Thank you all for reading! Particular thanks to suilven for her speedy and thoughtful betaing.

Thule stood in the stables in the dim light of a very early morning, sipping hot coffee and watching Scout Harding as she saddled her pony. "Let us know what you find out in the Hissing Wastes as soon as you get there."

She glared at him. "I know what I'm doing, Inquisitor."

"I know what I'm doing, too."

"Do you?"

Thule sighed. "He lied, Lace. He killed people, he allowed his men to be hung for a crime he hid from, and he lied to us. To all of us. And, lest you forget, he wanted to die."

"That's no reason to exile a good sword arm."

"Look, I understand. You cared for him—"

"I care for him," she corrected. "He's a good man."

"I wish I agreed with you."

"I wish you did, too." She tightened the cinch on the pony's saddle. "Promise me you won't send him away until I get back."

"I promise. I don't think Leliana's going to let me send him off to the Wardens at all, much less anytime soon."

Harding turned to look at him. "You know the Wardens at Adamant listened to him. They accepted him as one of their own."

"He talked a good game." Thule shrugged. "And sometimes it takes an outsider to show you how much of yourself you've lost."

"How much of yourself have you lost?"

"That's not fair!" he retorted, stung. "The Carta would have had him killed. All I did was sentence him to be the Grey Warden he pretended to be. He's always held up the Wardens in his head as an ideal; he might as well live with the reality."

"He's right." The quiet voice of the man they'd been discussing startled them both. They turned to see Blackwall leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. "When Warden Blackwall met me, I was a wreck of a man starting a bar fight. For all my attempts to be a better man, I am still that wreck, that nobody, even today."

Harding moved toward him, her whole heart in her eyes. Thule looked down at his coffee, his heart hurting for her, stuck in a situation so deeply painful to everyone involved. He cleared his throat. "If he's not here when you get back, Lace, it won't be my doing," he promised, and he left them alone.

He found Hawke in the training yard, slicing a dummy to pieces with her daggers. As he approached, she stopped, breathing heavily. "You're up early."

"So are you."

"Got to get back in shape."

"If you ask me, you're in fine shape. That was good form," he told her.

"Put down the coffee and come have a bout?"

Thule shook his head. "Inquisitorial business today, too busy and important to spar."

"That's a shame."

He grinned. "Isn't it, though? So, how was Emprise du Lion?"

Hawke blushed, confirming the rumors he had heard about her and Alistair. He was happy for them—but judging from the wary way they were circling each other, neither of them was sure if they were happy for themselves. Or maybe he was turning into a romantic softie like Cassandra. Surely that couldn't be a bad thing, could it? "It was fine," Hawke said briefly. She looked over one of her daggers as if it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. "Got a nick in the edge of this one. I ought to file that down while I'm thinking of it."

"Absolutely," he agreed, keeping his face as straight as he could make it. "You should get right on that." He knew better than to meddle where his opinion so very evidently wasn't wanted … or at least, he did right now. Next time they spoke might be another thing entirely.

On his way up the stairs into the main keep, he found Alistair in the entryway. As he approached, the King of Ferelden made an attempt to look as though he had just come out, but it was evident he had been standing there for some time.

Thule stopped in front of him. "Well?"

"Well what?" Alistair cleared his throat. "Wet subject. Hole in the ground."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"But I do it so well." They looked at each other, smiling, and then Alistair groaned and shook his head. "You don't have to tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"That she hates me. That I completely screwed up, again, and now I don't know what to do. What do you do when you hurt someone deeply and then they trusted you again and then you didn't know how to handle that?"

"Apologize? Explain yourself?" Thule shook his head. "Anything but stand there staring at them."

Alistair looked guiltily away from the figure with the black braids on the training ground. Lilias was back at it, shredding the dummies with single-minded efficiency.

"How bad was it, anyway?" Thule asked.

"Not so bad. Nowhere near as bad as the last time. It's just … we had this moment, you know? And then the next morning, I wasn't sure if it was more than a moment or not and there were all these people swarming around us being solicitous—of all the times to be the damned King," he growled. "And I guess I didn't … say anything. Or do anything. And I still don't know what she wanted, if she wanted to forget about it or not, and I didn't know how to ask."

"Your Majesty, may I offer you a piece of advice?"

"Stay away from women?"

Thule smiled. "No. Stop thinking so much."

"I didn't think that was my problem."

"You might be surprised."

"Maybe." But Alistair didn't look convinced, and he was staring over Thule's shoulder again at the woman on the training ground.

