them.

"Cullen," Royoc shouted.

Cullen clenched his jaw. His wife. Was floating. His death, was pointing a black ball of magic at him. And he froze. With sword in hand. He can't. Not again.

"Useless." Royoc came from behind him and shoved, trying to pull the weapon from his hands.

A loud breath from behind them made both of them freeze.

Cullen slowly looked behind him with wide eyes as the shadows of the room morphed into a tall, shaggy, furred beast. On two legs. Talons on their feet and hands. And-

Maker.

Werewolf.

"Svangur úlfur" she said with an ominous growl, "sýna þeim hver er að ráða þetta land."

How in the Maker's blessings did she summon a bloody werewolf?

Royoc took a deep breath, without weapons, no armor. Cullen pulled him behind him again. The werewolf's eyes looked at them, then at Uthreida. Its maw opened slightly. "Uta?"

Cullen took a step back. It talks?

"Eyða þeim." She said with a smile.

The wolf walked past the men with its eyes only on her. "Uta?" It lifted its paws to her.

Uthreida fell from her hovering. The blue of her hands severed and looked at the beast that was circled by the shadows again. When the shadows parted. It was a man. A spirit. It stepped towards her and she stepped back. "Nei, þú ert dáinn. Ég sá að þú deyrð. Farkas, vinsamlegast-" her voice broke as she looked at the spirit. Her lips turned down in pain. She was about to cry at the vision before the spirit stepped closer.

Royoc took a deep breath and shouted. "Guard-"

Cullen used his elbow to hit him in the stomach to silence him. "If that thing gets out we're looking at a full blown infection of lynthropy. It has to be contained."

"Then" he said with half a lung, "Contain it."

Cullen looked at the spirit. It held a hand to Uthreida's chest. "þú verður að berjast við þetta. Berjast við blóðið. Berjast við drekann, Uta. þú ert meira en þeir. þú ert meira en þetta."

Royoc slapped the blade from Cullen and lifted. He ran forward and sliced at it. The man-spirit looked over its shoulder at Royoc'ss approach. Uthreida shouted. Her hands and eyes glowed blue again and she started to levitate again as the shadows surrounded the spirit again. Royoc took a step back as the werewolf looked down at him. Cullen took the opportunity to grab his shield and stood before the wolf and Royoc.

"Skrímsli." Uthreida shouted. "eyða þeim núna!" The wolf looked over its shoulder at her. Uthreida's smile dropped as she looked at the wolf as indignation filled her features. "Skrímsli. eyða þeim núna!" The wolf turned to her. "Skrímsli." She growled at it.

The wolf struck her, knocking her down to the ground. Her head landing on the wood of Cullen's office. The wolf snorted. "Ég er ekki skrímslið þitt"

Cullen watched in confusion as the conjured spirit just punched their master.

It's silver eyes turned to them and Cullen took a step back. His eyes falling to Uthreida's who seemed to be unconscious from the strike. One down. One to go. He watched the wolf, who sat there. Next to her. It ran a paw over her face. "Don't touch her," Cullen shouted at it. It looked at him with a tilted head. Its ear twitched and looked at the east door.

The door opened and Solas stood in the frame. Quickly taking in the scene and held his staff to Royoc. "Don't."

The wolf took a defensive stance over Uthreida to protect her. "Yirgefa þennan stað Falmer. Þú munt ekki drepa hana í svefni. Ég hef slátrað tegund þinni í lífinu, ég mun ekki hætta núna."

Solas looked at the wolf in question then at the men. "Don't harm it. It's a spirit."

"We know," Cullen shouted quickly. "Shut the door. Lock it."

The werewolf growled at the sight of Solas shutting and locking the door. Solas held up a hand to smooth it. "Kannski viltu vita af hverju ég er óttuð."

Solas looked at Cullen and Royoc quickly then at the spirit. "This is a spirit of perseverance masquerading as a memory. Hers. Do not fight it."

"Solas" Royoc said, his eyes still on the wolf still watching Solas, "what in the bloody void is going on here?"

"The slayer," the elf said, looking at Culen, "is undergoing a harrowing."

Cullen grunted, knowing why the elf was angered. "Why can't she control it?"

"She" the wolf growled again as Solas moved closer to them, "forgot to bind it to her. Blessedly."

"She doesn't want to control it." The three men looked behind them to see Cole standing there. His wide hat looking at the werewolf.

"Cole," Royoc eyed the wolf then him. "What do you mean?"

"The blood called for blood, but the heart called for its heart." He canted his head making the hat tilt. "You cannot bind a heart."

Cullen looked at the wolf, understanding exactly what he spoke of. This monster was her...former lover. What was his name? Fa, fee, fin, something.

A pull at the fade made Cullen look at Uthreida. A wide fire spell pulsed from her making the wolf yelp in surprise. Her magic is crossing planes. Makers breath. She's not trained. The wolf looked back at them, snarling.

"Hello." Cole said from beside it. The wolf jumped at the boy and lifted Uthreida's arm as if ready to lift her. "I'm Cole." He said with a hand to his heart.

The wolf lowered its head, looked to the room, then back at Cole. "Ég er Farkas Félaganna."

Cullen arched a brow, still holding his shield ready, as the wolf spoke.

"Please," Cole said softly. "We don't want to hurt her." The wolf tilted its head to look at Royoc who was holding a sword, Cullen who was holding a shield, and Solas who was holding his staff. It looked back at Cole with an arched brow. "We want to help."

The wolf growled again, its body growing taught as it stooped over Uthreida's body.

"Commander," Solas whispered while Cole was calming the wolf "the Slayer isn't trained in the fade. I can assist her if I need to. But I'll need you to keep the wolf occupied."

Cullen clenched his jaw. If Solas assisted. She failed the harrowing. But she's not trained. She doesn't know of the plane.

If he failed-

If she failed-

Cullen shook his head. "Do what you must." He took the blade back from Royoc and approached the wolf. It growled again at him and Cullen felt his heart stop. Every story his ma told him growing up coming back to him about werewolves in Fereldan.

"He says" Cole started "that the dragon cannot be seen as weak. And that her guardian stands ready."

Cullen flicked his eyes to Cole then the wolf. He held his blade at the low ready. The wolf looked around the room.

"Companion," Cole said, "if you run, and you disappear, she will be left behind again. Don't leave."

The wolf looked down at Uthreida who's hands started to pulsate with fire again.

The wolf looked at the room and saw the ladder to Cullen's quarters. "No." Cullen stated quickly at the wolf. "Cole, tell this thing-" The werewolf stood to its full height, towering over Cullen with its teeth barred at him, a low growl emanating from deep in its chest. And Cullen felt his rear tighten in fear.

"He says-"

"I can guess what it's saying. Thank you Cole." Cullen said quickly around his heart in his throat. The fear and anxiety pulsing in his blood at this point. If they could smell fear, it was viciously smiling like it could. It barked a chuckle as it lifted Uthreida up and over its shoulder. Cullen watched as the monster took three leaps up the ladder and out of sight.

Cullen doubled over to breathe for the first time in several minutes. There's a werewolf...in his quarters.

There's. A Werewolf, in the hold.

There's a ware wolf...here.

"So that's..." Royoc flicked a hand to Cullen's quarters. "That's a thing."

"Werewolf." Solas supplied. As if they didn't figure it out.

Cole tilted his head at the ladder. "Warm hands, warm heart, trapped in the cold of the winds and the mountains shadows." He looked at the group. "He's nice."

Cullen snorted at the boy as he looked at the ladder. "Right" the thought of talons slashing his stomach open came to mind. Cullen took a breath. "Right." He's the only one here trained to oversight a harrowing. It had to be him. Maker, damn it all it had to be him. He looked at Solas. "Solas, do what you need to. Royoc, keep him safe in case I fail. Cole, you seem to understand what that thing is saying. You're with me. We need to keep it contained to reduce the chances of it spreading the disease."

Solas sighed. "It's a spirit, Commander. It can't spread the disease."

Cullen jut his jaw. "Fine. Contain to stop the hysteria. Cole" he turned and didn't see the boy. Cullen grunted.

"What happened?" Solas asked to Royoc.

The Inquisitor scratched his head. "Uh, she took lyrium, started glowing and floating. And called forth the wolf. Don't forget that part."

Solas lowered his brows at the vague answer. "She had three vials of Templar grade lyrium" Cullen supplemented quickly, "and convulsed at the onset of the poison. As she entered the fade, she began to levitate and spoke in tongues."

Solas nodded. "Peculiar. Her minor arcana resistance may have just saved her life. Go." He nodded to Cullen. "We will be safe here."

Cullen turned and walked to the ladder. He was the only one trained to oversight a harrowing. And now with her fully unconscious, it should move like normal. He climbed, trying not to think of how he froze. Not thinking of the shabby beast in his quarters. Not thinking of what would happen if Solas can't guide her. If she failed.

He popped his head above the landing and saw the werewolf curled up on his bed. Its eyes on him. He wanted to duck down. Order the catapults to his tower and knock the whole thing down. He swallowed back the stories, fables and myths as he finished his ascent into his own room.

The wolfs silver eyes watched him closely as he took a post on the further side of the room. The wolf had its head placed against Uthreida's stomach as she laid on his bed. The two stared at one another in silence. Waiting for the other to move. Uthreida twitched in her sleep and he clenched his jaw again.

He hated harrowings. Adding an overprotective wolf wasn't helping matters.

Solas said it was a spirit. Spirit of perseverance. But looked like a memory. This is the form of the memory that she associated with perseverance?

He lowered his brows at it. If a spirt was pulled from the fade into the real world, she would need blood magic... or a considerable amount of lyrium. Which she honestly didn't have that much. How was she able to pull a spirit, without changing its nature, from the fade? How was she able to do it without binding it?

The spirit moved as if to readjust on her stomach and Cullen's shoulders tightened. This spirit was far too familiar with her. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to ask the spirt 'could you not.' If she does become possessed, this is about to become very interesting. And frightening. If she's possessed, that would mean the spirit could change. What's the demon he should be preparing for?

Sloth.

Spirits react to what your expecting. If you expect to see a demon, that is what you will perceive.

Cullen took a deep breath to calm himself. If Solas is right, and Maker hoping he was, Cullen had to perceive it as a spirit. Not a demon. Even if Chantry doctrine was the complete opposite.

Her hands flexed. Fire came forth and set his bed on fire from the blankets she was clutching. Cullen bit back his lips into a small line in annoyance at the woman. Now she's resorting to destroying personal property. Unconscious. He cleansed the area to sever her magic. The wolf used its massive paws to stamp out the smolders from the red fabric. The wolf caught his eye. It seemed to bark a quick laugh before looking away.

"He wants to apologize." Cullen jumped at Coles voice that appeared beside him. "She's not usually like this." Cullen lowered a brow at the boy. His tone held the same cadence as Uthreidas. "Companion," Cole said kindly, "you know her battle with the blood is constant. She tries." The spirit said something in its foreign language that Cole shook his head at. "She tried. But pride became arrogance, and she faltered on her task. But she called you. To help." The wolf looked from Cole to her. Its hand moving slowly to her face.

"Desist." Cullen took a step forward. The wolf looked at him. He swallowed back the fear and took another step. The wolf curled up on its paws...all of them and stood over her.

"The guardian must protect," Cole said quickly, getting between the two. "To watch, and wait."

The wolf tilted its head confused, as did Cullen. Cole looked between them. "In her memory, he guarded her. But you," he looked at the spirit again. "You can't be you so long as you are him." The wolf cocked a brow as it looked at Cole. It sat on the bed with its tail thumping as if in thought at the boy. It looked down at her again, then at Cullen. It looked at its raised paw, then at her. It said something else that Cullen didn't make out but Cole nodded. "Commander Cullen tries. She is scared, but is trying." The wolf said something else that made his laugh ghoulish. "Yes. Often to the anger of others." The wolf barked a chuckle again with a shake of its head and a shiver of its back.

The wolf said something else as it jutted its muzzle at him. Cullen only looked at it with steadfast determination. Hiding his fear and anxiety as much as possible.

"Warmth of the fire but Fear the heat. Finding happiness in the safety but fiends in the dark. Fast, friendly, fragrance, fascinating, feverant." Cullen arched a brow at the boys poem. But the wolfs heckles made him swallow back. It's joints popping as it clenched its hands...paws?...into fists.

"Cole," Cullen warned lowly.

"Perseverance," Cole held a hand to the wolf. It looked at him with a lowered head. "This is not you."

Cullen looked at Cole trying to figure out this one sided conversation over the sleeping woman. "Cole, could you please not anger the spirit as it stands over the dragon slayer, please."

"He wants to protect, as the memory requires. But that's not how she remembers it." Coles hat turned towards Cullen. "He guarded. He guided. He trained. He helped." He looked back at the spirit. "This is not you. Only you are you."

The wolf looked down at her. Cullen felt her pull from the fade again. She was able to cast some lightning before Cullen could smote the area. The wolf, taken off guard, vented the pain of the lighting by curling his paws and talons onto the bed. Ripping the sheets and blankets. Cullen groaned again. He could see the straw, wool, and horse hair that made up the innards of the stuffing. The smell of burnt hair and fur filled the small quarters. Maker's breath, can they put her on the floor already? If she fails, his dismissal of a bed will now be covered in blood. Her blood. His sword. His dreams. He wanted to shoo the wolf off the bed like a disobedient dog. Never minding the large teeth. And claws. And stature.

He exhaled slowly. The things he does for his wife. He gritted his teeth as he watched the wolf recover from the attack. Cullen's eyes flicked to the ladder and wished Solas would hurry up. He rolled his shoulders, realizing how tight he was holding his weapon and shield, even at the low.

Maker, he hated harrowing. The diligence was easy enough. It was the split-second decisions that came with it that made it difficult.

The wolf shook off the attack like a dog shaking off water. It looked at Cullen then at Cole. "Yes" Cole said before it said anything. It looked back to Cullen who flinched. It huffed. Then spoke again. Cullen became slightly confused how it was making certain sounds without lips. "Patience," Cole said. "And sweet rolls." His voice holding Uthreidas cadence again as he spoke. "The blood makes her arrogant. The soul makes her brave. But you must remind her of her heart and her mind. These are hers." It rubbed the back of its paws...knuckles across her cheek and Cullen took another step to stop it. There was a softness to its actions. But a single scratch. "Focus on the peace of battle. Control the rage."

Cullen arched a brow at Cole who tilted his head to the wolf. The wolf slowly descended from the bed and stood before Cole. Cullen lifted his sword to protect the boy but he took a step towards it. "Cole, get away from it."

But he didn't. The wolf nodded and Cole lifted a hand. "Forget"

The shadows circled the werewolf again. It shrunk in size until the shadows departed. A spirit of a man stood before them like the one he saw downstairs. Being closer, the spirit stood half a head taller than Cullen. The transparent spirit appeared to have long hair and wearing a heavy set of armor that Cullen had never seen before. A wolfs head at the collar and long tassets like skirting. Fur at the seams. It looked at Cullen and he noticed that the kohl around its eyes was thick like war paint. But its eyes were white like marble. "Mortal." It stated with a nod to Cullen. Cullen looked at Cole quickly then at the spirit. The spirit then looked at Cole. "Compassion. Why am I here?"

"You were called to protect."

It canted its head slightly. "Protect what?"

"Her heart." Cole pointed slowly to Uthreida. The spirit followed Coles hand to her sleeping form. "She was afraid to lose it. And called you to keep it safe."

The spirit turned to look at her in silence. "I understand why. This mortal has a will. Conviction. But it is controlled by fear." It gave a sigh. "The doubt holds it back."

"It makes her mortal." Cole tilted his head. "Beards grey like the clouds of their mountain. Whispers not underestimated less to shake the earth. The tongues strength isn't their power, it's their restraint."

The spirit looked at Cole for a silent moment, but nodded. "I must return. This place feels...wrong." It looked around the room. Its eyes falling to Cullen. Cullen took a deep breath as it stood face to face with the spirit. His jaw growing sore at the tight clenching. Ready to strike if he had to. It looked at him. Through him. Its eyes closed for a moment as if to hear something. Cullen pulled his head back and watched in awe as the spirit took on a scar on its upper lip like his. It looked at Cullen again. "It is only when the ore is fired, hammered, and beaten, will it be quenched in the water of salvation. But it needs to be shaped, grinded, and polished. And even then, required maintenance. It is not easy. It is not simple. It is a process of defiance, skill, and faith." The spirit blinked. And so did Cullen. What was it going on about? It looked back at Cole. "I must go. I do not belong here."

Cole nodded once. Cullen watched as the spirit slowly started to fade, the bits of it floating like dust until nothing was left of it.

Cullen looked to Cole who seemed to smile at him. "He did not belong here, because he was not needed here. What was needed was already here."

He arched a brow, but looked at the current problem. Uthreida. Still unconscious. On his ruined bed. He took a breath. With one problem out of the way-

He approached the bed, a new kind of fear and anxiety rose in his chest. He held his sword in two shaking hands. The tip of the blade pointed at his wife's chest. He clenched his jaw again, forcing the quiver of his jaw not to show. Maker, please. Not again. Please, don't make him kill his wife again.

He could already smell the blood. He could already hear her last breath. Maker, please, not again.

"Sleep."

A kick rose Cullen. He took a deep breath and looked around him. Royoc stood over him with a cooling rage, his arms crossed over his chest. Cullen wiped his face to get the sleep off. He realized that he had fallen asleep during his morning prayers as he knelt by his bed. His sword and shield on the floor next to him. But the light from the windows was off. It was afternoon not morning. Why is he in armor? How long had he been out?

"She rests." Cullen looked across his bed to see Solas kneeling over a body. Uthreida. He sat up, remembering everything that had happened. The wolf. The spirit. Her floating. Maker. He fell asleep during her harrowing. "She survived," Solas said with a smile to Cullen.

"Did she" he asked, using the foot board of the bed to help him rise. Falling asleep in armor didn't help his back or knees.

Solas smiled again softly. "She lives and as far as I can tell, is not possessed." The elf smiled warmly at the two humans. "She passed."

Cullen looked down at his torn and sundered bed to see her clutching at some furs to her chest. Cullen lowered his brows. That's his mantle. How...when...what?

Royoc shifted his weight and Cullen had enough presence of him to gather his weapons. He looked back at the red head and nodded. A sense of relief filling his chest and allowed him to breathe for the first time in a long time. "How is she?"

"A concussion," Solas said. "A cracked rib, and possibly minor neck injury. These are beyond my skills I'm afraid."

"Thank you, Solas," Royoc said lowly.

The elf smile kindly. "Don't thank me, Inquisitor. She did this on her own."

Cullen held his wrist to the pommel of his weapon to keep from touching her. "What happened?"

The elf stood, looking the two men over. He held his hand to the ladder for them to descend to allow her to rest in peace.

Royoc was the first followed by Solas. Cullen looked back at her. He reached for his furs only to hear a few of the seams pop as she was resting on the fabric of his cloak. He gave a grudged breath after her aggravation. But smiled. She lived. She survived her harrowing. And she did it on her own. He threw his head back and smiled. Thank you, Maker. Thank you.

He moved to the ladder and slid down with the other men. His lungs rising into his throat as the hard floor hit his heels. Stinging them in heat. Cullen approached them, doing everything in his power to keep the smile of relief off his face. He quietly cleared his throat and looked at the elf, unsure if he could look at the Inquisitor right now. "What happened?"

Solas held his hands behind his back as he spoke. "When I entered the fade, she was speaking to a spirit, but it couldn't understand her nor she it. It was" he chuckled, "humorous." He gathered himself and continued. "When the spirit realized it wouldn't have favor through ploy, it turned into a pride demon."

Cullen raised his brows. "Pride?"

"Yes. Thankfully, her training against dragons taught her how to fight larger creatures than herself. She did admirable." Cullen held a hand over his heart. Breathing again. As he stood there useless trying to figure out how to kill a werewolf. "If the smile and laugh were frightening."

"So, I have questions," Royoc stated blandly as he looked at Solas. "Firstly," he turned to Cullen, "seeing as how her Templar fell asleep during her trial, is there a way to see if she is possessed?"

"Yes." Cullen gritted between his teeth. "The litany of Adralla will force the possession to surface if it's there."

"I want a third party to conduct." Royoc bit. "Second, when she drank the lyrium, she was speaking in tongues. I thought she could translate anything?"

Solas held a hand to his chin. "Perhaps, the lyrium cancelled out the passive magical enchantment. It could have overpowered it in a way that made it obsolete."

Royoc arched an unamused brow. "How was she able to summon a spirit without blood?"

Solas tilted his head as he explained. "The vail is thin here, Inquisitor. Any spirit, when called for as strongly as she did may have the chance to cross the vail. You have but to look at Nevarran Mortalitasi or Tevinter to see that. But to call a powerful spirit like Perseverance would require great magical capabilities and aptitude. From what I understand, in her land, magic is casual. It's part of everything. I wouldn't be surprised if conjuration of spirits is just as normalized to her as it is to Cassandra or Dorian."

"Fine, but why was she floating?"

Solas arched a brow at him. "Floating?" Royoc nodded once. Cullen noticed the chords in his neck as he looked at the elf. Solas shook his head. "Without seeing it, I can't say for certain. The lyrium, given grade and amount, could have overpowered her. Or risen dormant abilities. Perhaps in the surge of power, pride did take hold and just forgot to bind the spirit she conjured."

Cullen dropped his jaw. "You think a pride demon did this?"

Solas gave a consoling chuckle. "Her own pride, Commander. Arrogance, if you will. A poor choice of wording on my part. Forgive me."

Royoc nodded again and smirked at the elf. "Thank you, Solas. For your quick interception." Royoc turned to Solas as he made his way to the door. The elf followed behind him. "If you weren't so attuned to the fade, I fear the beast may have had a demon in the hold. Or our slayer." He gave a soft chuckle as he unlocked the door.

Solas nodded slowly. "Agreed. I'm glad I was able to help our friend."

"We all are." Royoc held a hand for Solas to exit first. The elf exited the room but Royoc shut the door and locked it behind him. Cullen surveyed the room and noticed the other two doors were locked as well. Royocs anger was focused solely on Cullen. He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. If he had to guess, Cullen could imagine the conversation to follow.

They both looked at one another in silence. Waiting for the other to snap and break it or move. And Cullen was patient when he had to be.

Royoc took a deep breath. "How many harrowings have you been a part of, Commander."

Here we go. Questioning his capabilities once again. Cullen did a quick tally in his head without breaking eye contact. "Fourteen."

"Fourteen. Impressive." Royocs tone matched his words, but his eyes didn't even from across the office. "And how many have you seen like that?" He waved a vague hand to where Uthreida was knocked unconscious by the spirit.

Never. "Each event is unique to the mage." True enough though, there was rarely a time where they didn't just sleep it off.

"Unique. Interesting. When undergoing a harrowing, when do you strike the killing blow?"

Cullen arched a brow when he realized Royoc's tone. He was trying to build a political argument. He's going to use facts to evoke emotion. Cullen took a deep breath and prepared for the onslaught as Royoc was his Commanding Officer and is asking questions pertinent to the Inquisition. "The killing blow is to be struck when it is determined that the mage is possessed."

"And what are the signs you look for in that event?"

"The mage usually transforms into an abomination. Or there is a ring to their voice that indicates a second entity. They could also strike upon waking."

"So" Royoc took a few steps closer to Cullen. "Speaking in tongues isn't indicative to possession?"

He's building a case. This is the worse time for this. "Inquisitor, we know she has latent and passive magic that allows her to translate any language. Coupled with the fact the spirit was speaking the same language could mean that what we heard was her native language that is repressed-"

"How would you describe harrowing's? As a Templar."

Cullen tightened his jaw and breathed at the half answers Royoc wanted to hear. "Harrowing are the most stressful and consuming guard for Templars as they will be required-"

"How many mages have you slain during a harrowing?"

"Three." Cullen stated with a jutted jaw. Royocs impertinence was starting to grind.

He nodded and took another step. "You once told me that Templars have to act without hesitation in a moment's notice. Care to explain why you hesitated?" Cullen dropped his eyes in shame and guilt. "Or why you offered a prayer for her safety?"

"Templars are something of professional prayers." Cullen added dryly.

Royoc grinded his teeth as he looked Cullen over. "If harrowing's are so stressful, why did you fall asleep?"

Because he hasn't slept in four days save a few hours a night. Cullen looked away again unsure of the answer. He had his sword at her chest, then black. Why did he fall asleep?

"So about your lyrium consumption," Royoc stated as he closed the distance.

Cullen looked him over quickly but took a step back unconsciously. "What of it?"

Royoc took a heavy breath. "Cullen, today has proven that you're" he sighed again. "How do I put this. According to the story of the Champion, you were quick to dispel blood mages. Quick to see the machinations. And after today, you faltered. You were sluggish to respond to a very real threat. If it wasn't for Solas or Cole, we could've lost the hold."

Cullen looked away again. He was right. His hesitation could've lost the Inquisition. Wait, Cole. Makers breath. That's why he fell asleep, Cole-

"I'm concerned for your health. Your focus. But do you now see why?" Royoc held a hand to his office to show the Inquisition. "You pass missives off to your juniors to solve their own problems. You're not present in our war meetings and now," he scoffed in disbelief, "you let an apostate undergo their harrowing with little to no training that required assistance."

Maker, he's right. Cullen was forsaking everything it meant to be a Knight Comman- wait. Cullen lowered his brows at him. He passed off the missives to allocate his own stress and it's been working well for the soldiers in the field. He doesn't participate in the idle conversations in the war room because Liliana's gossip was tedious and Josephine tended to ramble on. And he didn't let Uthreida undergo the harrowing, Royoc failed to follow orders to get the damn bucket. Cullen blinked slowly at the man. "I beg your pardon?"

"You don't participate in the rings, you neglect your health and now, convorting with a pagan. Cullen, your lack of lyrium has significantly reduced your standards. When I first got here, you were full of hope and ambition and now," he shook his head in shame. "Do you still care about what we're trying to do? What we're trying to accomplish?"

Cullen scoffed at him. "Of course I care. The Inquisition is a means for the people. It is the vehicle of the Makers will and proof of his blessings. I care deeply for the Inquisition. For the Order. Of its people and its soldiers."

"Then why are you giving the Inquisition less than your best?"

"I'm giving everything I can. Everything I have. Countless hours working logistics, training, contracts, manpower, maneuvers. Constantly studying the enemy's equipment, movements, and tactics. I am giving-"

"Not like you were." Royoc shook his head slowly, his eyes softening into sympathy as he looked Cullen in the eyes. "Not like I know your capable of. You're distracted, Cullen." Royocs tone matching his expression. "Cullen," He gave an empathic sigh and rubbed his neck in stress. "We all have to make sacrifices for the greater good. For a path that is greater than ourselves. I know I speak for everyone when I say we all want to see you happy. To see you achieve your dreams. We all want what's best for you. And what's best is that you go back to lyrium. To have that clearer focus. To maintain the drive that I know you have. Take the lyrium."

Cullen's eyes flicked to the ladder and the loft Uthreida was sleeping in. Was Royoc right? Had he been slipping in his duties? It would help. He wouldn't be distracted by the symptoms. Fearful of a dizzy spell or a seizure at any moment. But she...

She was the only one who he believed that he could do this.

She was the only one who showed an ounce of care and had a solution to help. She stood beside him.

Royoc sighed. "She's right on one account." Cullen looked at Royoc again. "This is your choice. But, I ask that you remember, you, as you are, your choices affect the health and wellbeing of all of those around you. Of all of those under you. You're failure today could've put the entire hold in jeopardy. Do you really want to see what more time off lyrium will do? While we plan for the Western Approach? While we plan to assault a guild of skilled monster hunters? Even if we succeed, can you afford to be distracted when we face Corypheus again? Will our men?" Cullen clenched his jaw. He was right. Of course he was right. As much as he didn't want this to interfere, it was. It is. "Winning this war is going to take everything we've got. Sacrifices have to be made by everyone. Our soldiers, your solders, need you-no, deserve you at your best." Royoc searched his eyes with a pleading look. "Commander, lead them."

Cullen tightened his jaw. His mind going back to what Uthreida had said. It only takes one. The Templars look to him, hoping to see another way. Knowing the collar as the prongs bit into their own neck. He furrowed his brows. He was leading. He looked at Royoc with a lowered brow. If he's so adamant about this, why hasn't he ordered it? Why is he allowing it be his ' choice'? If Royoc is leaving it open, then Cullen was going to take it. If Uthreida survived her harrowing, chances are, she's addicted now too. She'll need someone who understands. Someone who can help her with this path. And if he wants to help his men, his brothers, he needed to fight this too. He needed to become more. And be bloody defiant until the end. He swore to rid himself of this. He had to see this through. His eyes flicked to the loft again. He had to hold true to his word to the Maker. To himself. He had to break this chain. "No."

Royoc scoffed. "You would throw away everything we're doing-"

"The Inquisition stands to hang all of the wrongs of the Chantry. I believe in what the Order stands for, but this chain needs to be broken to do that. For all future Templars."

Royoc followed his eyes to the ladder then the loft. He snorted in anger at Cullen. "Cullen, don't look to her. Not now. Don't you see what's she's doing?" Cullen looked Royoc over. "She's trying to divide us. If the Inquisition is to be legion against Corypheus, we need to stand together."

"She's not-"

"She's keeping you weak, Cullen." Royoc looked Cullen over, his face dropping in realization. "You aren't" the Inquisitor pulled his head back as if appalled. "You're not actually falling for her, are you?" Royoc looked him over and Cullen did everything he could to keep the emotions off his face. So what? What if he was? Who would care? Royoc certainly didn't. "Makers breath, Cullen. You've become her dog. She's using you. How do you not see that?"

He looked away. A part of him knew. A part of him was reserved for her betrayal. But he wanted to believe. He knew, mages and Templars should be kept separate. But she wasn't a mage. Kind of. And he wasn't a Templar. Not anymore. But...

"Cullen" Royoc took a breath, running his hand through his hair. "What were you thinking? She- Cullen. She could ruin us. And you saved her life. What-" He took it. "She was possessed-"

"It was her harrowing-"

"She could've destroyed-"

"It was under control-"

"What control? You didn't do a damn thing!" He took a heated snort. "Maker, Cullen. You've lost your mind." He shook his head slowly. "Do you not see what she is? If she's not a spy, she's a demon. And she's already infected your thoughts. She's gotten under your armor and you didn't even realize. Cullen, are you listening?"

Cullen met his gaze with a heated look of anger. He knew. He was listening. And he didn't care.

"She's playing you. You're so distracted with the lyrium withdrawals that you can't see she's manipulating you. Keeping you weak without it. Without the lyrium, you won't be able to control her. And she knows that." He took a heated breath and stepped closer. "Your unofficial wife has you wrapped around her finger."

Cullen scoffed quickly. Hardly. If anything, it's the other way around.

Royoc snorted his frustrations and shook his head. "Cullen, between your apparent affections, lyrium withdrawals, and questionable command and control," he took a breath. "I want her out of the hold."

Cullen looked at him quickly. "What? She's injured."

"You heard me. I want her out of this hold as soon as possible."

Cullen took a deep breath and huffed his chest. "No dragon has been spotted in the field."

"She's good with bandits, or so she claims. I hear there's still pockets of them on the Storms Coast."

No. The thought of not seeing her. Hearing her laughter. Her ridiculous smile. Her scent. "She's an expensive asset whose contract specifies dragons."

"And she'll be closer to Denerim. And her future husband. Put her to work away from you. Some distance might do you some good. Clear your head of her miasma."

I just want to make sure you're safe.

I want you.

Do you really think I look beautiful?

You have such pretty eyes.

Oh, yuvon valok.

Why did you give me wine?

How can I judge you're past, knowing my own?

How you manage to destroy honey...

My husband.

I will not see you beaten before you enter the ring.

These bandits must be, why, seven feet tall.

Cullen clenched his jaw at the memories of her. Her smile, sarcasm, determination, defiance. Even if it was poison, at least it tasted sweet. Cullen swallowed back the feeling of his heart squeezing in his chest and breathing with the knife in his lung as he looked at Royoc. And he defied a direct order. "No."

"Are you not paying attention? She's not even yours to keep. She's a pawn in a larger game."

Please don't use me like my own king did.

"Cullen, she keeps you weak so she can control you. You're the Templar. You're supposed to control her."

Chains do not come easy to mortals.

"I relied on you to find her weakness because you could keep a level head. You saw through this farce when it all began. I trusted you to do the right thing. And you let her in because you're having relations with her? Cullen, what has gotten into you? Who are you?"

Your name is Cullen Stormblade now.

Cullen looked at Royoc with renewed invigoration and huffed his chest. "I am who I have always been. And the only person who I question stands before me now."

Royoc shook his head at him with a sneer. "I want her out of this hold."

"Then go find a dragon."

Royoc clenched his jaw as he looked down at Cullen. Cullen took the heat, knowing Royoc has yet to find a replacement and Cassandra refuses to release him. "Your behavior is unacceptable. Each of us has had to make a sacrifice for the inquisition. I order you to take lyrium, for your health and well-being, and you deny it. I order you to relocate an asset, and you deny. Need I remind you of your position? Or maybe my own. Need I remind you that insubordination will not be tolerated? That the stockades aren't that far from your office."

Cullen crossed his arms over his chest with a chuff. "As you may recall from the story of the Champion, I've grown accustomed to insubordination and the removal of cancerous growths from an orginization. And seeing as how you've yet to find a replacement, your threats have no bite. You speak of sacrifice, but my life has been one sacrifice after another. I will not run nor hide from my duty. This office, this position that I sacrificed everything for, is mine. That asset you threw in my lap, that woman" he pointed to his loft casually to make his point, "is mine. And for the good of the organization, I will not needlessly cast them aside for your comfort. But I will maintain a command and control as necessary."

"She's possessed. A threat to the people-"

"I'll conduct the litany myself and put her down if I deem her a threat."

"You're hardly impartial. A third party will conduct."

Cullen wanted to suggest Cassandra or Rhylen but knew if he said the names, Royoc would go against it purely out of spite and find someone else to pay off to get the answer he wanted. "Your choice then."

"That was never in question." Royoc rumbled. He turned on his heel and exited the office.

Cullen took a deep breath. The man was mentally and emotionally exhausting. His eyes flicked to the ladder and Cullen took a step forward wanting to check on her.

But stopped.

He didn't have much time. Royoc would 'suggest' to another Templar to perform the litany. If he got to any of the Lieutenants, Cullen may not have much time. Worse, he could have one of Liliana's agents dress as a Templar and assassinate her in her sleep. And Cullen may not be able to do anything about it.

Cassandra. He needed Cassandra.

But he couldn't leave either.

He paused, what's Royoc going to do? Cullen looked at the three doors and had half an idea.

He locked the door that Royoc exited. He opened the north door and found a random Soldier standing guard. She jumped to attention at his impending presence. "Commander!" She stood rigid at attention.

"Gather Seeker Cassandra and tell her to bring the Litany of Adralla. No delay."

The Soldier paused. "Sir?"

"Get Seeker Cassandra now." He turned on his heel and slammed his office door behind him before anyone could enter. He moved and locked the doors again. Cullen paced the floor while he waited for Cassandra. Finding himself circling the ladder. He took a deep breath to relax as he looked up at the ladder.

Why didn't he defend her? When Royoc asked if he was falling, why didn't he deny it? He should've. To maintain his place. His position. Why didn't he?

He looked away in annoyance. Certainly she hasn't gotten to him.

Has she?

He shook his head. Fine, she has. The knife struck his chest again. But it's not like it matters. She sees him as a friend. Nothing more. She sees him as a means. That's all. Even if she did eventually betray him, it's not like he's given her any grounds to betray him on. Aside from his past. And the location of his family. And his addiction.

Maker. Well, at least he had as much dirt on her.

That he couldn't prove.

Damnit.

He looked at the loft with an empty chest. So why didn't he kill her when he had the chance? And why did he pray for her? Was he that scared to be alone? What would she think about all of this? He placed his hand on the rung and looked up. Did she hear any of it? Does she know? Maker, what was wrong with him? A heathen. What would his family think? His eyes drifted to the area where Uthreida was floating. Glowing blue eyes, her hands filled with a light blue glow. Maker, why did he hesitate?

Cullen looked up again. He wanted to check on her. Make sure she was still alive. Still her. Still there. In his bed. Clutching his furs. To hold her hand. Soothe her from what she must have endured.

A knock on the north door broke his thoughts as he moved to unlock it. Cassandra stood in the other side with an annoyed brow and a book held at her thigh. "Commander." Cullen opened the door more to let her enter and locked it behind her. Cassandra arched a concerned brow at his actions but let her silence speak for her.

"Do you have the Litany of Adralla?"

"I do." She said slowly. Cullen nodded and took a breath, preparing for her next question. "What is going on? Not three hours ago you were asking for a replacement and now you feel you are possessed? Cullen. Go to sleep."

He gave a forced chuckle and looked at her. Her firm expression held a slight line of worry. "It's Utha. She drank my lyrium and underwent a harrowing on accident."

Cassandra's face contorted into confusion. "How does one undergo a harrowing accidentally?"

Cullen opened his mouth to retort when the there was a knock on the east door. Royocs Templar. Cullen motioned for her to remain silent. That she gave an animated confused look to but complied. Cullen looked over his shoulder with baited breath as the person knocked again.

"Commander," she hissed, "your acting ridiculous."

"Look" he hissed back. "I need you to perform the litany on Utha right now."

"Why?"

"In case"

"Of?"

"I'll explain later," he whispered back. "But right now I need you to trust me. Please. Before Royoc-"

She groaned. "What do you have against-"

"Come on." Cullen led her to the stairs.

"Commander?" An unfamiliar voice sounded from the east door as they closed on the ladder.

Cullen took the rungs but looked down to see her trying to figure out how to climb and carry the thick tome. Cassandra noticed his lack of movements and looked up. "Where is she?"

Cullen looked at her as if the answer was obvious. She gave a curious look but signed at the rhetoric. When they both finally reached the landing, Cullen saw Uthreida sleeping still. Half on her side and back. His furs still held to her chest. Her breathing was deep even with her injury. Cullen's heart seemed to slow as he looked at her. She was still safe. She was still alive. A breath of relief escaped him as he looked at her from the foot of the torn up bed.

Cassandra moved to stand beside him. Her eyes taking in the ripped up and burned sheets then the red and black furs at her chest, the red fabric around her as if swaddled. Cullen felt her eyes fall to him and it took every inch of will power not to look at the Seeker or rub his neck in stress. A smirk curled on her lips as she flipped through the pages. "Why am I doing this?"

"During her harrowing she levitated, spoke in tongues, and called forth a spirit that looked like a werewolf."

Cassandra slowly lifted her eyes from the book, to him, to her, then the book again as she flipped through the pages faster. Cassandra cleared her throat and started reading.

Cullen drew his blade, ready this time. He stood on the side of the bed, his sword pointed at her throat. He tried not to think of her scent of thistle. He tried not to think of the ice blue of her eyes or how they crinkled when she smiled. He tried to push the sound of her knowing laugh out of his head.

Right now, it was him, his blade, and his charge. Right now, he had a mission. A job. To protect the hold against a possible demon.

He didn't hear Cassandra as she read the litany. He didn't hear the sound of Utha breathing. All he could hear was the blood rushing around his ears. His eyes focused entirely on the woman in his bed. The metallic taste on his tongue. Memories of blood on stone reaching out to him invitingly. And the tightness of his breath.

Maker, please. Let her be safe. Guide her. Please, grant her strength.

Cassandra closed the book and both watched her for the longest minute of his life. Begging for the sanctity of her soul. Ready to barter with the Maker for her life. Cassandra cleared her throat. "She appears to be clean." She said softly. Cullen's sword wavered and he felt his hands shake for the first time. "However, it may be more potent when she awakens."

Cullen sheathed his sword and nodded. She passed. She was still clean. That's all he needed right now. She was clean. He rubbed his hand across his neck as he looked down at her.

"Cullen?" He looked over at Cassandra who let her emotions show on her face. "What happened?"

He took a deep breath, letting it fill his cheeks as he pointed to the ladder for them to exit and to let him explain his morning.

Xxxx

A cold breeze and the sound of movement roused Uthreida into waking. She looked around and saw the familiar wood planking of her room in Breeze Home. The scent of spices and smoke that filled the home. She shifted on the stiff bed and remembered she was naked from last nights activities with Farkas. The sounds of cooking coming from the lower levels.

She smiled. He let her sleep in. A small favor, she supposed. Today was the day she was going to battle Aldiun for the last time. The arrangements had been made. Jarl Balgruuf was ready. The war on a temporary cease. Familiar steps on the stairs made her smile. Still breathing the scents from the sheets.

He chuckled as she closed her eyes to feign sleep. He stepped towards the bed and sat on the edge. His heavy hand offering peace as he gently shook her hips. "Uta. Come. Breakfast is made." She grunted and pulled away, wanting the warmth and scent of the bed. "No battles won in bed. No lamb for the lazy wolf. Come on." He spanked her to motivate her.

She rolled over slightly to see an amused soft smile on his face. His hair pulled off his face in an oversized blue shirt that fit him snugly. She captured his neck to pull him down to her. She hung off his larger frame for a moment before he sighed at her. He held her in his arms and laid on the bed with her.

It was a restless silence. Knowing what was to come. Knowing this may be the last time. Her impending departure. His hands gently stroking her skin, scenting her, pulling her body closer to him. Safe in his arms. And a feeling of home. And a part of her knew she would never get this back. But she had this moment. This memor-

Wait.

This...this is a dream.

But he felt so real, his scent was so strong.

He sat up and pulled her with him as he chuckled. His shirt disappearing and showing his hairy chest. "I'm sure breakfast is cold by now."

Uthreida lowered her brows. No, they had another roll. She could remember the taste of juniper berries for the spermicide. He entered her from the rear and bit into her shoulder until she crumpled in his arms at her own completion. Never feeling fuller or more loved.

He held a hand to her to stand. She took it slowly, letting the memory unfold before her. He dressed quickly, shooting glances over his shoulder at her. Uthreida looked down at herself to see her usual under armor garb of her green top that was embroidered by Lady White Mane. Her thick woolen rus trousers, and her boots.

Farkas grined but headed out the door and down the stairs.

Uthreida looked around her. What was once longing was replaced with confusion as she looked at her room. Her home. She followed the warmth of the fire and appeared behind Farkas to take her place at the table. Farkas tapped his thigh for her to sit even though there was plenty of bench.

She took the offered seat and looked at the table. On her plate were two eggs, one lamb chop, a sweet roll, and a watered ale to wash it down. On his was six eggs, two lamb chops, a loaf of bread, and the same ale. Ale, not mead. She poked at her meal, feeling impending doom upon her but not quite remembering how the memory ended.

"I was thinking," he said around the large bite of lamb chop. "When you get back, I'd like to speak to the building master of Whiterun. Get approval to build a proper hearth for the home."

Uthreida looked at the fire pit then at him. She said something but couldn't remember if it was snarky, loving, or arrogant.

He tilted his head at her in forced amusement. Snark it was. He jutted his thumb to the area below their room. "I know how you build fires."

Uthreida saw the smoke and mild fire damage to the wooden floor planking below the bed-chamber. "It's not safe." He said, shoveling his eggs into his mouth. "To have a fire pit in the middle of the room is begging for an accident. When someone breaks in or when our kids run through-"

"When?" She cocked a brow at him. It was a conversation they had once and only once. Farkas wanted a family of his own but feared the blood would make them targets. Prey. If they ever did have children, they would be adopted, like he was. But he said when, filling her with joy in knowing it was something he was considering. With her. Here. In Breeze Home.

"If" he corrected, a stern expression if only for himself.

"If," she said cautiously even as she smiled, "Don't you think we'll need a bigger home?" Farkas looked at her with a brow. "A place for our 'maybe' family to grow?" He smiled at her, knowing what she was getting at. "Falkreath has offered land. It's by the lake. With a Forrest near it. We could...build."

"Build?"

"Aye."

"In Falkreath?"

"Aye." His eyes turned north to Jorrvaskr. His brother. She didn't like Vilkas. He knew that. But where one twin is, so should the other. It's the way it's always been. How it's supposed to be. But she didn't keep them from each other either. "I know it's across the mountains, but it's only a three-day journey, on a horse, and the woods would allow you to change without being seen. We could have chickens. We could build a forge and even set up a shop. I could enchant your wares."

"In the middle of the forest?" when he didn't meet her eyes, she bit her lip. "What is with you and chickens?"