Dorian was just getting up from Varric's table, leaving a very disgruntled dwarf staring at a particularly bad Wicked Grace hand. "I don't know what you're complaining about," he told Varric. "I dealt you the best possible losing hand I could."

"Very comforting."

"Of course it is." The mage smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Ah, good morning, Inquisitor," he said, turning to look at Thule as he approached.

"You seem in better spirits."

"Much. It's a lovely day, I won a great deal of Varric's money, my father has been banished back to Tevinter where he belongs, and Mother Giselle is steering clear of me at all costs." He took Thule's coffee cup from his hands and sniffed it delicately, then made a face and handed it back.

"Too robust for your delicate sensibilities?"

"Yes. Also, it's cold."

Thule took a swallow and shrugged. "Too many people to talk to."

Dorian looked over his shoulder at Alistair and shook his head. "You're wasting your breath with that one."

"Why don't you try, then?"

Both of them glanced at Varric, who was known to have opinions about the painful dance between the King of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall, but he was studiously ignoring them, ostentatiously examining the deck of cards for marks.

Dorian sighed. "I suppose I could try, although no one has ever profited from my romantic advice. I'm surprised you weren't inspired to write them an ode, my friend."

Thule blushed. Nathaniel Howe had been in his papers again and found his awkward attempts at poetry, he assumed.

Laughing uproariously, Dorian took his leave. Thule was glad to see the mage's good humor restored.

Varric, on the other hand, was far from a return to good humor. Thule took the seat across from his fellow dwarf, who tried hard to pretend he wasn't there.

"Tell me about Bianca."

Varric's reply was short, explosive, and profane.

"I'm not leaving," Thule told him.

After a long glare, Varric heaved a heavy sigh. "Fine. But I'm not making any promises."

"How long has this all been going on?"

"You mean, where we carefully keep a continent between us at all times, write letters, and agree to meet up occasionally? Too damned long." He thought about it for a minute. "Shit. Fifteen years. Now I feel old—thanks a lot."

"And why is the Merchants Guild after her?"

"Oh, they're not after her. They're after me. Since technically we aren't supposed to be within three hundred leagues of each other, if it got back to the Guild that we were seen together, they'd freeze my assets. And then have me killed. Or possibly the other way around."

"What in Thedas did you do to cause that?"

"Does it matter? I can't change it now."

"Well, then, how did you meet?"

"Stones, what's up with the third degree?"

"You're a cranky bastard these days, and I want to know why you insist on suffering through her betraying your trust."

"Oh, that. The simple question."

Thule looked at his fellow dwarf. "It could be."

Varric shook his head in a decided negative. "No, it can't. Look, could you just say good-bye to your precious Seeker if she did something that was completely predictable and in character for her, but hurt you?"

He was forced to admit he couldn't.

"Well, then," Varric said.

"What is it about her?"

"How do I know? She's beyond a doubt the most brilliant smith you'll ever meet, totally focused on her craft. When she looks up from her work and sees me, it's—like nothing I've ever been able to write about."

"How long had it been since you'd seen her?"

"Not since she got married and moved to Orlais."

"Married?"

"Yup. Her family's choice; arranged marriage."

"That's barbaric!"

"Oh, Stones, if only you knew how often it still happens. And she didn't care. He's rich enough that she can dabble in privacy, lets her work wherever, whenever she needs to, and doesn't ask a lot of questions. Works for her."

"But not for you?"

"Look at me! Do I look like I would know what to do with a wife?"

"So you'll take her back?"

"Eventually. It's inevitable."

"It doesn't have to be."

Varric winced. "I'll tell you this, Stones—this is as long as I've ever managed to stay angry. When I think of the people who died because of what she did—" He cleared his throat, and Thule thought he saw a tear in his friend's eye. "I can't talk about this anymore."

"All right. If you ever want to …"

"Yeah. I know. And … I appreciate it."

"I know you do."

He left Varric alone and took his now nearly empty cup into Josephine's office.

She looked up from behind her desk with a smile, but he noticed she tucked the parchment she was writing on away in a drawer very quickly.

"Secret correspondence?" he asked teasingly, and was somewhat surprised when she blushed.

"I'm expecting a visitor."

"Not that handsome young man from Halamshiral?" Her blush deepened and Thule smiled. "Good for you."

"Oh, Inquisitor, surely not you, too. The whole of the Inquisition appears to be taken up by hopeless romantics who believe love conquers all," she said pettishly.

"Don't you?"

"Yes! Well … no. Not really. I've seen too many arranged marriages to believe they are good ideas."

Thule thought of Varric and Bianca, and he couldn't disagree. "But what if he arrives and you actually like him?"