"I like chickens. And geese. And swans. They're cute. And absolutely terrifying." She looked at him with a smile that he missed, still thinking. "Or," she said more somber, "we can stay here. Whiterun is the heart of Skyrim. Perhaps-"

"You're afraid of dragons attacking Whiterun again, aren't you?" Uthreida looked at him and lowered her brows. His ability to read her had always perturbed her in a way, but it was also comforting for him to see and understand without words. "Like they have before."

"I'm a Thane here. I don't want them to get hurt."

He picked at an egg before eating it. "So isolating in the forest is the better option?" His tone sounded like he was considering it. As he chewed his last chop slowly. Uthreida felt her heart in her throat even as she forced herself to finish her plate. "When you get back, we'll start. In Falkreath."

Her heart stopped when she looked down at him. His silver eyes taking her in with a smile of hope. Uthreida smiled at him, having a future to fight for. He cupped her chin, his warm wedding ring on his thumb heating her skin as he kissed her. Gently. Sweetly. But something wasn't right. She couldn't place it. Something was wrong. His smooth ring caressing her jaw line. Uthreida took his hand into hers. Placing it over her heart. Why did it feel like this was the last time?

"Go on." He tilted his head to the armor stand. "We need to get dressed. You're meeting a god today."

Uthreida smiled off the doomed anxiety and stood, taking a bite of the sweet roll and swallowing it down with her ale. She turned and was already in her Orismer armor. Adjusting her gauntlet. Wondering how she already got here.

There was a knock on the door. She turned to look at it and felt the anxiety come back. Something was happening now. Farkas crossed the room in his steel wolf armor to open the door. Uthreida pulled him by the arm, begging him not to open it. It felt wrong. It felt like this was the last time.

He only arched a confused brow at her actions but opened the door anyways. She couldn't see around him as she heard the runner say "got a message for you."

Farkas took the note and opened it. The runner pushed his way past Farkas and made his way towards Uthreida. Blonde. In half armor with black and red fur at his collar, and a scar on his upper lip. He smirked viciously at her as he bit into an apple, watching her breathe in fear.

"The Storm Cloaks were attacked in East March." Farkas said, turning to look at her. His eyes wide at what it meant. "By Imperial soldiers."

She looked at her lover, her guardian, and felt the air being pulled from her lungs as she looked back at Cullen. "It's a lie." She said quickly, "Ulfric did this. He killed his own men for this war. Even after the peace summit. Farkas, don't," she looked at Cullen who smiled in victory. "Don't let them take me. I can't do it again. I can't sack Whiterun again. I can't, not Ulfric. Not again." Her throat sealing. Her eyes burning with tears. She reached for him, but Cullen held her back.

Farkas looked at her, then the letter. "Maybe Jarl Bulgruff doesn't know." Uthreida clenched her jaw. She knew that's where the runner went first to ensure her mission failed. Farkas looked at the letter. "I can't." He confessed lowly. His eyes sealing shut in pain and duty. "I'm a Companion, I'm nonpolitical. I-I'm sorry, Uta. I can't go with you."

Cullen moved. He grabbed her by the neck and dragged her out of her home. "Farkas" she called to him, being dragged down of the courtyard of Skyhold by the Commander. "Farkas, don't leave me."

He stood solemn in the doorway.

Then it slammed shut.

Uthreida opened her eyes and shot up in bed. Registering she was in a room she had never seen before. Surrounded by stone. The wooden roof had holes and two trees growing in the open air on the walls. The windows letting in the light from the afternoon. She held up a hand to protect her eyes from the bright light.

She looked around to make some indication of where she was. But the quick movement made her head and neck hurt. She held a hand to her head to cup the pain when she saw the furs in her lap. The Commanders. Cullen's furs pooled in her lap. She was in Thedas. Her eyes fell to the bed and saw it was ripped and smoldered. The horse hair, straw, and wool poking out like an odd murdered victim. What happened here?

A groan of wood near her made her jerk her head towards the sound. Then grunted as her head throbbed again, feeling a tweak in her neck. A ladder. She quickly took a breath and looked for a weapon.

"Thank the Maker" she turned to see Cullen rising from the ladder onto the loft. He approached the bed quickly.

"Where am I?" Her tone was terse and demanding answers.

"You're um," he rubbed his neck quickly. "You're in my quarters."

"Ha?" She looked around the room again. It was mostly devoid of personal living. He sat on the side of the bed. "What happened to your bed?"

He gave an awkward laugh and rolled his shoulders. He looked her over slowly, his face falling from better mood to business. "What do you remember?"

Uthreida lowered her brows at his question. "Did I do this?" She waved a hand over the bed.

He held up a hand to stop her patiently. "What do you remember?"

She forced herself to remember. She remembered speaking to Cassandra who urged her to speak to Cullen to see if now was the time to break his leash. Then Cullen punching a book shelf and choking on his choice of freedom. She moved closer to him quickly. "Are you alright?"

She must have looked concerned because he smiled at her with a brow and smirk of amusement. "I've" He smirked in the distance, "never been better. But you've yet to answer my question."

She looked away again. "I remember you wanting freedom, and Royoc wanted the vials back, and-"

"That you drank." There was an edge that she ignored.

"And then," she scratched her head to remember. "My heart. It was going to explode." She looked at him to see his own look of concern and worry.

"And then what?"

She shook her head slowly at him. "I don't know."

"What do you remember?"

She shook her head again, looking across the room. "Nothing. I don't remember. It all went black."

"You didn't battle anyone? Anything?"

"No." She said with a confused tone.

Cullen held an uneasy look as he took her words. He took a deep breath and heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm glad you survived." He met her eyes and a small smile formed on his lips but he looked away. "Cassandra is downstairs. She needs to read something to you. Stay here. You're safe."

He stood and walked away. Uthreida wondered why he felt the need to make the last statement. He called for Cassandra from below. He looked at Uthreida from over his shoulder and turned to meet her eyes. "Do you remember your blood mage trials?"

She swallowed back the memory and sheer embarrassment of being seen unclothed and determined to be clean. He smiled calmly again as he approached. And she moved away from him. "We're not going to ask you to dress down. We just need to read the litany to you. To verify."

"Verify what?" She asked coldly.

Cullen took a deep breath but watched as Cassandra climbed to enter the quarters. "If you'll work with us, I'll explain everything. But let us perform this test quickly before we can move forward."

Uthreida clenched her jaw and looked at Cassandra who arched a brow at her. "Slayer, we need to determine if you're an abomination." Uthreida chuckled. Given her history. "Are you an abomination?"

Uthreida shook her head. "Not by your definition, no."

"Then let us prove it." Cassandra stated quickly and flipped open a book.

Uthreida watched her as she recanted a blessing of the Maker and forcing his child free. Her eyes shifted to Cullen. His eyes had glazed over. His hand on his sword, firm in his stance. She lowered her brows at him. He looked frightening. Like a soldier who was ordered to burn down a home, knowing people were inside and was telling himself he was following orders. That it was the right thing to do. The emotions drained from his thinning face even as his shoulders were taught with indecision.

She looked back at Cassandra and noticed her words started to garble and none of what she said made sense. But her lips moved as they should. Gods, was she an abomination? Did some demon translate for her? Or did Cassandra even know what she was saying?

Cassandra looked up from the book and wasn't speaking. Uthreida looked between Cullen and Cassandra, waiting on one of them to speak to let her know she was crazy.

"Uthreida." Cassandra said. She looked at the Seeker, who said something garbled before understanding "you feeling?"

"Aside from a headache and some soreness, I feel fine."

The Seeker side-eyed Cullen for a moment before looking her over again. She took a deep breath but let go of whatever she saw. "You will need to be monitored for a few days. From what I understand, you've never taken lyrium before, is that correct?"

Uthreida looked between her and Cullen who still had his eyes glazed and ready to attack. His hand tightened on his weapon. What did lyrium have to do with any of this? "Aye, I suppose." She said softly. "What's going on? Should I be concerned?"

Cassandra smiled as if thinking of a joke. "I will let Commander Cullen explain. But I think you had a hard enough day. It's important that you rest. Once your head injury has-

"Head injury?!" She placed a hand to her head. She looked at her hand that didn't have any blood on it.

"Yes." She said quickly. "Once your outer body is healed, we'll work on purging the blood."

"What does that mean?" They can't purge the dragon's blood. It's a part of her. They can't-

She held up a hand to stop the questions. "Rest. We'll discuss avenues once you've healed." She turned to look at Cullen. Uthreida noticed he was more present as he turned to look at the Seeker. "Rest."

Cullen gave a small one-sided smile as she walked past him to the ladder.

Both watched the Seeker exit in silence. Once she was out of eye sight. Cullen looked over Uthreida again. She noticed his eyes fell to the furs. She moved to pass them back to him. He took a step forward and took them into both of his hands. He looked to the ladder again but remained silent.

"What's going on?" He held up a hand patiently, listening for Cassandra's exit.

Uthreida was filled with the impending dread. He wasn't speaking. Yelling, pacing. He was calm. Why was he calm? Her eyes dropped to his hands again. He had every right to be angry and yet, why wasn't he. A sense of anxiety made her heart beat faster as she thought of worst-case scenario after scenario of what could've happened and why he was acting like this. Why Seeker Cassandra was called in.

When the door closed, Uthreida flinched. Knowing his full anger and fury would come. She took a breath and sat up straight ready to meet him head-on.

Cullen rounded the bed slowly, measuring his movements. His hands holding the furs tightly in his hands. He sat on the bed, his back to her, his head dropped. Not looking at her.

Talos, what happened?

She watched him in silence as he ran a hand over his face, breathing deeply. Forcing himself to remain calm. Watching him as he ran his hands over his hair and down his neck to soothe his stress. His breathing is like he forced himself not to speak. A tendril of guilt and fear ran through her, knowing it, whatever it was, was probably her fault.

Her heart was in her throat from fear of knowing as she forced herself to speak. "Cullen," he tilted his head to her, but didn't look, "what happened?"

He physically paused at the question. He moved slowly to lay down on the bed in his armor. Both of his hands covering his face in silence. "You gave me a bit of a fright." He said softly. He removed his hands and looked to the ceiling. She could hear him as he swallowed his saliva. "I thought I was going to lose you." She noted his voice soft and nonchalant. "You'd think I'd be more excited." She smiled at his dry humor. Cullen puffed his cheeks to breathe through… Whatever he was going through. "I know I promised I'd tell you what was going on, but," he sighed. "I need ten minutes." He turned his head to look at her. His eyes shifting as if seeing her for the first time. A look of worry etched on his features that cooled whatever flame lit her stomach. "How are you?"

She paused at the question. Aside from not knowing what was going on, learning that he was losing his battle with addiction and was tortured-

Her brow furrowed, hearing his voice crack like she did. Seeing him at his weakest. Watching his self-loathing. His anger becomes physical. It scared her. She didn't like it. She never wanted to see it again. Then when faced with the thought of losing him she...caused this. All of this. "How are you?"

He laughed. It was a cross between awkward history and sardonic irony. "It's" he audibly exhaled. "It's been a day." She looked away with a guilty smile. She is his bane. And this was one time she wished it wasn't true. As much as she wanted to press, to ask, he requested ten minutes. A small request. She looked back to see his smile soften. His hand held above him in a relaxed state. But she could see a question burned at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but clenched his jaw and looked away. His hand brought to his chest, slightly fisted.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Meaning something." From her elevated position, she saw his iconic one-sided smile. He opened one eye to look at her then resigned to himself. He held a hand out to her with his eyes closed. She lowered her brow at the action, unsure of the gesture given him. He clenched his hand and pulled it back, a sheepish bite on his lips on his 'sleeping' face.

What was he- "Oh, sorry." She held her hand out to take his. He opened one eye to see her offering and closed his eye again. Sniffing at the rejected offense. Her hand fell to the bed. Knowing how it feels now. He smirked and took it.

She could feel his strong hand holding tight enough to keep her, but loose enough to show indifference. "You have a concussion." He stated with authority, "Get some rest."

She followed the order enough to lay down but not to let him worm his way out the ten minutes. He took a deeper breath, his neck showing the chords as he laid down. In armor. As far away from her as the bed allowed. "There's no way that's comfortable."

"It's really not." He sat up, leaning against the headboard. He propped the back plate against the wood so it would allow him to curl. His gorget was pulled up higher on his throat as he used a hand between the neck piece and his jaw to prop his head up more comfortably. He closed his eyes but held his closest hand out to her again. Not watching her rejection again.

She took his hand as she laid as far as their arms would comfortably allow. Their hands locked at the thumb. A comforting squeeze made her smile. He was scared to lose her. To what? Why would he be afraid? And by the Nine, what happened to the bed?

His hand holding hers shifted to where he laced his fingers between hers. A heated shiver ran up her chest as she looked at him. Even in 'sleep' he looked dreadfully serious. But the slight tinge of pink on his ears gave him away. She lowered her eyes, allowing him this small comfort from whatever he feared.

She could've been lost. She could've died. Presumably. A day with no memory of what happened or why. Her mind raced with thoughts, ideas, visions of what could have been even as her head throbbed. Cullen's breathing was deeper, as if on the cusp of sleep. She rolled on her side for comfort and hissed as pain shot through her chest.

Cullen jumped, his hand leaving hers, and reached for his weapon. She rolled on her back and breathed through the shooting pain as she clutched her ribs.

"You fractured a rib." Cullen said smoothly. He took a deep breath and moved to get off the bed. "I should get you a proper healer now that you're awake. Though you should be resting."

She pulled herself upright, allocating the pressure from her ribs as she sat up and looked at his back. "What happened?"

He looked at her from over his shoulder. His eyes dropping to the ripped-up bed, confirming it was her fault, and sighed. "After you drank the lyrium, you started to convulse. I thought you were going to die from lyrium poisoning. But you pulled through. And then" he rubbed his neck, "you floated. Levitated, with glowing eyes and hands." Her eyes widened as her heart dropped at his statement. Priest. The lyrium made her a dragon priest. Gods, no. What did she do? "You were speaking in tongues."

Dragon tongue? Dovahzul? "What did I say?"

He paused as if truly remembering something. "Betta he-art-ta?" He said with a crossed brow.

One she matched. "This heart." Telmerialic. Common Telmerialic. This means that whatever spell or curse was put on her to translate was severed when she had the lyrium. She shook her head at the idea.

"You then called a spirit from the fade. A werewolf." Her jaw clenched as fear crept up her spine. "It seemed to know you." She clenched her jaw. Don't say it. Please don't say it. "It knocked you down and rendered you unconscious when you ordered it to do something." Uthreida lowered her brows. Why would a bound conjuration do that? "He said 'er skier-mellious-pit'?"

Cullen looked at her and she looked away in thought. She spoke the words a few times until it clicked. "Not your monster." She stopped breathing. She did. By the gods, she did. She shook her head. Denying the possibility. "That's impossible."

"And yet-" he waved a hand to the ripped and scorched bed.

"No, it's impossible to call forth Hircine's own from Oblivion. The Hunting Grounds are guarded and with the second vail, it's impossible to call forth the Deadra or their armies." She assumed. Given the lack of names and severance from magicka, it made the most sense. Cullen arched a skeptical brow at her statement but curled in concern for her. She looked away, her hand going to the ring around her neck. "What did it look like?" She asked lowly. Gods, please. Please don't let it be him. Not him. Please don't tell her she dishonored his spirit and called him forth.

"Tall, black furs. It took the form of a human a few times."

"Taller than most?" She asked quickly. "Dark hair, silver eyes."

Cullen looked at her and she could imagine what he saw. A scared child clutching at her heart next to him. He nodded slowly, adverting his gaze.

She closed her eyes and fought back the tears on her eyes even as her chin quivered. "Arkay. Forgive me." She covered her face as she couldn't hide it any longer. Her heaves caused the rib to expand and add to the emotional pain of calling Farkas from the Hunting Grounds. She had dishonored him. His spirit, his soul. She had done the one thing all the gods agreed was unforgivable. She called forth the dead to fight her battles for her. Gods, what has she done?

She was no better than the priests she hated. She's no better than the monsters she put down. She was truly vile and should be killed. Her greed, her lust for power, all of it-

"He protected you during your harrowing."

She wasn't listening. She had betrayed her lover. His life. His patron Deity. She betrayed him. She heaved again, uncaring if Cullen saw her cry. Uncaring if her pitiful whimpers made him disgusted at her. She wiped away the tears of failure. She sniffled at the memories they shared. She cried into her hands. Unable to breathe, to think, feeling the knife's edge on her heart at his loss all over again.

Why? Why did she do that?

Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her but she knocked it off. She ripped the braided chord from her neck and slid the ring off. She held it with an open hand to Cullen, tears in her eyes, and a worried look on his brows. "Get rid of this. If I keep it- if I do it again- I" a new wave of tears fell from her eyes as she held the gold ring extended to him. "Please, I - I can't. I won't. Please." Cullen held up a hand to stop her. "Cullen, please. If I keep this, this one memory, I'll do it again. Please, I can't dishonor him again. Not after everything he did. Was-I- please? Take it." Her throat sealing as she looked at him.

Cullen bit his lip, looking at her slowly, but took the ring from her hand. Inspecting the gold and ruby ring in his hand. "What is it?"

Her eyes dropped to the necklace in her other hand, the symbol of Talos standing fast in her other palm. "Our wedding ring." She said between sniffs.

"I thought you said you were never married?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. Not yet, anyways." She looked to the light-filled windows and closed her eyes, smelling the blood and dirt mixed. "The war had just ended. I came home to Whiterun. Farkas said he needed to pick up a few supplies in Riften for our home he was building in Falkreath. I went along. But it started to rain." She could see the cave that she entered, Farkas smiling as he pulled her by the hand to get out of the rain. Joking that she could end it but telling him the farmers needed the rain. Kissing his drenched skin in the safety of the cave. "We took shelter in an old cave. Something was in there with us." She clenched her jaw, seeing Farkas drawing his two-handed weapon as he sniffed the air, and growled. "We went deeper and found vampires. Corpses lined the walls, live humans in cages, waiting to be feasted on. The smell of decay and rotting flesh." She rubbed her face to get the smell out of her nose. "Agatha. A child from Whiterun was on the table." She closed her eyes, trying not to see and forcing herself to look at the blonde girl laid on the table with blood slashed across her throat, wrists, her eyes milky as she stared at the ceiling. Missing one shoe. Knowing the chaos she wrought after she sacked Whiterun. "He changed seeing her." She sniffed as new tears of grief over took her. "He got in front of me. All those years training me, teaching me, and he let the beast get the better of him as he took revenge for the child. I called to him. Followed him. And then I saw his form. This massive beast on the ground on his back. With more wounds than I could count, I-" she shook her head. "My own beast took over. Slaughtering the vampire where he stood." Feeling the rage of seeing the impetuous dark-haired imperial vampire laugh at the attempts of the wolf. She shouted him into cowering. Begging for his life, as she slit his throat with a half-sharpened arrow. She turned back to Farkas. "He reached for me." His clawed hands reaching to touch her one last time. "And I pulled away." She hid her face in shame and guilt. New tears sealing her throat and making her side scream in pain from her rib. "He looked at me, in his last moment, with doubt and rejection. And I-" she fanned her face to get it out. "After I told him I loved him. After I told him his beast didn't frighten me. I pulled away." She hid her face from Cullen who was silent. "Who does that?" She cried harder. Remembering how his body turned back into a human when his spirit of the beast departed. Placing his sword in his hands to fool Shore. Crying over his corpse for gods know how long. Surviving the war to come home to this. The silent and weak attempts to load his body on a cart. Pulling the cart by herself back to Whiterun. The look on Vilkas's face when he saw his twin as she was still numb to the loss as he flew into a rage at her. Letting him beat her. Only to be restrained by the other Companions when he drew his weapon.

She curled herself as tight as she could given her wound. Looking away from Cullen and out the hole in his ceiling. "Vilkas didn't permit me to attend the wake. He denied me my rights." Her chin quivered remembering how heavily she drank, cried, and screamed that day. "Kodlak gave me Farkas's possessions. He thought they would pertain to me. A silver ring with a moon stone. A gold ring with a ruby, an amulet of Mara, and the deed to our land." She looked at the golden ring in Cullen's hands. "It's all I was allowed to keep. An unfinished promise, and unfulfilled dreams." She wiped the tears again. She shook her head and looked away. "And I've dishonored him by bringing him back from the dead. I dishonored Arkay. The one thing he hated. Becoming the monster I swore I'd never be." She hid her face again. Breathing through the trauma and the loss. She pulled her knees to her chest and rocked. Hiding her face and failures as she cried. "Arkay, I'm so sorry."

She felt herself being pulled and allowed it. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into his plate, hiding her face from him as her breath fogged his cooled armor. He held her across her shoulders and between his legs. Keeping her close as she would grab at his buckles and he would rub her back as she cried into his chest. Letting the loss, remorse, and now betrayal leave her.

Cullen gently touched her wrist and pulled her hand to him. She looked away as he held her hand. "You need this." She looked as he placed the ring back into her hand. "To carry the dead-"

"Don't you understand?" She shouted in anger, flipping their hands so he carried the ring. "If I keep this. I'll do it again. I'll keep calling him. Dishonoring him. I owe him more than that. I can't do it again. I won't."

"Utha, it's alright to keep the -"

"No." She said stubbornly. "I have to let him go. I have to-" her chin quivered again as new tears sealed her throat. Too much power. Doom driven.

Cullen sighed. "You don't need a talisman to carry the dead with you." He touched her shoulder and gave a small squeeze, "but it helps to remind you of better times. Getting rid of this won't stop you. And forgetting him does nothing to honor his memory." He was silent as he looked at a determined look. His eyes shifted to the ring knowing he wouldn't win. "Are you sure? Are you sure you want me to take this?"

She bit her lip, looking at the ring. No. She wanted to keep it. To keep him. She nodded. "Sell it and feed the people. Give it as an offering." Her eyes stayed on the ring. If she took it back, she knew she would never rid herself of it. "I need to pray. To Arkay. Beg his forgiveness. Offer my apologies to Hircine. Thankfully, the two go hand in hand." She sat back so she sat on her legs between his legs.

The two sat in silence as she tried to wrap her head around what she did and how to make it up.

"Who is Arkay?" He asked quietly, fisting the ring in his hand.

Uthreida took a breath. "He is the god of death. And the one he prayed to."

"A werewolf prayed to the god of death?" There was a smile in his tone.

"It's more than that." Uthreida said with growing frustration at the lack of understanding in this place. "Arkay is the god of cycles. The wheel. Of life and death. Of reaping and sowing. The promise of tomorrow. Hope that there is meaning in our suffering. And the strength to keep trying. Even in death. He is Tsun, the god of trials. Of honor." Cullen sat in silence, and Uthreida could see the questions that crossed his eyes. "Farkas was a good man. Regardless of the beast's blood. Ironically, it made him more human. He had a deeper sense of humanity. He turned this wretched sneak thief into something worthwhile." She paused, "I hope." She could see the silent judgmental look from Cullen and could guess what he was thinking. "When is a monster not a monster, Commander?" She looked at him earnestly at her riddle. "When you love it."

Cullen sat silently as if to contemplate her statement. He stood from the bed, placing his furs over his armor in silence. "I'll get you a proper healer. But please rest."

"I need to pray." She said as she tried to get off the bed.

"Don't leave." His voice was strong, but a fissure of plea didn't pass her. She looked at him as he looked away. "Please, get some rest." Uthreida looked him over slowly but nodded. He bit his lips again and smirked. "Good news, you passed your harrowing. So, by Chantry law, no one can make you tranquil." He gave a quick bow and smiled. "Enchanter Uthreida."

She lowered her brows. "What's a harrowing?"

His face dropped with a scratch to his head. "You don't need to worry about it." She gave a confused look and he sighed. "Because you're not well trained in the fade, it makes sense you don't remember your ordeal. We had to make sure you're not an abomination. Hence the reading from Cassandra. But Solas confirmed you passed, and, I'm taking his word on it." He nodded if only to himself. "Please stay here. Rest. Pray if you must, but please, rest." She gave a slow nod to his request. "And stop drinking everything put in front of you." He called over his shoulder as he descended down the ladder. Uthreida smiled at him and watched him go.

Xxxxx

Cullen shot a skeptical look at Lieutenant Overbridge. Holding the small box in his hands. This did not bode well. "This is from Sera?"

"Yes sir." She said with a nod.

"She used the words peace offering?"

The Lieutenant looked away awkwardly. "Yes, sir?"

"Someone's helping her." Cullen shook the small box to hear if anything was inside then stopped when he remembered Sera's affinity for bees. It sounded empty. Given the small size, didn't seem to be displaced by weight. "Blackwall?"

"I...wouldn't know, sir?"

"What's in it?" She made a confused gesture and a sound akin to not knowing. He looked at the box scrupulously. What if Royocs is in on it? Or worse, Liliana. The thought made him pull the box away in fear of a flying dagger. "Right." He set the box on the desk but looked at it curiously. He picked it up and handed it back. "Tell her thank you, but I already have one. I appreciate the gesture of faith and...Something or another." He waved a dismissive hand to the box. "Now," he leaned against the desk with his arms crossed. "How goes the fortifications of the hold?"

"Well underway, sir. The masons say they know the stone and can procure more from Fereldan. They believe the restoration should be completed in four years."

Cullen tilted his head in passive agreement. This is what happens when you find an abanded fort. "Good."

"They are working with Lady Montilyet for scaffolding once the stone arrives."

Cullen nodded again, glad to see something was happening with the defenses. "Knight Lieutenant Bryone" Overbridge said as she addressed her note book, "has found three prospective students and is willing to try the new initiative. She was stationed to guard and train some of the newer battle enchanters but has concerns regarding the training. In the Spire, they used wooden weapons with an emphasis on battle theory. But is willing to try. I believe her phrase was 'fresh meat.'"

Cullen grunted. A frown appearing on his face. "I've been thinking about it. And I don't know if that's a route we want to take. The doctrine states that the mages can't be weaponized. I can see the merit for short term, but long term," he paused as he ran the idea of battle mages being on par with the Templars. "What do you think?"

The lieutenant raised her brows at the commander with wide eyes. "Me, sir?"

"Yes. Sometimes, a set of fresh eyes can find faults where others can't. And sometimes, the vision of children can renew the idea." Overbridge smirked at the mild prod of her young age.

She took a breath as if finally allowed to speak her mind but remembered who she was speaking with. She bit her lower lip before speaking. "I don't know, sir. To have combined military strength of mages before elves or even dwarves just makes it looks like we're giving special treatment to the mages without considering other races of the land. But, I can see the merit. Even then, the Inquisition has over eight hundred men and a scant thirty mages. Three of which even want to try. It begs the question as to why for those three, but, also," she chewed her lips again. Cullen lowered a brow to allow her voice but tightened his arms over his chest. "I was in the Hinterlands when the rebellion started. I saw their destruction. To invite that into an open field with other soldiers" she gave a heavy sigh. "I don't know. It would be effective against the Venatori and Dark Spawn, but against Red Templars?" She shook her head.

"You would suggest increasing the ranks to healers only?"

She paused before she spoke. "I don't know, sir. I don't think honorable combat is a good place for mages. Knowing their worst-case scenario-" she shrugged mildly as if to make her point.

Cullen was inclined to agree. The majority of their ranks were humans who followed Andraste and her Herold. To build with dwarves and elves, knowing their alliance with the Qunari, did seem more practical at the time than training three mages to wield a weapon. Still, he made a promise. To at least try and lessen the disparity between the mages and Templars. Mixed service. He should try.

He took a deep breath. "Thank Lieutenant Bryone for me. Let me know what she needs and we'll proceed. Cautiously. Within reason and in a timetable."

"Of course." She made a quick note in her book before moving on. Cullen noticed a slight pull on the young lieutenant's lips. "Lady Montilyet has invited you to a soiree for next week when she returns. Will you be attending this one?" She asked with her pen ready to write his response.

Cullen rubbed his neck in stress. "Yes." Her eyes widened at his response, then looked him over cautiously as if to question if he was possessed. Cullen chuckled. "If Halamshiral proved anything, I should probably get more comfortable with nobles. And their edicts. And now that I have a decent shirt, you may tell Lady Josephine that while I may not be delighted, I will not shirk my duties either."

She made a quick bow. "Yes sir." She said with a smile. "One of Lady Josephine's people did make a mention of me to pass to you to stop barking at the nobles."

"If they-" he started his retort.

Overbridge lifted a hand to stop him. "She was concerned with the perception and how it portrayed to the men, not the reason for your anger. A silent argument is more scathing than a loud calibration." Overbridge looked at him with a smile but dropped her eyes when she saw his annoyance. Cullen looked away unamused at her insight. He can't treat civilians like soldiers, thusly, can't treat the nobles like soldiers. He grunted, knowing he had made a few mistakes along the way. If he's quick to anger with nobles, as the Commander, they will question his mens discipline.

"What else?"

"You have your logistics meeting this afternoon, operations tomorrow, and the random barracks inspection tomorrow afternoon."

"Excellent."

"As for the logistics meeting today, it has come to my attention that Lady Josephine has already procured the required field heating items. However, due to the surge of new recruits after Halamshiral, we are expected to be short."

"How short."

She cleared her throat quickly. "All of the new recruits from the last two months."

"Makers breath. That's sixty personnel."

"Actually," she took a heavy breath, "that's just the forces. Not including the field agents or liaisons puts us at one hundred seventeen personnel without proper winter gear."

"Maker" Cullen groaned. He didn't account for them to grow so exponentially after Halamshiral.

"With six months to complete and another three months before delivery."

Cullen arched a brow at the woman and sighed. "At the very least, we'll meet numbers by next winter." He gave a heavy sigh. "Certainly a few will have enough common sense to-" the Lieutenant arched a brow at his comment and he grunted, "provide their own." He finished slower as she made a note.

"You might suggest each outpost maintains a certain number of provisions prior to deploying troops before the winter seasons, sir."

"Excellent idea. I'm sure we can work with our allies and take completed items until our own can be-"

The east door opened slowly and both turned their attentions to a small dwarf who was balding but had red braids on either side of his face. "Eh, pardons, sir." The dwarf gave a quick nod. "We were told to deliver these supplies here. Where do you want it?"

Cullen lowered a brow. "The requisitions office is downstairs-"he said, watching two other dwarves enter. One with darker hair and a thick dark beard. The other was portly with a warming smile. Both had large sacks strapped to their backs.

"That's for me," Uthreida called from the upper level.

Cullen looked up but noticed Overbridges awkward smile and wide eyes as she tried to hide her laughter behind a book.

Cullen frowned at the Lieutenant. It's not like that. After her harrowing and Royocs demands, she was to be monitored until she was healed, and keeping her occupied in his room was the safest place. Unless he had a meeting to attend and Cassandra babysat until he got back. He's not hiding her in his quarters like some...solicitous...it's not like that.

Uthreida came down the ladder slowly in a pair of her breeches and a loose shirt. That looked like his. Maker's breath, she's getting too comfortable. Overbridge had to turn away from him to hide her face. That's not what happened. Or happening.

Uthreida approached the dwarf with a hand over her heart. "Blessings, friend."

The dwarf looked her over quickly. Then Cullen. "Aye. Where you want it?"

"Ideally" she shifted her eyes to the loft above his office. The darker dwarf widened his eyes to the leader as if to condemn the idea. Overbridge snorted and Cullen scowled at the women. Uthreida looked at the dwarf. "My apologies, I've been wounded and fear I won't be able to lift it very high."

The darker dwarf shot a look of death at the red-bearded man who smiled. "No worries, lass. We'll get it taken care of. Now," the dwarf pulled a parchment from his pockets as the other two frowned at their leader and the height of the ladder before them. "As requested, six yards of cotton, six yards of Highever weave, six yards of imperial silk, five pounds of wool, five pounds of horsehair, ten pounds of straw, two bushels of elder leaves, and five pounds of down. Six needles, and seven spools of thread in red. Eight royals."

Cullen mentally reviewed the inventory as she reached for a pocket. That's all the makings for a bed. What is she doing? Why red thread?

Uthreida smiled at the dwarf. "Thank you, kindly." Passing her gold off.

The dwarf turned to the others and waved a hand to the ladder. "You heard the lass."

The other two shot her scornful looks before smiling politely at her. Making their way to the ladder.

Uthreida looked about the room and stepped towards Cullen. "Good morning, Catharine." She smiled to Overbridge who bowed politely.

"Lady Slayer."

Cullen looked between the two. Confused.

"How's your mother?"

"Better." Overbridge said with a smile. "The tea you suggested has calmed her shaking. My sisters say she's in a better light now."

"Good." Uthreida smiled widely at the young woman. "And how are they?"

"They've hunkered down for the winter, miss. Southern Ferelden winters can be exceedingly harsh."

Uthreida gave a soft laugh. "I understand. Northern winters are the same. Beautiful window weather though."

"Oh" Overbridge reached for her pack and pulled out a stack of papers and a bottle. "Master Tethras wanted you to read over this while you recovered. And Cabbot sent this to you. He didn't want to lose his best customer."

Uthreida took both with a grin. "Thank you, Catharine." She lowered her brows as she inspected the label of the bottle. "What is 'cherry?'"

"Sherry." Overbridge stated quickly. "It's a kind of Antivan wine that is localized to a central providence fortified with brandy. It's sweet and very good."

Uthreida smirked at the girl with a knowing look. "It's your preference, isn't it?"

Overbridge smiled warmly at Uthreida but when she saw Cullen, watching amused at the conversation, quickly cleared her throat and took a more serious demeanor. "I'm more of an ale, kind of girl."

Uthreida arched a brow at the woman's blatant lie, but let it slide. "Give my thanks the next time you see them." She flipped through the papers and arched a brow. "Varric gave me a manuscript?"

Overbridge nodded quickly. "He said he wanted you to check for accuracies."

Uthreida shot the woman a worried look. "What writer would share their findings before publication?" She flipped through a few pages and smirked. "I see. Well," she smiled at Overbridge again. "My thanks, and good tidings."

The three dwarves exited the landing, the portly one grabbing his back after the descent to stretch. Cullen felt the struggle. Uthreida smiled and waved at the dwarves with a free hand but turned back to them. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get started on my project. We must drink again some time, Catherine. Commander." Uthreida looked him over and leaned into Overbridge. "You should probably run." She whispered loudly.

Overbridge looked Cullen over with the same look and nodded. "I'll deliver the messages right away, sir." The Lieutenant turned on her heel, grabbing her bag in a swift motion, and left.

Cullen turned his eyes to Uthreida as the door closed. "Her names Catherine?"

Uthreida arched a disappointed brow. "People have a life outside of you, Commander. Your Lieutenant is no different."

He lowered a brow but let it go. "Do I look mad?"

"You do."

Cullen rolled his shoulders and realized how taught they were when Uthreida entered the room and gave the perception of their...relationship. Cullen shook his head. "So what's all this then?" He waved a hand to the loft.

Uthreida smirked. "After prayer and meditation, I realized that I needed to mend what was wrought. Then I realized that I was being eaten by vermin and decided to start with your bed." Cullen rubbed his neck in apology. But growing up in the Abby, it was expected due to close living spaces. "Three tasks need to be completed for closure and to put this whole business behind us."

"Which is?"

"Arkay oversights death. So, to complete the circle, I need to create life." Cullen's eyes dropped to her stomach and she laughed. "Not like that. And it's not that simple. No, I must give the breath of life. Sound of life. So, mending, fixing, creating, and ultimately, healing."

Cullen arched a brow, having no idea what she was going on about, but saw he got a free bed out of the deal. "Carry on?"

"Thank you."

Cullen's mind wavered as he thought of the worst-case scenario as well as realizing his morning stiffness from sleeping on the couch in his office last night. A few of his mother's old stories flittered back to him. "You're not going to weave spells into the stitching, are you?" Uthreida paused, as if not even considering that as an option until he said it. "Please don't."

"What is the rune for peaceful sleep?" She asked herself somewhat comically. She didn't meet his eyes as she was deep in thought. "I should be careful with this."

"Utha" he gave a hard sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please."

"You need-"

"Just...don't." He shot her a concerned look. "Do you even know what you're doing?"

"I can figure it out."

"I thought you said you didn't know how to sew."

"Not well. Krem was supposed to teach me before Royoc got him butchered. Talos guide them." Cullen nodded at the sentiment. "But it's a simple straight stitch. Can't promise it's going to be straight, but I'll be damned if it doesn't work. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go set your bed on fire."

Cullen grabbed her by the arm as she tried to leave. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your bed is covered in bugs and lice. It will be cleansed in fire."

"And destroyed."

"Which is why I bought new supplies. Your welcome." Cullen rolled his eyes at the woman. "If you want to help, boil your clothes and let me delouse you."

Cullen pulled his head back. "What, I, what?" Delousing someone was extremely intimate and-um- no. "I don't have lice."

"Your bed says otherwise." She placed her hands on her hips as she looked him over. "You could get lard and a decent soap." She pulled her single braid of hair over her shoulder. "A lot of lard." She said, flipping the single plaits over her shoulder. "the smell." She added with a disgusted look but washed it off quickly. "Because I'm in your bed," Cullen snorted, "I want to verify the new bed will not become plagued." She stated lower, annoyed at this interruption.

Cullen cleared his throat and stood taller. "I don't have lice."

She lowered her brows. "What? You wash in lye or something? That would explain the blonde."

Cullen clenched his jaw at her jab at his vanity. "I'd think I'd know."

"And yet." She waved a hand dismissively. "Just let me check." She lifted her hands to his face. He pulled back from her quickly.

"Utha." He warned as he swiped her hands away.

"What?"

He took a deep breath as she held up his hands to explain, but the vague hand movements only confused her more. He rubbed his neck in stress. "Delousing is" he swallowed back his cultural explanation. "That is, it can be, well, Uh," he puffed his cheeks to explain.

Uthreida seemed to understand what he was getting at. "Aye. It's Uh," she lowered her eyes from him. "It's the same back in Skyrim as well. To allow is to allow trust. To allow conversation and understanding." When she met his eyes, she smiled shyly. "But this endeavor is purely practical. I don't want to smell like lard for the next few weeks but it seems we have little choice. So," she waved a hand to his seat behind his desk. "May I at least verify your claim?"

Cullen looked her over and swallowed back the idea of getting even closer to her. She had a point. And he was getting a new free mattress out of it. No, this is preposterous. "Irrelevant to the point. Does your head itch?"

She paused. "Well, it does now." She scratched the base of her skull with both hands.

Cullen growled annoyed. "Look, I don't feel comfortable doing this. I would rather not."

Uthreida looked at him with a skeptical brow. Her eyes drawing over him. Cullen swallowed back her look. The thought of her hands touching him sent a shiver of fear down his back.

Her brows furrowed as she looked at him. She looked in thought. She took a breath and stepped back. "As you wish. I'll just check while you sleep. Or embarrass you in front of your men. Mm, the possibilities." Her smile was vicious as she looked at him.

He bent his neck to allow this little moment. With leaden feet, he turned to his chair and sat down. Uthreida stood behind him and he felt his shoulder taught when he could no longer see her. A single hand touched the back of his head and he jumped. "I don't have lice." He said quickly as he grabbed the arms of the chair to stand.

She held him by the shoulder and pulled him back down. "Cullen. You know I will not harm you."

Not right now, anyway. His eyes flicked to the three doors. "What if someone sees?"

"They will see a wife delousing her husband. As is her duty. Now, sit still. It could be in your furs by now."

His heart was hammering in his throat at the idea of her behind him. "What about you? How do I know you aren't carrying?"

She took a heavy breath. "Will that soothe you?" She asked, coming back into his view and resting her rear on the desk.

He looked at her long braid then her crossed arms and blue eyes. "Yes."

She sighed again, she waved a hand at him as if to move. She pulled the leather cord from her braid as he stood from the chair. Uthreida fingers worked the braid until her hair fell to the small of her back in loose curls and plating from the braid. She leaned forward, exposing the back of her neck to him.

Cullen stood frozen. His eyes flicked to the doors, frightened that someone would enter. He clenched his teeth. He could play off her being barbarian and was just doing a service. Nothing more. He removed his gloves and set them on the desk. He needed to move quickly even to verify for his own fear of this new arrangement. He took a quick breath. He's just checking like other soldiers in his command. He's just checking like other mages in the tower.

He lifted a hand to move her hair to see her scalp but clenched his fist. He had her permission. She trusted him. But he didn't quite trust himself. How many nightmares has he had where he became the monster? Where a single touch became too much to control. How many times has he allowed a touch for it to become a demon to plague him?

Uthreida looked over her shoulder at him at his hesitation and chuckled. "I won't bite unless you ask."

He breathed past the knot in his throat and got started. He separated and was forced to detangle the hair with each step as he inspected for lice. Looking for nits as he tried to ignore the feel of her hair in his hands. The smell of her thistle and holly soap. The curve of her neck and wondering what the story of the scar on her shoulder was from.

"Why won't you weaponize mages?"

Cullen sighed as he pulled more hair out of his view and found one. "Not now please." He pinched it between his fingers. "It's against doctrine. But I did remember our deal and will move forward to see if it's effective."

"It can be effective. If you allow it instead of biding your time and notionally claiming that you're trying."

Cullen twisted off some hair and moved on. Jutting his jaw at her tone indicated his begrudging compliance rather than actual consideration. "Until others start to do it. It no longer becomes effective. The 'shock troops' will just become part of our strategy. And when the circles are reinstated, they'll have the means to kill off Templars."

"Which is why they should train side by side."

"You don't teach your prisoners to fight in the same way you don't teach your horse to bite."

"Only if you're intending to ride it." She looked over her shoulder at him with narrow eyes. "Or is that your intentions?"

Cullen grit his teeth at her in disdain. How could she possibly insinuate-

All she knew was the travesties of the Kirckwall order. There are good circles, but given the rebellion, the mages would disagree. "As it is, we cannot allow it after the war. But we can extend a hand to allow them additional training now. Which is the only reason I'm willing to do this. On a separate note," he reached for his gloves and stepped back. "You have some lice, but some lye should clear it up quickly. If there's nothing else."

She stood, pulling her hair back in a loose ponytail, and looked him over in the silence. When she finished. She waved a hand to the chair.

Cullen shook his head. "I have other-" Uthreida pulled him by the arm to drag him closer. Cullen allowed it with a confused expression. She placed a hand on his shoulder to console him. "Cullen"

"I told you, I don't have-"

"Kyne drev ov."

Cullen exhaled slowly and felt the full stress of his day, week, life vanish from his shoulders. The relaxation of her words making him both unnerved and a welcomed respite. Uthreida tapped his knee and he fell into the chair. She pulled his combs from her pockets that she must have found in his quarters and stood behind him. Cullen watched with dazed and drooped eyes as she moved behind him and filled a tin cup full of water. She cast fire into the cup to bring it to a boil.

He breathed through it. Feeling the slight sting of guilt as she touched her head, her brows furrowing in pain from the casting. Maker, her concussion. "You should rest."

"I'll be fine." She waved it off quickly.

"Utha, please." He took her hand that was holding the fine-tooth comb. When she looked at him, he didn't feel the embarrassment that usually came when touching her. "Rest."

Her demeanor softened slightly as she looked down at him. "So should you. But first," she smiled, "let's clean you up."

She swished the comb in the hot water and gently pushed his head down to start at the base of his skull. She dragged the comb through his hair heavily and scoffed. "Don't have lice, huh?" She showed him the comb of nits and a few that jumped from the loss of their home. She dunked the comb back into the water to clean it and did it again.

Cullen took her behreatment in silence as he was too relaxed to care what she thought and was entranced in the feeling of her fingers in his hair. The additional relaxation of her contact. The feel of the warm comb against his skull and her hands kept him safe.

"How are you?" He gave a half groan, half moan at the question. He heard her smile as she continued. She held his head as she moved to the sides. His eyes close as he imagined she was holding a razor in the other hand. "What are the symptoms today?"

"Tight shoulders."

She gave a slight chuckle. "Well, if I could ever persuade you to get out of your armor."

"You have but to ask." The sound of her stop swishing the comb and the feel of her eyes made Cullen reevaluate what he just said. He opened his eyes wide to backpedal. "What I mean is-"

She pushed the comb to the side of his head to physically throw him. "I meant a massage."

"I assumed." He lied. When she saw through it, he grunted. "Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I'm not sure how I feel about that." He stated with a grimace. Seeing a dagger in one hand as she stood behind him.

"And yet" she slid the comb up the side of his head and swished it in the hot water, "so willing to dress down." There was a smile in her voice that made him bite his lips in embarrassment.

He gave a heavy sigh. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Nope." She ran the comb over the top of his head, pulling his head back to look at her. Cullen adverted his gaze, hoping the agitation was more apparent than the blush on his ears. "That's unfair of you."