"What if I do? Where will that leave the Inquisition? And my family? I have more to do with any given minute than I can possibly fit into it—I have no time for a love affair."

"So write and tell him so."

Her renewed blush told him all he needed to know.

"Then let him come here and see you at work, see how busy you are and everything you do for us, and if you need my help either shooing him away or finding you an assistant, you have it."

"You make everything seem so easy, Inquisitor."

"Isn't that my job?"

Thule's next stop was the Undercroft, Harritt and Dagna both hard at work. He and Harritt spent a few minutes discussing a new pair of gauntlets Thule had commissioned for Cassandra.

"You know she'll kill you when she finds out, right, Inquisitor?"

Thule laughed. "What's life without a spice of danger?"

Harritt shook his head. "It's your neck, Inquisitor."

"That it is."

Dagna's head was bent over her work, the Arcanist unusually quiet. Harritt explained that she was studying the Templars' blood to determine how best to wean them off their addiction to lyrium with the least possible negative side effects. Thule wished her luck with that, knowing how difficult it had been for Cullen.

As it happened, he ran into his general just outside the door to the Undercroft.

"Good morning, Inquisitor. I suppose nearly afternoon now, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Thule groaned. "Where does the time go?"

Cullen smiled. "I often ask the same question."

"Have you had time to write to your sister?"

"Oh, not you, too. Has Dag—have others been telling you to pester me?"

"No, I come up with plenty of ways to pester people all on my own."

"In that case … no. I haven't yet. Although I have had some rather testy letters from my sister demanding information. She's always been very good at tracking me down."

Thule frowned. "Didn't she know where you were?"

Cullen looked sheepish. "You're aware of my difficulties finding time for these things."

"Or anything, other than work. Yes. I'm aware. And as the Inquisitor, I order you to write to your sister."

"Very well, Inquisitor. If you insist."

"I do."

"Shall I show it to you before I send it?"

"I'll trust you. Provisionally."

"Oh, thank you."

Thule grinned at Cullen's sarcasm and tipped his head toward the door to the Undercroft. "Now, don't keep her waiting."

"Her? Oh. Yes. Well."

Leaving his commander to stammer and trip over his tongue in Dagna's presence rather than her absence, Thule went in search of a fresh cup of coffee.

After several hours on Josephine's most recent stack of correspondence, Thule wandered out to the gardens for a breath of fresh air.

He almost immediately ran into Morrigan, who had taken up the gardens as a pet project—somewhat to the annoyance of the actual gardeners, which Thule regretted, but keeping Morrigan happy and out of everyone's hair was a good thing, so he hadn't had the heart to tell her to stop.

"Inquisitor."

"Lady Morrigan."

"Are your forces ready to head into the Arbor Wilds after Corypheus, Inquisitor? There is not as much time as you seem to think."

"It would be foolish to attack without the appropriate forces," he told her, as he did every time she addressed the question.

"If you say so." Her tone indicated she thought him a fool. But Morrigan thought everyone a fool, so at least he was in good company.

"Tell me about yourself, Morrigan."

"Whence comes the mystery woman, slinking her way into the Inquisition's ranks?"

He smiled at her irony. "Something like that."

"Once upon a time … Is that not the way these narratives are best structured? I was an apostate, living well away from the banal influences of the Chantry in the Korcari Wilds. Then came the Fifth Blight with its darkspawn …" A flash of genuine sorrow crossed her face. Another victim of Leyden Amell, then, Thule surmised. He often wished he could have met the Grey Warden mage who had ended the Fifth Blight … but he didn't, either, given all the pain she had left in her wake. Morrigan continued, "And then I left Ferelden for the Empress's court." She smiled with malicious pleasure. "'Tis certain the nobles of Orlais breathe a sigh of relief that I am now here."

"The Orlesian court seems an interesting choice for a former apostate from the Wilds."

"Very astute, Inquisitor. Originally, that was the point, to go as far from where I had come as I could. As it happened, the Empress and I fit together nicely. I became her advisor, and she my benefactor and source of refuge. But it is well that I am here now—too many wagging tongues, even for Celene. Our arrangement would not have lasted much longer."

It was on the tip of Thule's tongue to ask her how long her presence in the Inquisition seemed likely to last … but she would only remind him of her urgency to get to the Arbor Wilds again.

She frowned at him. "Tell me why you spared the Grey Wardens, Inquisitor."

"They're legendary in Thedas. There was little to be gained by destroying them."

"If you say so. Given that the weakness Corypheus exploited was their own doing, your actions were remarkably generous." She shrugged her shoulders. "Still, should a true Archdemon rise again, they will no doubt be needed. Or so they would have us believe." A small smile played across her face, followed by an expression of regret. Thule chose not to ask about either emotion. Morrigan looked past him to another corner of the garden. "I see someone else wishes your attention, Inquisitor. I will not keep you."