"How so?" She asked with a smirk.

"We both know that shout controls people."

She paused before dunking the comb in the water. "You think so?"

"Does it not?"

"No. It releases their aggression. It calms them. Not full control. But-" she smiled as she ran the comb again. "It only works for a short time." Her eyes locked with his as she gave a knowing look. Seeing his relaxation in her hands for what it was and not her shout.

Cullen looked away again. He's too comfortable around her. Like Royoc suggested.

"So let's say I was to get you out of your armor-"

"Could you not?" Cullen asked with an adverted gaze.

"I was wondering-"

"Utha" he pleaded with boredom.

"If you would be willing to change shirts for laundering?"

Cullen shot her a skeptical look demanding she reveal more information. She only smiled with fake innocence. "Why?"

"I won't make a new bed for it to be plagued again. We discussed this."

"Technically, you don't have to do anything"

"Actually" she countered, "something is required. Arkay requires it. Considering you won't let me leave." She added under her breath.

Cullen squinted at her and her constant argument of she's fine verses she's injured and needed monitoring. "And we have discussed this as well. You're safe here."

"Aye aye." She paused as she swished the comb. "That's twice you've said that." She said slowly. "Safe from what? Exactly."

Cullen jut his jaw. Does she not realize that Royoc is losing his control over Cullen and wanted her killed? But there was no point in bringing it up as she would see it as a challenge and push Royoc into action and revealing her true power to the people which, given what he understands, isn't what she wanted. He took a cooling breath. "Uthreida." He gave a sigh at them. "Contrary to beliefs and your title, I don't want to see you hurt. Please, just trust me in this."

"Valok." She sighed in resignation at him. "Leaving me blind helps no one. Please."

"After your concussion," after you're forced to leave me, "I'll explain."

She took his silence for what it was as she went over his full scalp twice with the comb. "How are your siblings?" Cullen paused for a moment remembering he had some. "Cullen." Her voice held an edge of disappointment.

He gave a rough sigh. "I'm a little busy at the moment."

"Like right now?" He met her retort with a look of defiance. One she met with cocked indifference. "How's Brandon?"

"Branson."

She at least had the decency to look guilty. "Sorry." She cleared her throat as she cleaned the comb. "How's the hunting? Do they have everything they need?"

"I would imagine."

"Good." She dumped the water from the arrow window and filled it again with water. Using her magic to heat it again. Cullen smote her magic and she looked confused at his actions.

He stood to meet her. "I know it gives you headaches. Please stop." She gave a disgruntled sigh, placing the cup on the desk. "You're injured. It's alright to rest."

"I'll be fine."

He gave a quick scoff. "I've seen Templars wonder from their post, forgetting what they were doing because they didn't fully recover from a concussion. Others taking guard in places not warranted because they became confused about where they were supposed to be. Utha, please." He took one hand into his and squeezed it in comfort. "Rest. It'll only hinder you more later if you don't."

She dropped their hands so they were still connected but spoke softly. "I'm bored."

"You need a hobby." He said with a laugh. She made a face that made him hold up a hand to stop her. "Annoying me is not a hobby."

She smirked but threw her free hand across the office. "I was in the middle of a project."

Cullen realized she threw her hand to indicate the forges. "It'll wait." She gave an annoyed look at the emptiness of his office. "You're health is my concern right now."

"And what of yours? Hmm?" She accused gently with a brow. "Do you assume your health doesn't concern me?"

There was a tone. One he lowered a brow at. There was a curl to her brow and a slight tightness in her hand that held him in question. "What's going on?"

"I'm bored."

He held her hand tighter to pull her to the truth. "Utha. Tell me." She looked away, letting go of his hand. She took a half step away from him and he took a step forward. "Please."

"I'll rest." She whispered softly. She wiped a hand over her face but furrowed her brows in pain.

Cullen smiled as he looked down at her. Knowing her, she wasn't going to speak until she was ready. "I'll put a kettle on."

She gave a slow nod. "Thank you." He allowed her to walk away to the ladder as he made his way to the kettle. He stroked a match as he heard the groaning of the wooden ladder. He had just poured in the water when she called his name. A ring of concern in her voice.

Cullen turned to see her three quarters up the ladder. Leaning into it with her head resting on the rung. "I can't. I'm going to-" her voice sounded exhausted and weak.

Cullen moved instantly to stand at the base of the ladder trying to figure out how he was going to catch her if she fell. There was no way he could from her angle and not catch a limb or her head on the rungs. He climbed quickly, "hang on" he called up, climbing quicker than he thought imaginable.

He placed himself behind her, holding her to his front between the ladder. He placed a knee below her crotch to lift her up. "Up or down?"

"Up." She whispered, he could guess her head was swooning from the elevation and exertion.

He placed his foot one rung higher and pushed her up with his knee. His arms on either side but under her pits to keep her steady. "I've got you, but you have to climb."

She gave a nod and moved. It was a slow process to get the rest of the way up and worked muscles he didn't normally associate with a ladder sore and exhausted. She finally reached the landing and he had to push her from her bottom to get her up. She swayed as she stood in the loft, using the wall to keep her balance. Without thought, Cullen picked her up like a bride, smirking at her surprised intake of air. He was equally surprised. She weighed slightly heavier than he was expecting. He could tell she was muscular, but given the extra weight, she enjoyed the sweets a little too much. He smirked as he carried her to the bed.

"No no no." She waved a hand toward the bed and he arched a brow.

"You need rest." He said, not slowing his stride.

"Not the bed." She looked at him with wide eyes. Cullen groaned as he noticed the pile of new supplies that were stacked against the wall. He turned, kicking free of the parcels so it made a decent pallet on the floor and sat her down. Guiding her to the floor so she could lay down. She sat upon the fabric and horsehair and gave a pained smirk. "Thank you."

He shook his head in shame at her. "Would you like a pillow?"

"No." She said quickly, her fearful eyes at the bed.

He looked her over quickly and sighed. "You alright?"

"Dizzy." Her eyes averted as she spoke.

Cullen chalked it up to her inability to admit when she's weak. "I'll bring up a cup."

She kept her eyes off of him as she breathed. "Could you bring the bottle?"

"I don't think you need alcohol right now."

She lifted a hand. Cullen saw what she did as her hand started to shake. Her own withdrawals, coupled with the lyrium, must have made for a terrible combination. "I disagree." She clenched her hand and met his eyes.

He licked his lips and considered the situation before him. "I'll bring you some. But we need to lessen your dependence on both the alcohol and the lyrium."

"I know how to drink, Cullen." She leaned back against the hay bale and smiled.

She would know her own body, but may accidentally overindulge to compensate for the lyrium. "I believe you, but we need to ween you off of lyrium before you can be a drunkard again." He finished with a smile to show a playful arrogance.

She smirked at his display. "Bring the bottle and a cup. I'll allow you to ration." She arched a superior brow to him.

"Thank you." He said deadpanned.

"I am a kind god." She smiled as she leaned her head back, swiveling as if to get comfortable. She placed a hand over her eyes to block out the light.

He smiled at her antics, "anything else, all-mighty?"

She smiled at the notion as she moved to lay down. "I have an odd craving. Something sweet."

"Like sweet bread? A cookie?"

"No," she said with a furrowed brow. "A sweet drink. Cold." She looked at him to see if it made sense.

Cullen nodded but adverted his eyes. That's the lyrium. He cleared his throat quickly. "Food then?"

"Food." She stated with a nod.

"I'll bring you up something."

"Thank you." Cullen moved to stand but she touched his hand, meeting his eyes. She was silent as she looked him over. "Thank you." He got the impression she was referring to everything and not just his dutiful service. He let her rest, seeing the small smile curl in her lips as he made his exit.

He had figured out how to transport the food, cup, and tea to her in the pack when he made it upstairs to see her asleep in the bundles. He was able to find the Highever weave fabric and laid it over her like a blanket. Folding it so it blocked some of the light from the windows. He poured one-half cup of sherry and placed it on the hay bale. He took in her sleeping form and felt a smirk pull at his lips.

A door opened below and pulled his concentration.

He descended to see Cassandra waiting in his office, flipping through the notes that Varric had passed off to Uthreida. She looked at him as he lowered. "Commander." She said coolly as she read over the pages.

"Seeker."

She put the papers down as he approached. "Your Lieutenant has informed me you have several meetings today."

"I do." He nodded, remembering their agreement in babysitting when he was out of the office. "She's resting now."

She gave a quick nod. "Good." Cassandra looked him over quickly. "How are you?"

He clenched his jaw to hide but remembered how Uthreida pushed herself to the point where she couldn't even climb the lader. "Minor headache, muscle tension."

"Is that why the kettle is on?"

"Mostly." He shrugged quickly. "She's suffering from headaches as well."

"Lyrium?"

"Or the concussion. It's hard to say."

She nodded. "According to the apothecary and the healers, as it stands, both agree that rest is best for her condition."

Cullen smirked, remembering the healers at the circle. "Sleep is the great all heal." He looked at Cassandra and noticed that something was off. But he couldn't place what. "You alright?"

"Fine." She said tersely.

Cullen arched a brow at the quick response. "What's going on, Cas?"

"It's nothing." She said with a heated tone and accusational eyes. "Drop it."

"No." He pointed a playful finger at her. "Did you find more information about the seekers? Did you figure out Seeker Lambert's location?" He asked with more enthusiasm and smiled.

She made an annoyed grunt and rolled her eyes. Her arms crossing over her chest. "No." She took a breath. "Not yet."

"Oh." He paused for comedic effect. "So what's going on then?" Genuinely curious why she's being defensive. She lowered her lids in annoyance at him. And he knew he was wearing her down. "Cas, come on. What is it?"

She huffed and he knew he won. "It's nothing. I" she sighed, but it deflated her more than usual. "It's nothing."

"It's something or you wouldn't care this much. Should I put on another kettle?"

She tisked softly and sighed. "Before the Inquisitor left for Emprise Du Lion, I saw Dorian and Royoc in the gardens today."

Cullen lowered his brows, not sure where she was going with it. "The audacity."

She smirked at his confusion. "They were playing chess, but they were" she rolled a shoulder. "Heavy flirtations."

Cullen drew his eyes from her. Royoc had a reputation of being a bit of a flirt. "And?" Her eyes held an annoyance like he should know what she was thinking. "The man flirts with everyone why-" he paused. Did she not approve? There wasn't any law or decree that prohibited homosexual activities. While not common, wasn't entirely frowned upon. "Provided it's consenting, there are no real prohibitions."

"I know."

"So" he let the question hang so she could speak. Her folded arms, averted eyes and awkward shift of body weight told him. Cullen nodded as Cassandra felt left out. She had growing feelings for the Inquisitor. "Well, his loss, I say." She gave a small nod, showing strength where she could. "I mean, the man is power-hungry. You could convince him to be thirteenth in line for the Navarran crown." He gave a laugh at his possible solution only for her to hit him under the arm as he held his chest in laughter. He grunted at the blow but saw a resigned smile on her lips.

"Don't joke." She crossed her arms and looked him over again. "What do you have against him anyway?"

Cullen took a breath. "Aside from him underutilizing the army he's building, sacrificing the needs of the soldiers to placate the nobles, irresponsible spending of our coffers, ignoring my advice, sacrificing the Chargers for the Qun," he took a deep breath, "He's been suggesting that I take a more 'proactive' approach in controlling my wife's behavior." He shot her a knowing look that spelled out the situation clearly. "You ask me, you're dodging an arrow. Maker preserve whoever falls for that."

Her eyes flicked to the loft and whispered. "He's not wrong."

"It's not right either. Besides, the woman punches dragons." He pointed to his face. "Come on. I'm not going to win that."

She arched a brow at him. "Is that supposed to be humility or vanity?"

"Both. Anyways," Cassandra chuckled at his admittance. "I've got a few meetings to attend and she's…working on something? I don't know. But" he sighed with a rub of his neck. "Make sure she rests, please? She's been defiant."

She arched a brow. "No, her?" She stated deadpanned. "Impossible."

"I know, wonder of wonders. Anyways, stay off the bed." Her eyes widened as she looked him up and down. Cullen acknowledged knowing where her mind went. "Because it apparently has lice." Her look of silent shock shifted slightly to alarm, and she took a step from him. "Understandable." He rubbed a hand across his face. "I've got a few meetings to attend, do play nicely."

"Of course."

XxXxXxXx

Cullen resigned from the washroom with the scent of lard in his hair and clean heated skin. He sniffed his office and smelled the air. Smoke, burnt hair, and the desire to cough made him look about his office. Nothing was burnt and seemed-

Maker.

He rushed to the ladder and climbed quickly to survey the damage. Hoping Uthreida didn't hurt herself or sleeping through whatever was on fire in his quarters.

As he popped his head into the landing, the only fire was from the candles that now lined his room. Uthreida sat on the floor near his bed and looked at him with a brow. Her hair was down and was drying from the same bath he took. Her shirt had changed into one of hers as did her trousers. "Did you get my message?"

He took a calming breath as he entered. He sat down the pack the held his armor near the entrance. "The one requiring me to take a bath? Yes, I got it." He said annoyed as he approached the bed.

"Did you?" She asked quickly, ready to push him aside if he sat down.

He looked down at her with an annoyed brow that she met with her own sass. "Yes."

"Thick layer of lard in your hair for ten minutes?"

"Yes." He stated annoyed.

"Why didn't you shave?"

He ran a hand over his cheek to feel the thickening whiskers that were growing by the day. He smiled. "Think of it as a deterrent. Hands to yourself."

"First, that's not how it works, at all. Second, I packed your razor for you for a reason." She waved her hands to the new bed and her current wild hair war.

He arched an annoyed brow. "Yes, and I'd appreciate it if you could stop going through my things."

She sucked her teeth and turned back to the bed with her needle and thread. "There's a bag by the…ladder hole…for laundering. Place your clothes in it. Do not sit on the bed without a fresh change of clothes. At the very least, change your shirt."

Cullen scoffed and stepped closer. She pointed her needle at him in a heated warning. "Change your shirt." She ordered, her ice eyes watching him. Cullen stood his ground as she stayed seated. "I will not have all my work wasted for your pride. Change your shirt."

New bed, angry wife. New bed, angry dragon slayer with a concussion. He held his hands up and stepped to his trunk. She turned her back and gave him some privacy as he placed the shirt he was wearing in the laundry bag. He opened his trunk and lowered his brows. "Where are my shirts?"

"In the bag."

Cullen threw his head back. Ready to strangle her. "How am I supposed to change my shirt if all my shirts are set for laundering?"

"I left a few."

He shook his head and moved a few times to see the one shirt that she had commissioned. He made an annoyed face. Having no options, he slipped it over his shoulders and buttoning only the lower buttons. His amulet of Andraste around his neck on display because of a specific thief in his life. And because the tailor needed to let out the shoulders a few inches. He turned to his "wife", expecting to see her either peaking or enjoying the show. But the wide arch of her arms showed she maintained her work. He used the wall to keep his balance as he removed his boots. "Have you been working all day?"

"I'm almost done."

He took a deep breath and coughed. "What is that smell?"

"I burned your old bed."

"What?" His heat enunciated in his voice.

"What?"

He sighed off her accusational look. He looked over the fresh white mattress. It looked over fluffed and not standard. He could only question the craftsmanship given her quick work. But dared not to question it as he was now without a decent mattress. He sat on the bed and confirmed that it was over fluffed. She tapped his legs showing he was in her work space. Cullen tucked his legs on the bed and watched her work. She bit her lip as she concentrated on tucking the raw edges, matching the seam allowance, and trying to make even stitches. He felt himself smirk watching her. Her brow furrowed from time to time and he questioned if the concentration was harming her. "You don't have to finish tonight."

"I'm almost done."

He sighed again at her defiance. "Utha."

"Oh," she looked at him with wide eyes. "Have you written to your family? How are they? Do they have everything they need?"

His jaw slacked slightly. This is the same conversation they had earlier that day. She was having memory issues apparently. "We talked about this. We discussed this earlier."

She looked away as if to remember. "Did we?"

"Yes. You mistook Branson for Brandon."

"Oh" she pulled her jaw back sheepishly. "Well, this is embarrassing. How are you? With the withdrawals."

"We discussed that too. You need to rest."

"Tell me a story."

He shot her an annoyed look. "Uthreida." He stated with some authority. "You need to stop if it hurts."

"Then nothing will get done. Tell me a story to pass the time."

He made an annoyed sound. "Don't suppose I can convince you?" She gave a comical smile at him but kept working. He turned and laid on the bed she was working on in hopes of making her work more difficult and stopping. "What kind of story do you want?"

She paused as if to ponder. "One I have never heard before. Or that won't be in the books."

He shot her a skeptical look from the bed. "Victory of Dragons Peak?"

"Boring."

"Dane and the werewolf?" She shot him a warning look. Too soon. "Sorry. Uh, the Boy and the Kelpie?"

She paused. "What's a Kelpie?"

"It's Uh" he looked down to see her intrigued. "Well," he rolled on his side with a smile. "There once were two boys who lived by the lake. And every day their mother told them to not go in the lake for they were not old enough or strong enough to swim against the currents. But they were allowed to fish from the shoreline. One day, whilst walking about the lake, they found an inlet full of logs where fish would love to stay. So they cast out their lines, thinking themselves clever to get the good fish while the other boys were in the chapel."

She smiled at her work. "This is a scary story, isn't it?"

"Are you frightened already?"

She placed a hand to her heart in mock offense. "A wee bit. But keep going."

He smirked at her admittance but kept on. "The boys cast out their lines and waited. And in the silence of the lake, they heard a woman singing."

"Ooohhh." She gave a haunting sound with a smile as she worked.

Cullen laughed softly at her antics. "They went to investigate for it was a beautiful song that drew them in. They round about a tree and found a black horse that was wadding in the water up to its flanks. It's frightened neighing giving the sound of a song." She looked at him quickly, a smirk on her face. "They looked to the horse and realized that if they can save it, it could help with the farm, or sell it for a decent sum of money. They took their lines and quickly braided it into a rope. They wadded into the water, but their mothers warning in their ears. They knew that if they freed the horse and brought it home, their mother will forgive them for breaking her rules. So they swam to the horse as it struggled and bit at them. One boy put a hand to its neck to calm it. 'Shh, we're here to help,' one said. And the horse seemed to calm. Blowing at the two boys. The other placed his hand over its mane to calm it. The first jumped in its back, directing it to the shoreline. But the horse looked at the boy who didn't mount, his hand in its mane, and saw the demonic fire in its eyes." Cullen growled at the description, making her look at him with a smirk. "The horse turned and headed deeper into the lake. The boys were now frightened, as neither could remove themselves from it. The one saddled to its back called for help, but the village was in church. The horse dragged them deeper and deeper into the lake. Unable to swim, the horse dove." She smiled again at his deepening voice. "The boy not saddled, his hand wrapped and knotted in the horse's mane, drowning in the water, took out his knife and chopped off his own hand. He swam with everything in him. And took a blessed breath as he broke the surface. His hand missing and swam in fear back to shore. He pulled himself onto the land and screamed for his brother. Clutching his stump to his chest, he screamed. But his brother never resurfaced. He used his rope and shirt to staunch the bleeding while he ran. And as he did, he passed the logs where they stopped to fish. And realized those weren't logs. They were the bones of the victims of the kelpie that was eating his brother alive under waves. He dropped to his knees." He paused waiting for her to look at him. "Kelpie." He stated quickly and loudly, shouting his hands toward her to scare her. Uthreida smiled at his ploy as he laughed off his failed attempt to scare her.

She arched a brow and kept working. "Black horses rising from the waters with capabilities to kill." She tilted her head quickly. "Maybe our lands aren't so different."

He chuckled quickly. "What do you call them?"

She paused at his question but smirked. "Shadowmare." She canted her head but kept working. "Are you fond of frightening tales, Commander?"

He took a breath and rolled on his back. "Most Fereldan myths and legends are of the like."

"Cautionary tales?"

"Something like that." He stretched out on the bed, trying to get comfortable on the new fluff. "Would you prefer stories of fairies and unicorns?"

"What's your favorite?"

He took a deep breath in thought. "Honestly," he looked over at her to see her eye him quickly with a smirk. "I don't really have one. There are stories of generals, and battles, of the knights of Calenhad and heroes but" he shot her a playful look, "don't want to bore you."

"I appreciate it."

He chuckled as he looked at the ceiling. He took a breath and remembered his events for tomorrow. He tapped the bed to get her attention. "There is a memorial service tomorrow. I don't know if you want to attend."

"What's it for?" She asked passive as she kept up with her work.

"A team of our men, released due to medical concerns, were stranded in a cave in the mountains. Avvar. They ah, trapped them in there and" he clenched his jaw at the ceiling. "We couldn't send aide as our men in the area were tracking Red Templars."

He heard her hands stop working as she sat silently. He looked over as an emotion crossed her features. Resigned rage. She took a breath as she continued. She opened her mouth to speak but didn't. "I'll attend."

There was something in her actions that made him pause. "You don't have-"

"I told you that I was followed by the Avvar on my hunting trip, aye?"

Cullen lowered his brows at her change in topic. "Yes."

"Did I ever tell you what happened?"

He began to question what any of this had to do with the memorial service. "I don't believe so."

"I'd like for you to call up Karl Conant from the settlement at the base of the mountain. Put him to use. Have him go and make alliances with the Avvar clans in favor of the Inquisition. Make him a Lieutenant. Give him some authority to speak on your behalf. If he can do this, he could find a safe passage through the mountains for your men to transverse into Orlais."

He lowered his brows at her. "What?"

"Make Karl Conant a Lieutenant. Temporarily. He can broker peace between the lands to offer safe passage for the Inquisition through the mountains."

His mind skidded as she not only had a name in mind but also how to use such an asset. "They'll want gold."

She paused with a smirk. "I can think of something else they want more." She flicked her hair over a shoulder and looked at him with a knowing smile. Any sense of peace was shattered as all emotions drained from his face at the idea of her giving herself up so quickly. "Uthreida. I will not allow this."

She leaned close to him. "Seven months, Commander. And they know it." She leaned back and resumed her work.

"What happens in seven months?"

She paused and looked at him confused. "Our marriage is up?"

"Says who?"

"The Avvar. Is that not their culture?"

"I" he paused in thought. "I did not know that." Her look of confusion stayed as she looked him over. "I was under the impression it was a bit more" he cleared his throat to find a word. "Permanente." He watched as her confusion slowly melted into a wide grin. Lowering her eyes to the work before her to distract. The warmth that filled his stomach started to turn to darkness at the idea of losing her. "What happens in seven months when they come for their payment?"

Her smiled died as she took a deep breath. "Have you not heard?" She frowned. "I'll be delivered to the king." She clenched her jaw but sighed. She didn't want that life. "They can keep an eye for you." She said quickly to change the subject. "Inform you of movements across the mountains of Venatori and Red Templars. Don't throw away assets just because they're heretics."

Cullen blew through his nose at the idiocy. "They're undisciplined."

"They're unbroken, it's true. But" she looked at him with a calm smirk, "you're in their lands. May as well make some use of them."

He looked away. The Avvar spread from the southeast to the coast. That's a great deal of land his men aren't trained to transverse. "The Avvar snuck up on you? On your trip."

"Aye."

They know the mountains. They're already trained in them. He looked at her with a brow. She certainly had an eye for assets. He chalked it up to her dragon mentality and desire for jewels. "Do you think it'll work?"

She shrugged. "He either succeeds or dies entering a barbarian hold. Either way, problem solved."

"Or escalated." His mind went back to the letter he received from the Edvaar Auger. Put his son to use and reap the rewards. "With it being winter, he may not have the capabilities to accomplish this. Karl, right?"

"Conant. Karl is his title. And, perhaps." She gave a sigh as she worked.

Cullen could see the merit. They would need safe passage through the mountains if he needed to move troops to get to the Western Approach. That would reduce the need for rangers or scouts in the mountains to find these roads. Further, if this Conant could secure even two unmapped routes, the Venatori may not even see the movement until it was too late. Keeping off the main roads, for that large of a force, may be the difference in them bolstering their numbers or catching them unawares. Even send Skywatcher to vouch for Royoc's capability in the field. Maybe even map where rifts are in the mountains. Leverage against those clans who are frightened of them. "I'll send a bird down tomorrow." He looked over at her to see her cutting the thread with her teeth at the head of the bed. "You are just full of advantages, aren't you?"

"Only the best for my darling husband." She placed a hand over her heart but her smile was toxic. "I've yet to make a blanket, but, good night." She crossed the room and laid against the pallet of remaining supplies and yawned.

"You could at least throw me some fabric or something to stay warm."

She flicked a wrist at him. "Then what will I use to stay warm?"

He saw their logistical quandary. Rubbing his neck, he eyed the large bed. "I'll sleep on the couch. I won't hear it." He lifted a hand to stop her even if she wasn't going to argue. "You need your rest."

She stood, holding the fabric in her arms. "You're so kind."

He grunted. Knowing she heard it and didn't pick up on his obvious social cue. She was supposed to argue. Realizing he just shot himself in the foot, he made his way to the ladder. So much for chivalry. He heard the strappings of the bed groan as she laid down. And he sucked his teeth as he looked at the ladder to get back down to the small and uncomfortable couch below that she could fit on.

XxXxXxXx

Cullen rubbed his neck, completing the barracks inspection, and a crook from his neck arched a brow. He stepped into his office and heard the sound of a hammer.

"Slayer, get down."

"I got it. I'm fine."

"You're supposed to be recovering," Cassandra shouted at Uthreida from above. Cullen looked about and noticed rotting wood scattered on the floor in his office. Specifically, places where the roof leaked. He looked up and saw the flooring of his quarters has fresh wood to replace the rotting. A stack of newer lumber was placed by the ladder of his quarters with a rope hanging from the opening. He wondered for a second if he could just turn around and pretend like he didn't just walk into this…whatever this was.

"Don't make me come up there." Cassandra threatened and Uthreida laughed.

"Look, I'm strapped to the cross beam, it's fine. Pass me that board."

"I certainly will not. Come down now before you get hurt."

"If I come down, you'll hurt me."

"Not as much if you fall." Cassandra roared back.

Cullen jutted his jaw and sighed at the situation. "Fine." He said to himself as he approached the ladder and climbed.

Cassandra looked at him with flushed cheeks and an irate scowl. "Do something." She flicked a hand to the roof.

Cullen looked up and saw the Seekers ire. Uthreida was straddled on a cross beam of his open roof with a rope tied around her thighs and waist. "What in the Makers name are you doing?"

Uthreida looked about her as if the answer was obvious. "Fixing your roof."

"Don't you have another project to finish first?" He jutted his thumb at the bed. "You burned all the bedding. Make a blanket first."

She waved it off. "I outsourced that."

Cullen looked to Cassandra to confirm. The Seeker gave a single nod to indicate she did. "I thought she would realize that she might actually need to recover. Only for her to start this." Cassandra flicked a hand at Uthreida's higher position.

Cullen glowered at the woman. "Come down."

"Pass me that board."

He shook his head slowly at her, feeling the blood pool in his ears in his anger at her disobedience. He turned to Cassandra. "How did she even get up there?"

She shrugged in irritation. "I turned around and she" Cassandra waved her hand to the Slayer again.

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose to fight off the migraine that was threatening. He took a deep breath. "Uthreida, come down." He said, trying to keep his voice calm and collected.

"Pass me that board."

He mentally counted to ten to keep his heart from pounding out of his chest and hitting her. He looked at Cassandra. "Do it." Her dark eyes went from enraged, to confused, to concern for him. He knew he was in the range of her abilities, but if Uthreida wasn't going to see reason, neither could he. "Do it."

She gave a hard sigh and looked away from him. Cullen noticed her clenching her fist as she took a breath. Cullen's heart was squeezed and his body set aflame but he stood his ground as he watched Uthreida curl up in pain. She lost her balance on the beam and started to fall. Cullen's knees locked from the cleansing and felt his heart beat faster at her descent.

The rope around her waist snapped to a taught line and held her three feet from the floor she was swinging over. Uthreida gave a whimper of pain as she was still curled up from Cassandras aura.

Cullen cut his hand across the air to stop her. The heat in his body started to cool and he was able to breathe again. Uthreida unclenched her body and hung loosely from the rope. A trickle of guilt filled him but she needed to know she had limits. Cullen crossed the room and pushed the rope to the wall. Uthreida used her feet asleverage so she could pull herself right side up on the rope.

He watched the pain in her face slowly dissipate with the aura. He let go of the rope so she swung freely in his quarters. Her feet above the floor. He wanted to punch her and watch her swing, but also had the presence of mind to know who his opponent was. He looked at Cassandra and lowered his head. "Can you give us the room?" Cassandra crossed her arms and arched a brow. Cullen tilted his head, curling a brow in a plea. The Seeker rolled her eyes and turned to the ladder. Cullen looked at Uthreida, who was watching the Seeker leave with hate in her eyes. Cullen snapped to get her attention back on him. Her ice-blue eyes shifted quickly and he wanted to shirk. "I ordered that. Whatever you're thinking of lies squarely with me." She arched a brow at that. "Now, care to explain what you were doing while you're supposed to be recovering from a head wound?"

The rope gave a soft groan as she swung slightly. "Fixing your roof."

"Why?" Her expression turned bored as she looked at him in silence. Cullen took a breath and tried a different approach. "Thank you for fixing the flooring. But you are aware that rotting wood now litters my office, yes?" She arched a brow and sneered. Still not speaking. Cullen looked her over. Something was…off. "What's going on?"

"Does it matter?"

"Your jumping from one project to the next without thinking or doing the cleanup required. Leaving a half project as you move to the next. Specifically, you're destroying or changing aspects of my life without my consent. Which begs the question, what are you doing?" She turned her head from him to now scowl at the wall. "Uthreida, answer me."

"I'm bored, alright. I'm" she sighed and looked away again.

"What? And in your boredom you choose destruction."

"And fixing."

"To your fit." He said over her. "To your standards. To your liking. You" he ran a hand through his hair. "You never asked me." He said softer. "You never asked for my consent. You never asked if this was a problem for me." He waved a hand to the holed ceiling for her inspection. "I let you make the mattress for medical and practical reasons. But you made it to your standards. You never asked me what I needed or wanted. You just did it. And now," he eyed the roof. "You didn't ask. You didn't ask if I wanted it fixed."

"It's winter, Cullen."

"And?"

"And what do you do when it looks like rain?"

He gave a sheepish look. "Oh, that looks bad."

She rolled her eyes at his lack of an answer. "It's cold."

"So sew me a blanket."

She practically growled at his logic. "You have a tree growing in your wall."

"And? I like it."

She scoffed. "You could do better."

"So could my men. So could any other leaking roof in this hold. I am not a priority here. They are."

"You are a symbol-"

"I'm one man." He forced himself to breathe. "They are the spearhead. I'm just the shaft." She looked away from him again. Cullen placed his hands on his hips. Yelling won't make her speak. He rolled his eyes and sighed. "You're aware that I've spent the last eighteen years sleeping under stone. In fortresses that weren't mine. In a bed, that wasn't mine. In armor, that wasn't mine. So far removed from nature that it seemed unnatural." Her eyes dropped from the wall to her dangling feet. "I'll admit. It's a bit rustic, but it's mine. I chose this. All of this is mine. And in your creative destruction, you're making it your own. You're forcing me to become something of your making rather than mine. What's gotten into you?" She kept her jaw clenched as she kept her gaze averted. Cullen growled at her instance. "You need to speak."

She looked at him, the rage returning. "You live like a dog."

"Well, I am Fereldan." He stated dryly. "Come on," he stepped closer to her rope. "What's going on?"

She looked him over, meeting his eyes, then looked away. "Bas" she whispered. Opening her eyes to look about the room. A red shade caught in her eyes as she looked past him. She took a deep breath and tucked her chin from him. "My head is killing me." She whispered. Cullen had to take another step closer to hear. "I'm sore and exhausted."

Cullen sighed. She had a concussion and wasn't doing anything to make herself better. "You need to rest. Sleep it off."

Her nose twitched as she looked away. "You said I was safe here." She whispered again.

"You are."

"I don't feel safe." She seethed. Her anger now focused on him.

Cullen lowered a brow as he looked her over. She's scared to be seen as weak. That's why she refuses to rest. And she can't rest until she's safe. He sighed at her. Releasing his annoyance and aggression. "So you're fortifying the quarters that you're currently confined to?" Her quick aversion told him he was right. He held a hand to the rope to keep the conversation between them. "You know this is just temporary, right? You're not a prisoner." She arched a skeptical brow at him. He smirked as he thought of her deals with the King and Royoc. "You're not my prisoner. You're my wife. The fact you don't feel safe with me says more about me than you. That said, this is temporary. The more you rest, the faster you'll heal, the faster you can resume your usual daily life. Uthreida, please," he held a hand for her to take like a handshake, "will you please rest already?"

She looked at his hand then him. Not buying his stance and having a place to negotiate. "Call of Cassandra. I like her, but her presence given the situation" she quirked a brow to let her insecurity go unsaid.

Cullen dropped his eyes as he breathed in her scent. "I just want to see you safe."

"Like throwing me from the rafters?"

He chuckled at her dry tone. "Did you die?"

"Hardly the point." Her eyes drifted to the tree. "At Sky Haven temple, there was a tree that grew like that on the sheer cliff facing. Obstinate to the odds." She gave a slow nod. "It's a good tree." Her eyes went to the ceiling. "And trees need the sun." She met his eyes with a peaceful smirk. But then she looked at his open hand. "Call off Cassandra so I may rest. She draws attention where it's not wanted. She moves like a guard. People can guess what she's doing."

Cullen thought it over and nodded. She's accustomed to the shadows. To moving unseen. And seen only when she wants to be. Having Cassandra trail her only shows that she is in a weaker state. "I'll have a talk." She met his eyes and took a deep breath. And took his hand for a shake on the deal. "After you clean my office and take a nap, you can gather a few things from your quarters to make you feel safer. Is that what you want?" She paused at his arrangement and nodded once. "Right." He released her hand and looked about her. "Where's your knife?"

Her face dropped as if remembering she had one, then looked at the rope above her, and sighed. "Well, this is embarrassing."

Cullen offered a smile. "Where."

She lifted her right leg to reach for her boot. When she let go of the rope, she lost her balance and had to hang onto it again. His smile grew into a grin. He moved and found the knife in her boot and passed it to her. He stood below her. "Cut the rope, I'll catch you." He held one arm under her knees and another ready to catch her back. "Be careful, don't cut yourself." She smirked at him. She cut the rope twice. Each jostle of the rope strength lessening made his heart lurch. She held her blade to the rope for the third cut and looked down at him in worry. "I'll catch you, I promise." She paused before returning to the rope. "Just don't stab me when you fall." He saw the smile on her face even as she tried not to show it.

Cullen loosened his knees to catch her as she cut the rope. She moved slower as if to give him time. She dropped. She angled to try and catch herself, but Cullen stood in her way. Catching her behind the knees and back. The knife clattered as it fell to the ground.

She hissed in pain as she landed against his chest. Cullen walked across the room and placed her down gently on the bed. She reached for her back. He noticed a slash of skin as her shirt was cut, a welling of blood on her back. He looked at his Left lance rest and saw the unmistakable red on the point. He gave a deep sigh. "Maker. I'm sorry. I-Are you alright?"

She looked at her hand to confirm the blood. "Reason number thirty-seven why I hate your armor." She growled but looked at him annoyed. She held her hand to the wound but furrowed her brows. She rolled her eyes. "Damn Templars." She grumbled under her breath making him smirk. "Do you have a salve?"

He moved quickly to his trunk and found the ointment and flicked a scrap of fabric from the floor from her previous endeavors. He held both out to her but looked away as she removed her shirt. Cullen coughed to keep the red off his face. She took the two that were offered. "Need stitches or," she asked with annoyance in her tone.

Cullen swallowed hard. "I'll get Cassandra."

"You're here now. Will I need stitches?"

Cullen took a deep breath and focused his gaze only to see the red blood on her back. Ignoring the pale skin, scars from battles that practically outlined the weak points in her armor, freckling on her shoulders, the high waist of her trousers, and leather stitched to well-worn cotton of her smalls. He placed a leather glove to the wound. "It's superficial. You should be fine."

She rolled her shoulders quickly in pain and applied the ointment to the fabric. Careful to get the ointment over the wound as she wrapped over her ribs, careful of the fractured rib, and over one shoulder to stay in place. Cullen was finally able to breathe when she put her shirt back on. She rolled her shoulders again as if to get accustomed to the new bandage.

Cullen looked her over and rubbed his hands at the awkward situation between them. Again. "Can I say something?"

She chuckled. "Like I could stop you."

Cullen scoffed. He moved to sit next to her on the bed. He looked at the ceiling and felt the cool wind brush his skin. "I'm claustrophobic, and" he watched a cloud moved overhead and tried not to think of the purple shimmer of his cell. He felt her eyes on him and he looked down at the ground. "I don't know where I was going with that."

She gave a quick chortle but sighed. "If it's a consolation, I do feel safe with you." She smiled softly and looked away. "But, the fact you won't tell me what the actual threat is says it's a bigger threat. Given the location, one I can't act on. One you can't allow me to act on."

Cullen took a deep breath and stopped hiding. "It's Royoc."

"And?" Cullen lowered his brows as he looked at her. She chuckled at his expression. "I bait him like a bear. So, where's the real threat?"

Cullen tilted his head at her. She's joking, right? "He has significantly more pull than you. More power, more connections" her laugh interrupted until she reached for her back in pain.

"I know his hunting tactics. Just like Jarl Siddgeir. Let me guess. He 'suggests' you go back on lyrium and hold your responsibilities over your head." She scoffed, placing her hand on his knee. "He suggests, so when you fail, it's not his fault. Oh, aye, he has no problem being the hero, but when he has to make a choice, he chose the middle ground. Quick to accept the praise, but the second there's the possibility of failure, 'oh no, I never said that. You're crazy. I would never order my men to do that.' While vaguely telling you to do something so when the men act on your orders, you take the fall." She shook her head and smiled. "I know his kind. It's nothing new. Sweet words and kind gestures but lacks the conviction to stand behind his orders so long as he is portrayed as clean, so no one sees the blood. He wants the roast but not the cow." She shook her head but furrowed her brows in pain. "But it's not Royoc your concerned with, is it. It's his influence. A vague order to the right person so willing to prove themselves." She looked at him with a knowing brow. "When they come forward, ready for their accolades, then Royoc's denial for a scapegoat, then your blade for judgment. "she took a deep breath. "But it is his influence you fear. You fear outside assistance, aye?"

Cullen nodded slowly. How quickly could he convince someone to act?

"Do not fear him." He shot her a look. Uthreida squeezed his knee reassuringly. "He is a glutton who has only seen the feast and not yet paid the price. He moves slowly. I am needed. Required. He will not strike now. He fears dragons and fears what will become of his empire should he fall. His hands are tied. History is filled with dragon hunters. He wants to be remembered for bringing down Corypheus. Which is why he has you. Why he allows this." She shook her head slowly. "You need not fear. But," she held up a single finger, but it curled as she furrowed her brows. "What was I saying?"

Cullen opened his mouth to let her finish but snapped it shut with a smile. He took her hand that was on his knee and squeezed her hand. She seemed to have this figured out already. But it did ease his heart to be on the same level as her and to see her thoughts. "That my paranoia makes you uncomfortable. And that you need to lay down."

"No" she snapped as if remembering. "You don't need to worry about me. I do what I do because it needs to do." She eyed the ceiling again. "Because it needs to get done. And obviously." She looked Cullen up and down quickly with a smile.

"Don't let your pride get in the way of your progress." He stated deadpanned, realizing he was quoting Cassandras affirmations. "You're stubborn, prideful, and strong. Qualities I normally admire. However, you're also arrogant, rash, and sneaky. So, as your Commanding Officer," she chortled, "clean the office. As your husband," she smirked calmer, "rest. Please."

She took an excited intake of air. "You're wearing the boots." She looked at him quickly with a smile. Cullen adverted his eyes to his feet to see the deep leather and modest heel. "How do they fit?"

He smirked at her change of thought. "Well. Thank you."

"They're not too tight?"

He watched as her expression changed to concern. "Once they're broken in, they'll be fine. But-"

"Do you like them?"

"I'm wearing them." He lowered a brow as if to mask a point.

"Right." She gave a bashful smile, shrinking on the bed and tucking a hair behind her ear. Cullen smiled at her demure, remembering her hand on his knee. He wanted to touch her, but his hand fisted on the mattress. He cleared his throat quickly. "Get some rest." He pointed at her face. "I'm serious. Rest." She sighed but nodded slowly. "After, if you need something to do, you can clean the office you destroyed. After that," he took a deep breath, "we can collect a few of your items so you're not 'bored' and feel secure here. Is that fair?"

"And you'll talk to her?" Her eyes shifted to the ladder to show Cassandra.

He followed her eyes and nodded. "I will. After you rest."

"And when will you rest?" She asked with a cocked head. "I mean, you must be exhausted-"

"Don't change the topic." He cut a hand across the air, not wanting to speak of his tight neck.

"If I'm required to rest as your wife, then I must hold you to the expectation of-"

"Don't think you can cute your way out of this."

"You are an absolute butt?" Her smile was vicious but he could hear the playfulness in her tone.

"I'm leaving." He said with a nod. "But, if you don't want to rest, you're welcome to clean." He pointed to his office with a smile. She kicked off her boots and threw her legs on the bed, laying down and watching him with a playfully annoyed smirk. "Thank you."

"I know your day is filled with…whatever it is you do all day. But, we need to go over your hair again to make sure the lice don't return. We should meet again tonight. Hopefully at some point today, I'll get your office cleaned up."

Cullen took a deep breath but rolled his eyes to feign annoyance. "Deal."

"Wasn't a negotiation." She said, laying back on the mattress.

XxXxXxXx

Uthreida took a sip of her tea and made a face of disgust. She used the same ingredients that Cullen uses and it's…nasty. She had to double up on the honey just to swallow it. She groaned internally knowing she would have to ask how he made it. Knowing she was nursing headaches from thinking. She looked at the cup, then at the now clean office. He made good on his word as Cassandra was nowhere in sight. She rested her wrist on the pommel of her sword at her hip. Small comforts where they are.

The south door opened and Uthreida looked over her shoulder to see Overbridge enter. Her jaw was set and clenched as she carried a tray of bread, cheese, and two bowls of stew with a few cuts of meat. Her nose twitching with a drawn brow. "Blessings," Uthreida said cautiously at the lieutenant.

Catherine looked over with a forced smile. "Evening, Lady Rutherford."

Uthreida moved as if to gag at the name. "Storm-blade." She corrected but moved closer. "What's going on? What's with the face?"

She placed the tray on the desk and smiled. "It's nothing."

Uthreida licked her lips but shot her a disappointing look. "It's just us." She said as she approached the younger woman. "You need to rant?"

"No, no" Overbridge shook a hand and stepped back. "It's…it's nothing."

Uthreida smiled as she rounded the desk for Cullen's hidden stash of booze. "Sherry?"

She opened her mouth to deny, but her eyes looked hungrily at the bottle she produced. "Just" she showed a space between her thumb and forefinger. "Just a little."

Uthreida necked the remainder of her tea and poured herself and the lieutenant a dram. She passed the cup to Catherine who shot back the drink with a deep breath. Uthreida sipped her cup with raised brows and an increasing desire to gossip with her. "That bad?" Overbridge took a deep breath and slammed the cup on the desk. Uthreida waved a hand to the couch across the room to invite the woman to sit.

"I don't get it." Overbridge stated quickly. "I am well trained in swordsmen's ship. I was a lieutenant in the Bannors guard. My father was a Captain of the Guard. I know what I'm doing. And to be dismissed so quickly, to deliver food" she waved a hand to the desk with an angered growl. "Like I don't know or understand what's going on, or what's at stake. I get it. But he dismissed me for no reason."

Now she's getting somewhere. "I feel like I missed something."

Overbridge ran a hand through her dark hair and gloried at Uthreida. But sighed. "Commander Cullen asked me to accompany him," she said as she walked side by side with Uthreida to the sitting area. "For back up and for record. He was to meet up with the barbarians that he asked me to arrange. And let me tell you, finding a barbarian by the name of Carl was no easy feat."

Uthreida chuckled as she realized where this conversation was going. Both sat on the couch but Catherine was rigid in her frustration. "So we get halfway down the mountain to meet them and like ten minutes into the meeting, they start talking in their own language, the three of them, and the Commander just, waves me off. Like 'oh, yea, right. Off with you then.'" Uthreida chuckled at her impersonation. "And like," she growled in frustration. "I can do more than carry notes and deliver food."

Uthreida lowered her brows. That didn't sound like him. "I think I'm missing context. What were they saying, what were you doing?"

Overbridge sat taller to make her case. "I was acting like I wasn't noticing their leering. At my chest. In armor."

Uthreida popped her lips at the young woman. "You know they steal women for wives, aye?"

She groaned. "Their Avvar, I'm Fereldan, I know how it works. But even then the women have the capability to fight back. But that's not the point. I can use a sword. I can protect myself."

Uthreida cocked a brow at the lieutenant. "What are they saying?"

"I don't know. Something like 'Vol-gew va-knee hell-la?' Or something."

Uthreida lowered her brows to think of the words. It sounded familiar to caved hot springs but-Oh, by the Nine. That's a euphuism. Uthreida gave a polite chuckle. "I see."

"Right? He had no right." She demanded lowly.

Uthreida gave a softer smile as she sipped her drink. "Forgive him. Like every other male, he must protect the females in his life because, if not him then who? I'm sure you were 'distracting'" She gave a disgusted tone at the word "and the conversation turned sour after you left."

Overbridge arched an annoyed brow. "I'm distracting?" She growled. "That's hardly the point."

Uthreida chuckled to herself. "To tell the truth, I've had to break a few bones to make the same point." She looked over at the younger woman who was now fuming. "I know you feel dismissed and irate that the Commander thinks you too young or naive to sit in on these conversations. I can understand the frustration. But he asked you to assist knowing you can defend. In truth, sending you off from one Avvar-"

"Three." Uthreida raised her brows at the woman and had a better understand if the commanders position. "It was that Carl guy, the big one, Sky seer or something, and some other guy. Cute smile though."

Uthreida paused at the information. "Right."

"And half the clan was behind them."

"Ah hum. Aye. Alright. How - how many?"

"Thirteen in total. Ish."

"Ah." She leaned into the woman. "Is he still alive? Should we go look for him? Is he okay?"

Overbridge gave a comical look. "It's a peace talk."

"Aye, but-"

"No weapons allowed."

"You say that" Uthreida shook her hands at the anxiety that her husband may have just been killed. Alone. in the mountains.

Catherine chuckled at her wifely concern. "I wasn't the only soldier there. He's okay."

Uthreida placed a hand over her chest and sighed at the relief. OVerbridge kept smiling at her. Uthreida shot her a look that demanded she never tell Cullen of this. She sniffed and recomposed herself quickly. "You're aware that by sending you off, the Commander weakened his position, aye? He proved he had a soft spot for you. I don't know if you noticed, but the Commander is all about 'business'." She made an exaggerated serious face as she looked the woman over. Overbridge gave a small laugh at the impression. "Sending you off ensured he controlled the conversation while securing your safety." The younger woman gave a growl. "I know you want to prove yourself, but you have. You're indispensable. You keep him on track. And, honestly, once the old guard retires, you'll probably take over as Commander in six to ten years. The training and tutelage you're receiving now, seeing how he leads, will help you later. Not to sound like a dutiful wife, but he made the right call. And I know you're angry, but I guarantee you, he doesn't care."

Catherine grunted. "You do sound like a dutiful wife."

Uthreida smiled at the woman. "I also remember what it's like to be so filled with fire and vinegar. Eager to prove myself only to realize I didn't know a damn thing. Wisdom takes time. Let it be." Overbridge humphed and leaned forward on her knees. "What would you have done? If you were in charge of a Soldier and the barbarians you were speaking to were leering at them, what would you do."

"Punch them?"

"But you need them." Overbridge curled her lip in disgust. "Diplomacy."

"Why would I work with someone who would do that? I do have my self-respect."

Uthreida laughed again. "True. But you can't always choose who your allies will be. Sometimes you have to swallow your pride to meet the mission. Sometimes," Uthreida matched her posture and rubbed her hands in comfort, "you have to do things to ensure the safety of your people." She clenched her jaw, remembering how she extended her hand to Miraak when he was kneeling on the floor of Apocrypha. Allowing him to live in Hermeaus Mora's chains to escape herself from such a fate. Knowing the entirety of her life, her fate, was his fault. Knowing he wouldn't rise again if the god of fate was recovering. Uthreida took a deep breath. "Look at King Calin, King Alistair, and Loghan. The traitor was willing to see only the inhumanity of the occupation and drove Fereldan to Civil War. King Alistair, whose father fought to end the occupation, embraces Empress Celene, for trade. To open the door for unity and peace. To be a good leader, you have to pick your battles carefully. You could punch people you don't like, true, but then they won't respect you. They'll follow out of fear. Or, you can remove the source of conflict, and gain followers from loyalty."

Overbridge nodded slowly. "Good point." She sat up and rubbed her hands against her thighs. "I'd almost prefer fear."

"Fear is easy to come by." Uthreida leaned back and crossed her arms. "But loyalty, and honor, these are the paths that make a warrior. Respect, both given and received, make a Thane. And diplomacy makes a leader." Overbridge chewed her lip as Uthreida sipped the final bits of her Sherry. "Are you alright?"

She sighed. "I just wish he would've asked." She said softer. "I could've," she released a deep breath. "I don't know. Something."

"So long as you give everything you can to the best of your capabilities, there's nothing more you can do. Best not lose sleep over the past when you have another fight tomorrow."

Overbridge rubbed her face in annoyance. "Why can't I be angry?"

"Oh, you can be angry. I'm not stopping that. I just want you to know, that in that state, you lose sight of what's important. In your anger, you punch him, you lose your position and credibility. Be angry, but don't let it cloud your judgement."

Overbridge took a deep breath, running her hands over her dark hair and rested at her neck. "Thank you." She said softer. But the tone was one of politely severing the conversation than actual condolence.

Uthreida nodded at the young woman. She wanted to tell her she was young, but knew it only rile her up more.

Both turned their attention to the south door as it was slammed open. Cullen strode to his desk and picked up the knife on his desk. His anger reviberated as he lifted it over his head to throw the knife at the practice dummy on the other side of the office. He turned and saw the two women sitting on the couch. Both watching him with amusement at his loud entrance and silent outburst. He arched his back slightly and let the knife clatter to the ground behind him. "Evening." He stated quickly.

"Blessings," Uthreida stated with an arched brow at him, a smirk curling on her face. "I take it it didn't go well."

He took a quick breath to sooth himself before approaching the women. Overbridge stood quickly as if ready to receive an order. "First, I'd like to apologize." He said as he stood before Overbridge. "I know I asked you to accompany me, but it seemed as the conversation wore on, well, I'm already dealing with one Avvaran bride" he pointed his hand at Uthreida quickly, "and I don't wish to undergo that again."

Overbridge looked over her shoulder at Uthreida who shot her a knowing look. The lieutenant smiled as she looked back at Cullen. Who then looked confused between the two women but quickly continued. "I know it wasn't easy setting it all up, but I wanted to say thank you."

Overbridge bent slightly to look around him at the blade that was on the floor. He arranged his features to a serious demeanor. But when Uthreida did the same actions, he looked annoyed at her. He returned his attention back to Overbridge. "We can go over utilization and movements tomorrow. As well as an outfit for the new team. Until then, enjoy your evening. You did well."

The lieutenant saluted to him, but turned to face Uthreida who stood at her departure. Catherine held a hand to her in thanks and Uthreida shook it once to let her be on her way. The lieutenant exited silently from the north door to the barracks.

Uthreida turned her attentions to her husband who took a long breath. "So." She asked with a wide smile. "What happened?"

He shot her an annoyed look but sighed. "They agreed." He stated lowly, turning his back to her.

She followed him. "Oh, so you throw knives in celebration?" She asked with a chipper tone knowing he wasn't in the mood.

He humored, taking the cup from her hands and filling up a cup of her tea. "They also want to be allowed in the keep for resupply."

"That's fair."

"And want you to send them off at the end of the week." He set the kettle down harder than needed.

She watched his aggression with a careful eye. "Also fair."

He rolled his eyes and brought the cup to his lips but pulled it back down. "They want you to pray for their safety as they will be surveying the mountains in the winter. Isn't that their thing? What makes them Avvar?" She gave a quick shrug, not knowing the culture as well as others believed she did. He shook his head at the lunacy. "They want you in the traditional garb of the Avvar gods." She arched a brow. Fur coats? Why was he angry at that? He jut his jaw. "Skywatcher, the closest thing to an Auger they have, wants to paint you like the Sky Mother." Uthreida smiled at the idea. A couple of runes on her face wasn't so bad. She noticed the rage in his eyes as he looked down at her. "Your whole body." He slammed the cup down on the table top. He moved so his hands rested on the table and leaned over it in stress. "According to them, you are to be stripped, painted in the blue likeness of the Sky Mother, and be presented to the people. All while he sings hymns to the false gods."

Uthreida let her face drop in the realization of what they demanded. To let some strange man touch her, in the iconography of a god that is not her own, made her pause. "What did you say?" She asked lowly.

He stood to his full height quickly and grabbed the cup again. "What could I say? I told them the choice was yours."

"To which they said?"

He scoffed and took a drink. He physically paused and looked down at her from the rim of the cup. She smiled guiltily as she remembered the tea was horrible. The sound of running liquid back into the cup made her smile. "I thought you said you weren't going to poison me."

"It's not poisoned. Just, not…very well made."

He looked at the cup then at her. "Same thing."

"I" she waved her hands vaguely to the kettle, "don't know what I'm doing."

"Obviously." He stated tersely. He stepped out of the north door and threw the remainder of the tea over the battlements. "Get rid of that." He pointed to the kettle. He prepared for the second pot of tea as she dumped the remains of the tea over the battlements. He inspected the kettle and filled it with some water before telling her to clean it. With a clean kettle, he lit the candle under the kettle and poured in fresh water.

"So, how do I, Uh" she waved her hand to the kettle.

He looked over at her with a smirk. "Start with the water. After it's heated, not boiling, then, add the herbs. The whole thing just tastes burnt otherwise."

They both stood over the kettle, waiting on it to heat and all she could think of was large hands, of a stranger, running over her body in blue paint. A shiver went down her back. "So, let's go back. They, Umm, what now?"

He looked confused but nodded with the crease between his brows. "Right." He crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels. "I told them it was your choice."

She looked him over quickly. His anger and agitation seemed to speak of a side of the story he wasn't saying. "And how did they respond."

He sighed. "That without the blessing, the winter may make them 'move slower and since they don't have the blessing if the gods, may not be as productive.'" He shot her an annoyed look.

She wanted to march down the mountain and slaughter the camp. She took a deep breath. If they wanted to see her naked…well, too bad. She crossed her arms at the idea. She knew she had to swallow her pride but refused on this. Conant is playing a dangerous game. She looked at Cullen with an idea. "Or, can Liliana shoo out all the birds in her tower as I pray and have them circle the Avvar to show favor?"

Cullen's raised brow turned into a full laugh. "You want to know if the messenger crows can be trained to circle the Avvar camp, at a specific time, at a specific location, with no training and no coordination."

"Aye."

He laughed again. "No."

"Damnit." She gave a deep sigh. "If I apply the paint, with two of their females, I don't have an issue. But I don't want some half giant" she shuddered at the thought. "Even then, I'm not a god. Why would they ask this? Why would I feed this lie?"

"Good question." He stated dryly.

She smirked knowing Royoc was quick to claim such a title. "No. They want my presence, I will go to them as I am. Nothing more."

Cullen nodded. "In truth, I think the overt demand was just a starting point. They just wanted to see you. To prove you exist. They were expecting the middle ground. I think you're making a good choice."

She cocked a brow at him. "Then why were you angry?"

He side-eyed her but checked the heat of the kettle. His lack of a response made her lower her brows. But let it go. "At any rate, they will be collecting supplies and should be ready to leave by the end of the week. Will you be okay to don your armor and ride or will the Sky Mother miss her people?"

She look a breath in thought. Her headaches were annoying and the bright light tiresome. Coupled with a horse ride, down the mountain, and fifteen pounds of armor strapped to her back with a fractured rib, she didn't know. But she looked at him and forced a smile. "We will see."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"It…should…be fine?" She stated with hesitancy.

"I'm going with." He nodded as he placed a few sprigs of Rosemary and sage in the palm of his hand and crushed them with the heel of his hand.

"That's not necessary."

"I won't hear it." He said softly, dropping the herbs into the bottom of the cup. "You're injured and need a guard. Who better than your husband." He poured the hot water over the herbs then looked at her. But he clenched his jaw and placed the kettle over the candle again. He took a deep breath and rubbed his neck. "As it is, you have four days." She gave a nod to him. "You don't have to, you know." He said softer, the tips of his fingers going over the table top. "It's a good plan, but" he tapped his fingers and thinned his lips, "even if this doesn't work, we'll be alright. Their alliance isn't required."

She looked at his hand and sighed. "They're scared. They feel alone. They feel like the gods have abandoned them. I feel their pain. Sometimes. I wonder," she met his eyes and looked away. Shame racked her as she remembered how alone she felt when she first got here. How silent her gods are here.

"We all" he paused with a soft voice, "lose our faith from time to time." She looked at him as he looked deeply into his cup. "Hard times foster doubt. And that doubt creates questions. And those questions create a disappointment. But faith isn't external, it's internal. It's a fortitude. A constitution. A trust. That even in the face of doubt, they still walk with you." He took a deep breath and held the cup in both of his hands as if to warm him from the winter winds. "Ironically, we need the hard times to forge our faith. To harden it. So that we may have a deeper appreciation for the Maker, er, gods." He offered a small smirk. "Faith, untested, isn't faith. It's just tradition."

Uthreida smiled at him but looked away. During the process of making his new bed and fixing his flooring, she was able to meditate on the cycle of the universe. On the teachings of Arkay and the teachings of Hircine. To see a deeper connection in the world even through her plight and the fear of her weakened death. It wasn't until Cullen had calmed her down, was she able to realize that death is just another part of life. We are born weak but scream strong. Why should her death be any different? She met his eyes and gave a nod of aggreance. He gave an awkward smile and took a drink. His face contorted to pain as he just drank a steaming hot beverage. She smirked and touched his Tin cup with two fingers. She called ice to her hand and cooled the drink for him. A new headache throbbing in the back of her skull. "Thank you, Cullen."

He raised his cup in his own thanks.

"I'll go to them. As I am. And I would be honored if you were to accompany me." He smirked but dropped his eyes. "And Overbridge. She seems to know about them. Their culture."

He gave a nod looking at the door. "She's a good girl. Good head on her shoulders."

"Aye." She looked him over and smirked. "So are you going to make me a cup or what?"

"I was waiting on you." He said with a smile. He waved a hand to the herb box for her. "Go on."

She grumbled as she took two sprigs of Rosemary. He took one back and placed it in the box. He nodded for her to continue. She picked up three leaves of sage and gauged his reaction. He arched a brow. She picked up another and he looked annoyed. She played until he agreed to one sprig and two leaves. She crushed it in her hands like he did and poured in the hot water. She took a spoonful of honey and stirred her cup. She dipped the spoon in the pot and placed it in his cup warranting an annoyed look from him. Without looking, she pointed at him in warning. The metal spoon stirred and she smiled.

Uthreida placed the platter that Catharine had delivered to the sitting table in front of the couch and waved him over to eat. "You're too thin. Here." She placed the bowl of broth before the couch with the arrangement of cheeses, bread, and meats. Cullen sat before her on the couch and smiled as she dunked some of her bread into the broth.

Cullen leaned forward and bowed his head. Uthreida watched him as he sat in silence before his meal, slowly chewing and wondering what he was doing. "Eat." He continued to remain silent and all she could hear was his breathing. He looked up and removed his gloves before reaching for the bread. Uthreida noticed his left hand had bruises around the meat of his thumb like teeth marks. "What was that?" Cullen's hand twitched to see the same bruises she did. He slowly switched the bread to his right hand and then tried to hide the bruising on his left. She looked up and saw he was advoiding her eyes at all costs. "That silent, head bowed thing. What was that?"

He looked up but the snarky smirk returned. "A prayer."

"For?" She asked around a bite of the smoked veal.

"The food."

She looked confused as she chewed. "Why would you pray for food when there's food before you?"

He chewed a bit of cheese as he swallowed the broth. "Believers are to not take food before interposing prayer. For the refreshments and nourishments of the spirit are to be held prior to those of the flesh, and things heavenly prior to things earthly." She noticed his tone like he was reciting the Chant of Light. Slightly bored, but informative. He popped a piece of veal into his mouth. "What of you? When do you pray for your sustenance?"

She smirked. "After. As you say, we are children of Nirn. The gods gave their lives for the creation of Nirn. We pray when we are satisfied and full as thanks for the land they created." He made a sound as he dunked the bread into the soup. "How does it go?"

He chewed slower looking at her with a brow. "Beg your pardon?"

"Your prayer? Is it regional, depending on the day and time, is it institutional? Intuitional? What is it?"

He gave a quick laugh and looked her over as if to gauge. He wiped his hands together to remove the excess flour from the bread and a smirkd. He held out his hand for her to take. She poped a squire of cheese into her mouth and mimicked his actions. "Bow your head and close your eyes," Uthreida smirked but did so. "Our glorious father, it is to you we give our thanks for our daily bread. It is to you we offer this bit of the land that has been given to us. For it is the sacrifice of Andraste of this earth that we give back to you. Hold fast and eat with us, Almighty Maker. So that we may banquet with you in your hall as you have banquetted with us. In your name and eternal glory and love we pray." He squeezed her hand and she looked up at him. He released her hand with a smirk. "You'll have to forgive the dialect. It's an older prayer from my mother."

She lowered her brows. "What dialect?"

He scoffed and stirred his soup. "Cute."

She tilted her head. "What are you talking about?"

He shook his head as he drank his soup. "I grew up in rural Fereldan. You don't have to joke."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Cullen looked at her with a slow realization crossing his features. "Right. You can…you can understand."

She gave a forced smirk. "I mean, I'd like to, but you aren't saying anything."

He chuckled as she looked at the plate of food. Debating on his next move. "I grew up in Honnleath. Some of the locals speak Clannic. I" he rotated a hand. "I know Clannic." He chuckled as he broke more bread. "It gave no short of teasing when I was in Templar training, believe you me."

"Which is?"

"It's the Uh, the language that was spoken in Fereldan before the Dwarven trade tongue or common. Mostly associated with rural or backwater villages of Fereldan. Mostly due to the fact that it was illegal to speak during the Orlesian occupation. The wear of clan colors and ancient dialects were seen as savage or barbarous to the Orlesian's. So, the places where Orlais didn't want to go or so far removed from major points of interest are still spoken. But due to industry or economics, it's a dying language."

Uthreida could remember the few Atmoran phrases that were still spoken in Skyrim and could understand as Cyrodiilic common took over. Even if the language is based on Atmoran and Mer, the collaboration of other cultures is slowly pushing out the ancients. She looked at him with a smirk. "I didn't know you knew another language."

"I try to keep it hidden." He swirled another piece of bread in his soup. "Like I said, I was teased as a boy for it. I'd rather like this secret to be between us."

"What secret ? I've never heard you speak another language." She popped a price of veal and chewed slowly. Watching his appreciative smile form around his face.

They spent the rest of the meal in silence. Enjoying the company without the tediousness of small conversation.

Uthreida finished her cup of tea and leaned back in her chair sated. He waved a hand to the remaining bits of cheese and meat for her but she waved it off. "If it's all the same, I'll give it to the birds."

"Birds?" He cocked a brow.

"Aye." He tilted his head in mild confusion. "Oh, is it my turn? Well then." She picked up the small plate of cheese and meat as waived for him to follow.

She exited the south door and placed the plate on the battlements. The light of the moons giving her directions on the dark night. Cullen followed behind her silently. Uthreida folded her hands. "To the gods and goddesses of the Aedra. I thank you for the blessings you have given. To Kyne, for your glory, to Akotosh, for this day, to Mara for this banquets, to Arkay for this meal. Continue to bless us and aide us in our battles of the fates and of our lives. Stenddaar, for our honor, Julinos for our lively hood. Dibella, for your beauty. And Talos, for hope. Give us courage and honor to do what is best for our family and our folk. Take this sacrifice of the land, as you have sacrificed, and bless us in our journey. Blessed are the Divines. Blessed are the Aedra." She clapped twice and nodded. She looked at Cullen who awkwardly clapped twice. "Blessed are the Aedra." She whispered to him to spur him on the right path.

"I'm not saying that."

She laughed at his refusal to believe another realm of gods existed. She slid the meat and cheese off the platter for the birds to eat and returned to the office with the plate. She cleaned the table for the ease of the servants later. She refilled the cup of hot water from the kettle and placed it on the table. "Take a seat." She called to Cullen who was standing by his desk and looking over reports. He did. At his desk. Uthreida arched an annoyed brow. "And remove your armor."

He stood with a lower brow at the report but seemed to realize what he was doing as he removed his sword belt. "Wait, what, why?"

She gave a low laugh as she approached the desk. "Sit over there." She opened his drawer and found the combs she had brought down yesterday and he shut the drawer against her wrist gently.

"What are you doing?"

"We talked about this." She paused to think and confirm. "We did talk about this, right?"

He gave a scoff. "That won't be necessary. I have things to do."

She tried to pull her hand from the drawer but her fist for the combs prevented it. "Cullen." She warned with a smirk.

"That won't be necessary."

"You agreed."

"I believe your exact words were, 'not an negotiation'. Ergo, my agreement is null and void."

She blinked slowly at him. "Careful. This would be easier if you submit."

"And you could slip out if you let go."

She looked down at the small gap in the drawer opening. She could, but now it's a matter of pride. She could bend his will. But he'll be afraid. "Don't do this, Commander."

He gave a smug grin. "Or what."

She cleared her throat and he seemed to pause. But he rolled a shoulder and stood his ground. "It's been a lovely evening, don't ruin it."

He smiled wider. "I could say the same."

"Why are you doing this?" Uthreida asked, looking him over slowly.

He pressed the drawer a little tighter. "Because I don't want to." She lowered a brow. "I don't want you to brush my hair."

She pulled back slightly offended. "Was I not gentle?"

"No, I" he sighed. "What I mean is," he clenched his jaw and turned his face from her.

She lowered her brows at him. "You still don't trust me?" She whispered.

He jutted his jaw with closed eyes. "I don't." Uthreida felt the heat of her face like she had been slapped and stunned silent. "I don't trust me." He looked at her with darkness in his eyes like he was fighting for control. The same darkness as she saw a few days ago when he allowed her to see his pain. She felt her brow furrowed in empathy, letting the combs drop from her hand. He looked at the drawer she was bound to and removed his hand from the face.

"I trust you. Isn't that enough?" She looked him over. "To satisfy this fear. Isn't that enough?" She whispered cautiously.

He clenched his jaw and looked away from her. "Don't."

Uthreida took a step back and breathed. "You need to delouse before getting into bed tonight. You can do it yourself, but it needs to happen."

He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. His body going taught. "Will you help me?" He asked above a whisper.

"Of course." She said without missing a beat. She smiled but pointed at the drawer. "Can I?"

He gave a slow nod allowing her to retrieve the combs. She held a hand for him to take but he turned and walked around the desk from her. She bit her lip and told her self 'one step at a time.'

Cullen stood at the sitting area as if he was dazed and didn't know where to go. Uthreida placed the combs in the hot water and waited for him to sit. He looked at her. She moved to remove her blade from her hip and sat it on the couch. Cullen took his seat in the chair opposite of her. She could tell he was uncomfortable, given his lack of social understanding of the situation. She rounded the table and tapped his knee plate. He shifted but she smirked. She pulled the buckle of one knee away from the other to make the point she wanted to sit between his legs. He looked at her quickly but obliged slowly. She sat between his knees, loosening her hair for him to louse. She tried to sit small between his knees so not to scare him. Pulling her knees up to her chest.

She heard him take a large inhale, the slight jingle of his armor as his foot bounced nervously. He leaned forward and retrieved the comb, seeing the bruise on his thumb again. She sat silently and let him work. She could feel the slight tremor in his hands as he pulled, combed, and set aside clumps of her hair. "So I've been thinking." She said unannounced and made him jump. "Three tasks to give life for Arkay. The bed is done."

"Mostly done." He grunted.

Uthreida smirked. "I need two more tasks. If I dedicate the blade I was planning to make for death, I need something that symbolizes life." He was silent as he let her think. "I was thinking a song. Thoughts?"

"A song?"

She hummed for a second in thought. "Good point. Three songs. One has to praise the gods. One for death. And one for cycles or life. History, maybe. A song of history."

He scoffed. "Like a battle?" She noticed his hands moved with more confidence when his mind was distracted from the task.

She bit her lip. "Of hope. A dawn, if you will." She paused. "Come to me Arkay, for without you there is no breath or beginning. Breath. A song."

His hands paused mid brush. "Why a song?"

"I've got a tune stuck in my head, and I thought it would be appropriate."

He dropped her hair and leaned back in his chair. "How does it go?"

"I don't know, sort of-" she took a breath and started to hum. The tune was long and languid. It made her sad. The low tones hitting her capabilities of her throat. It seemed to be on a triplicate scale that when it hit every third note on the scale, would grow back down two and never seemed to make it past three stanzas. The rising notes giving the idea of hope only to fall again.

Cullen cleared his throat. "Maybe not that one."

"Why not?"

Cullen sucked his teeth and washed the comb in the water. "It sounds eerily close to the song of lyrium."

She lowered her brows and looked at him over her shoulder. "How do you mean?"

"Hang on, your hairs getting caught." He waved his arms and undid the buckles of his vembracers, dropping them to the floor. He met her eyes and picked up the comb again. She took the cue and sat forward. "Dwarves are acutely attuned to the tunnels and to lyrium. They can hear its song through the stones. That's how they find lyrium to mine. After a certain amount of time, Templars began to hear a song. One that sounds close to what you just sang. We call it the song. It's, Um, it's comforting we're your starting out. It resembles a few hymns. So we don't think anything of it. The Chantry tells us it was made from the Emerald Waters of the Golden City. In daily duties, you can drown it out. For the older members, to hear them hum it, or even make words for it, generally is a first sign of lyrium dementia or madness. It's a song you can't pinpoint but there's comfort."

Uthreida lowered her brows at his comment. "It sings to you?"

"Like a siren." She clenched her jaws and held her legs tighter to her chest. He can hear it then. "Hey." He put a hand in her shoulder and squeezed. "You didn't take enough. It's not a habit. You don't have the addiction. You're safe."

"You aren't."

His hand loosened from her shoulder with a deep breath. "It's a process. But I have you, right. You're going to help."

"How can I help?"

He took another deep breath. "I don't know. Stubborn pride has gotten me this far but I don't know where to take it from here." He pulled more hair to resume his work. "There's, layers. I don't know how to pull them apart." Uthreida sat silently. She could imagine what his life must have been. To have everything revolve around- "No, seriously, there's a knot that I don't how to pull without yanking it."

She chuckled under her breath. "Here." She passed him her knife. There was a slight pull then slack as he cut out the knot. He passed the knife and clump back to her. It wasn't enough to cause a concern, but enough to be annoying. It was small but still.

He pulled her head back and she rested her head on his lap. "Lyrium sings?"

He shot her a smirk as he worked. "Yes."

She pouted as she looked at the wall. "We should make a song."

"No."

"With words."

"No."

"It could help."

"No."

"Make you laugh?"

"No." He stated more heated.

She took a breath and tried the tune. "Don't want to drown in your misery."

"Stop."

"Release me lyyyyyriuuuuum."

"Utha."

"Bury me amongst the ashes."

He growled.

"Drowning in the cold of -."

"Uthreida." His authoritive tone made her stop and shrink as she looked at him. The deep furrow between his brows and piercing eyes made her swallow her apology. He closed his eyes and took a breath. "Please stop degenerating the tribulations of all Templars for a few giggles."

She looked away awkwardly. "I'm sorry." He took another cleansing breath and kept working. "We should do something though."

He pushed her head so it fell to his other leg to work on the last side of her hair. "Maybe something a bit more respectful."

She arched a brow. "I'm going to do it out of spite now and you're not going to see it."

He shot her a dark look but rolled his eyes. "Fine."

She laughed at his resistance. "Well, if I can't use that." She hummed in thought. "Ostwins folly, built by blood." She sang to herself. "Sundered by the bones of those" she paused. "Sundered by the kings screams of-"

"That's really dark."

"That's the point. Fire, fire, built his pyre from the blood and gold and reeked their ire. Double dagger sink and slice as Ostwin…fell into ice? That doesn't make any sense." She gave a heavy sigh. "I defiantly have to work on this."

"I'm…sure…you'll do…great."

She looked at him during his pained cough of confidence. He gave a smile to show his teeth but bit his lips sheepishly. She laughed at his antics. She sighed. "I'll dig in my notebooks for inspiration."

"I've heard you sing." He said nonchalantly. "I'm sure it'll be beautiful."

"Thank you, Valok." She slapped his knee, careful of the disks.

"Still haven't told me what that means."

She smiled to herself. Honestly, it just came to her. The idea of a golden guardian. Yovon Valok. It suited him. He paused to look at her. "Really?" He asked annoyed. She shrugged to her silence. He sighed and tapped her on the shoulder. "All done."

"Am I clean?"

"Yes." He said with a smile. "All clean. Minus the smell of lard in your hair."

Her victory fist was cut short as she looked at him in distaste. That he grined at. She rolled her eyes and stood from the floor. "Could I possibly ask you to remove your armor?"

"I suppose." He stood with a grunt and started to work the belts for his cloak. Uthreida let him work alone as she prepped for his cleaning.

She returned and saw him removing his lower bracers with a calming and measured breath. He had removed his leather jerkin and wearing only a twill shirt and his wool breeches and boots. "Are you ready?"

He gave a single nod and sat on the floor before the chair. She was expecting to stand the whole time, but-

She shrugged at his kindness and took her seat. She sat like he did with his shoulders between her knees. She held the cup of hot water near her and looked down at his back. She sighed as she remembered his pains and weaknesses. "I know you don't like being touched, so let me know if it's too much, alright." He gave a single nod with his head lowered. "Or, I could, you know." She offered with a smile knowing he would reject. He shot a scathing look over his shoulder that made her smile more. She gently touched his shoulder and guided him to lean back against the chair. She noticed that he was breathing deeper to calm himself. His hands placed in his lap like a meditative state. Uthreida let him remain silent. But he would jerk at every touch as if hyper-aware of her hands. His jerks were making her lose her place in her work. He needed to relax.

"Do I need to stop?" He shook his head once. "How was your day?"

"Fine. You?"

She arched a brow at his monosyllabic retort. Mild annoyance filled her as she removed the lice from him. "Well, this morning after the memorial, Cassandra and I delivered the fabric to the servants to make a blanket. After that, I worked on the flooring of your office while Cassandra read to me Varric's manuscript to pass the time."

Cullen turned slightly to look at her. "She didn't mention."

"Oh, I'd imagine. She got really into it." Uthreida smiled as she remembered Cassandra blushing and reading the verbal's in different voices. "I don't know if Varric knows anything of Avvar or if he's trying to make me homesick."

"Why is that?"

"Well," she swished the comb," the story is about an Avvarran Thane who kidnaps the Dragon, princess, thing. It didn't specify." She ran the comb over. "Apparently her father had killed off his clan. But as the Thane spends time with the sarcastic warrior princess, he begins to fall for her. But, he's already sent word to her father. The king or emperor, it didn't specify. And now wants to retract on his proposal of ransom with her father. It's very cute, it's very romantic, but, I don't know. It needs work. And even then, I don't know what culture he's gaining inspiration from. If it's the Avvar, then it's cute. If he's trying to derive Nordic culture, it needs work."

Cullen chuckled as she ran the comb over his head. "I shudder to think."

She knew he was being sarcastic, but he opened the door. "Under the teachings of Stun, when you take a war prisoner, there are certain rules and codification that need to be followed to ensure their safety and security. One of which being, same sex Karl guards the prisoner. While it has been known to happen. The Karls desires for love will usually be ignored as they are below the Jarl and Thane in stature. This helps to prevent such illicit affairs from occurring. Further, if it were to happen that the one in charge of the transfer of prisoners, they have to give thirty-day notice of rights and payment with a travel time to the intended party. So if the payer is ten days travel from the payee, the date of arrangements must be minimum forty days. But, let's say, if changes are to occur, say in price or keeping of such high target prisoners, an additional letter of the same time frame must be delivered to show a change in transactions. However, if the change of heart were to occur in less than one-third of the delivery days, so forty divided by three, is thirteen days, the prisoner must be delivered with full restitutions of ransom paid to one and half times the ransom payment."

Cullen looked over his shoulder with lowered brows with mass confusion written on his face. "What?"

She gave a heavy sigh. "If Thane Cladonic were to keep Princess Ullera, but did not deliver notice before the thirteen-day prior to the date of paid ransom, he must pay, at the minimum, one and one-half times the ransom that he demanded from King Ulric. That's Nordic law."

Cullen shook his head at the idea of it all. "Alright. Sure. So, wait. What happeneds if he doesn't want her?"

"The princess will be delivered as promised."

"No, the king. What if the king doesn't want his daughter back?"

Uthreida shrugged. "The King could send a letter saying he has no interest to pay. If the King agrees to the price but is late to the meeting, The Thane will wait at the designated site for three days. If the king forfeits, she becomes property or prisoner of the Thane free and clear to do what he has to. Normally, though, usually ends as a betrayal to the intended party. So it's usually in the best interest of the payer, or king in this case, to behead the prisoner themselves to prevent betrayal."

Cullen shook his head. "Your people have very intricate laws of war."

"Oh, it gets better." She stated with a smile as she tapped his shoulders. "Should the prisoner be stolen by a third party, all negotiations must be completed by all three parties."

Cullen took a deep breath and shook his head. "This all seems excessive."

"Well, to be honest, these are the ancient Atmoran laws of Stun and war prisoners or more accurately referred to as slaves or thralls. When Saint Alessia took the throne, being a slave herself, she outlawed slavery in her empire. The Ayleids, the elven slavers and rulers at the time, their religion and policies were supreme. So she changed it. This is what caused a ripping of the elven gods and making them mortal. But, she took inspiration from the Atmoran gods, thusly, ripping apart our gods as well. Now, the ripping or tearing of the elven god Ariel, or Akatosh, and in some scholarly circles, Alduin, created a dragon break. So these gods, both elven and mortal were ripped and reconfigured for propaganda for Saint Alessia. We now look at Stun who was renamed Stendarr. Still the god of law, still a trial god of humble victory, but, no longer associated with slaves, but now is associated with righteousness and divine justice. Under Emperor Talos, Skyrim adopted the Cyrdillic rule in the second era, thusly laws and religions of the empire. Ergo, slavery is illegal in Skyrim." He sat in awkward silence and it was obvious he had no idea what she just said or how any of it made any sense. "And that's why we're feared." She stated as she swirled the comb with a smile. "We hold true to our word, but our savagery is unparalleled. Our law is honor, and our honor is law."

He hummed as she tilted his head to rest on her thigh. "So, let me ask you this, let's say the princess didn't want to go back. What happens then?"

"Under Atmoran law, Skyrim law, or Cyrdillic law?" He took a breath but given his cleared throat, was still confused. Uthreida decided to keep up with the Atmoran law. "She's a prisoner, she doesn't have a choice."

"Couldn't the Thane keep her?"

"He could. And judging from Varrics story, that's how it will probably end. But, she could convince her father to pay for her freedom and release her free and clear, or the Thane could pay the one and a half ransom for the prisoner himself." Uthreida paused in thought. "What a delightful poetic ending. The king's sole heir, married to a barbarian whose clan he killed. As the Thane raises the princes and princesses of a land they will never rule again. Killing off the legacy of the king. By slitting his throat. No, by waging war and claiming the land for the barbarians and not the dragon emperor." She smiled at the idea. "I'll have to tell Varric about that."

"Sounds like a retelling of the fall of Teventer." Cullen chuckled. "And you thought our frightening cautionary tales were silly."

She shrugged. "We favor the stories that twist fate. Sheograth makes for the most delightful stories." She placed the combs into the cup to show she was complete. Cullen moved to stand but she held a hand to his shoulder to keep him sitting. "With your permission, I'd like to" her fingers dug into the trapezius of his neck and she stopped talking. Her eyes widened at the feel of the muscles under her fingers. By the Nine, how does he move? "It's like feeling a rocky shore." Her fingers felt a few surface knots in his muscles that made him flinch at the contact. "Cullen." She behreated, knowing he knew better than to let it get this bad.

"It's fine." He moved to stand but she placed a leg over his shoulder to keep him down.

"Clearly not. Maras Mercy. It's no wonder why you always have headaches. The tension in your neck is going straight to your head. Is this from stress? Prior battles or-" she stopped, her eyes going to the back of his skull in anger. "Is this from your armor?" His clinched jaw gave her the answer. "Shores bones." She sighed, replacing her leg with her elbows as she leaned into him. Resting her forehead against the crown of his head. "Valok." She sighed in exasperation. "What are you doing?" She asked above a whisper. She moved her arms so she hugged his shoulders from the rear. "Your armor is hurting the end user. That's not armor Cullen, that's torture." She looked at him to see his face set to reveal nothing as all emotions were wiped from his face. She sighed at him. "You're so stubborn." She sat up and eyed his armor from the floor. The lance rest ready to pierce her again. "This doesn't change the past. You can let go. Let me help."

He took a breath and blew it from his nose. "And what do you suggest, hmm?" His acidic tone rolled over his shoulder as he looked at her.

"The armor I made comes to mind." She felt his pain. Once believing the same thing. Wanting to fall deeper into the despair. Knowing sorrow like an old friend. But melancholy is an easy trap. She took a deep breath and looked at his hair. If anyone needed the Hope of Arkay, it was him. Tsun was testing him. She closed her eyes and silently sent a prayer to the two gods to watch him. "Let's start with the knots first and see what we need after that. With your permission, of course."

He silently considered it. "If I refuse?"

Uthreida folded her hands in her lap, ready for his departure. "Know that I will be here when you are ready."

He was silent, keeping his eyes off of her, but his head was turned. He crossed her arms over his chest and huffed. "Get it over with." The terseness in his voice seemed to cement the fact that he wanted the pain of payment.

She leaned back and mimicked his posture. "Ask." She wanted him to recognize that he needed help.

He scoffed. "Don't ask for my submission then demand that I beg. Be done with it so we can move on."

"Stubborn old man." She growled as she leaned forward. She placed her hands before him and called forth fire to her hands away from his face so he could see what she was doing. While in a passive stage, it wasn't burning, but warming her hands. She felt him stiffen to her front. "I'm warming my hands. It's alright." She dusted her hands and felt the warmth of her finger tips against her palms. She held them open for his inspection. When he didn't move. She pressed on. "You're going to have to relax. Otherwise, the massage is pointless. You're going to have to breathe with the pain to let it go. Acknowledge it, but let it go."

He took a breath and nodded. She leaned back in her chair and got to work. She started on his shoulder blades and moved in circles. He would tense and she would stop. Waiting on him to relax again before pressing on. He seemed to realize what she was doing as he focused on his breathing. Forcing his shoulders to relax as she worked. Her fingers digging into the pocket of his shoulder to find knots and pressing them, guiding them to release. But he held fast, unwilling to let them go. "Lean into it." She said quietly. He arched a shoulder and breathed. Uthreida felt the node slip and dissolve under her fingers. Her hand moved up to check his neck and pressed her fingers to the base of his skull. He gave a grunted groan that melted with his breathing.

After what felt like hours of labor, and her hands ache at the knots under his skin, she moved slower. Actually massaging his sore muscles from the weight of his armor and history. He started to lean forward onto the table before him. She scooted forward in her chair to reach him. She remembered how Farkas would do this for her and how his harsh fingers made for quick work. But with his massive shoulders would take what felt like days.

She looked up to see a smile pull at the corners of Cullen's lips as his head hung low. Eyes closed. No longer breathing through but enjoying the moment. Her hand dipped lower to the small of his back, heavy thumbs riding up the length of his spine and making him sit at perfect posture. Breathing and groaning with each inch. He finally set up and rested his chest on the table and laid his head down.

A smile pulled at her face as she started to work his oblique. He jerked and resettled. Uthreida looked him over with a new smile as she learned that the serious lion was ticklish. She kept her findings to herself as she worked. Allowing him to finally seek some reprieve from the stress and battles.

The north door opened and Uthreida sat back into her chair and folded her hands in her lap. The Soldier gazed at the scene and Uthreida smiled guiltily as she realized that the Soldier was looking at the Slayer, sitting behind the Commander, who appeared dead or unconscious. Cullen turned his head and sat up slowly to look at the Soldier. "Yes?" His tone was casual as if this was a regular occurrence.

The Soldier looked between them and cleared his throat. "Package, sir. For your office. From Lady Montilyet, Sir."

Cullen sat patiently looking at the soldier. An awkward amount of time passed then the Soldier didn't move. "Well."

"Right." The Soldier snapped to and presented the dark wooden box before the Commander with a note laid on the top. Cullen broke the seal of the letter and thanked the Soldier. His eyes going between Cullen and Uthreida who sat sheepishly and unsure of how this situation must look to others.

"Is that all?" Cullen asked as he read over the letter.

"Yes sir." The Soldier stood at attention. He swallowed nervously and Uthreida could see the perspiration on his face.

Cullen slowly looked at the Soldier as it would appear neither knew why the other was there. "Thank you." Quickly snapping to attention, the Soldier saluted and exited. Cullen read over the note slowly. "Well, don't stop."

Uthreida chuckled at the smile in his voice and resumed her work on his shoulders. She noticed his shoulders tightened the longer he read the letter. When he finished the letter, he set it aside. "From Josephine, from King Alistair, addressed to my office for you." He tapped the box for her inspection.

Uthreida eyed the dark wooden box but kept her focus on him. She wanted him to feel like he had her focus now and not the king and not at all questioning what could possibly be in such an expensive box. "That's sweet of him."

He picked up the box and passed it to her. "Feels heavy."

"I'd imagine." She said passively as she rubbed her thumbs over his muscles and finding a new knot.

"Do you want to open it?" His voice was casual even if his body screamed otherwise.

"I'm in the middle of something." She swept her thumbs up to his neck. "Unless you're done."

She saw the pull of his muscles as he smirked. His shoulders becoming relaxed again. "I think so." He said softly. Uthreida unfurled her hands from him and reached for the box he was holding aloft. She took the box on her lap. Cullen turned slightly to see what was in it.

Inside was twelve scrolls. Each affixed to wooden dowels of the same dark wood of the box. Each had a protective leather wrapping and chord to keep them closed. She undid the knot of one and Cullen pulled a second. She smirked at his curiosity but unfurled it. The title of the scroll made her stomach drop and a taste of bile on her tongue. Cullen looked at his and made the same face. "Trade treaties and tax importations between the Kingdom of Nevarra and the Kingdom of Fereldan. Last date of accord 9:32 Dragon. Ouch. Looks like it was updated with the new king."

Uthreida took a long breath. "Trade treaties of tax importation, exportation and sanctioned tariffs between the Kingdom of Fereldan and the Chancellor of Tantervale of the Free Marches." She shot him a bored look.

He only smiled and pulled a third scroll. His smile turned into a beam. "Oh, this will be exciting. It's thick." He cleared his throat to properly introduce the scroll. "Trade agreements and treaties," he said in his best Antivan accent, "between the King of Antiva and the King of Fereldan." He shot her a devilish smile. "Part one." She threw her head back and wanted to cry. "Of three."

She gave an aggravated growl. "Why? I thought we were friends. Why would he-"

Cullen's laugh severed her thoughts. "I think he wants you to study the tax implications of your proposed 'trade' with Skyrim."

She groaned again. "I hate taxes."

"Now now" he chided as he rolled up a scroll, "that's just unpatriotic." His stuck-up grin only infuriated her more knowing she would have to read all twelve of these damn scrolls to speak more intelligently with King Alistair and King Ulfric to create a stable trade agreement between the two nations. "You alright, dear. Your veins popping." He pointed to his forehead to show hers. She rolled her eyes at him, breathing. "If you think this is a headache, wait until you get to Orzommar."

XxXxXxXx

A/N *Modern AU*

Uthreida: *texts an image of a POV of a man kissing a woman's hand while driving* This could be us but you drive a stick.

Cullen: *Texts a generic google image of a man proposing to a woman* This could be us but your nutters.

Uthreida: I'M NOT CRAZY

Uthreida: *you're

Cullen: Lol