Thule followed the line of Morrigan's gaze to see Leliana waiting, silent and motionless, in the shade of a wall covered with hanging garlands of Arbor Blessing. He left Morrigan with a nod of farewell and joined his spymaster.

"You know you can't trust her."

"Trust is an interesting topic for you to bring up," he told her. He hated to be sharp with her, but her actions with regard to Blackwall still rankled.

"I apologize, Inquisitor. I … could do nothing else."

"I know it. I just wish you had told me." 'Wish' was an understatement, but they had been over all this already; there seemed little point in beating the dead horse.

Leliana's eyes were on Morrigan again, anyway, as the former apostate knelt in the garden. "I have to admit she has changed. She used to be … cruel. Needlessly so, and took great enjoyment from it. Now …" She shook her head. "Perhaps it was the eluvian."

"Why would it be that?" Thule thought he heard a gasp from somewhere nearby. If Leliana heard it, as well, she gave no sign, but he filed the sound away to look into.

"You told me yourself about the Crossroads, a world unlike our own. Perhaps experiencing such a thing changed Morrigan, shook her beliefs about the world."

"Possibly. Or maybe she's gotten older and begun to appreciate the importance of having other people in her life."

Leliana snorted. "That will be the day, Inquisitor."

Leaving her to stare moodily at Morrigan, belying her attempt at forgiveness for whatever the apostate had done during the Blight, Thule went in search of the person he had heard gasping. Farther down the wall, hidden by a curtain of Arbor Blessing, he found Hawke's Dalish companion. "Merrill."

"Oh! Inquisitor! This must seem … odd."

"Cutting flowers?"

"I … was …" Merrill was blushing, but she was also agitated, and the agitation won. "Inquisitor, did I hear Sister Nightingale correctly, you have actually been through an eluvian?"

"I have."

"And—there is one here? In Skyhold?"

"There is." He studied her, understanding at last, or thinking he did. "The eluvians are artifacts of your people."

"It's more than that. I used to have an eluvian, but I could never get it to work, but you are a durgen'len and she is a shemlen and you have both been through one. It's very upsetting."

"I can understand that."

"No. You can't." Her accent was thickening as she spoke. "You don't know what I did to make the eluvian work, you don't know what—what others did." Tears stood in her large green eyes, trembling on the lashes. "And to come here and find you all discussing it as though it were nothing, an ancient toy to play with—" She cut herself off and ran from him, fleeing the garden. Thule looked after her sadly, wishing she hadn't been there to hear. He'd have to find Varric or Hawke and get them to look after her.

Before he could do anything about that thought, Krem rushed up to him. "Inquisitor, can you come with me? The Chief's asking for you."

"Sure. Everything all right?"

"Think so. You know the chief, he doesn't tell any more than he has to."

Thule followed Krem up to the battlements, where the Iron Bull was waiting. "Hey, boss."

"Hey. You asked to see me?"

"Yeah. Good timing." Even as he spoke, a man in an Inquisition scout's uniform came up behind him with a knife in his hand. The Iron Bull turned, one meaty hand catching the scout under the chin and snapping his neck back. Another man, this one in a soldier's uniform, threw a knife at the Iron Bull that caught the Qunari in the shoulder. With a bellow of rage, the Iron Bull yanked the knife out and threw it at the soldier.

It was all happening so fast that Thule didn't have time to protest, or even to wonder if the Iron Bull had suddenly turned on the Inquisition.

At his side, Krem said, "Chief!" and the Iron Bull shook his head. "I got it, Krem."

The knife bounced off the soldier's helmet. He staggered backward, and looked up at the Iron Bull with an expression of black hatred. "Ebost issala, Tal-Vashoth."

The Qunari picked up the soldier and tossed him over the side of the battlement like he'd been a rag doll. As he watched the man fall, he shouted after him, "Yeah, my soul may be dust, but yours is scattered all over the ground, so … who got the best of that deal?" After a moment, he grasped his shoulder, rolling it and grunting in pain. "Sorry, boss. Thought I might need backup. Turns out, it was only a formality."

"That was a formality?"

"Yeah. Two guys against me? Just a message. That I'm not even worth sending professionals for." He looked sadly down at his battered boots.

"Chief, you all right? You want me to look at that shoulder?" Krem asked.

"Nah. I've hurt myself worse than this fooling around in bed."

"Do we have to go after them now?" Thule was hoping they weren't about to get into some back-and-forth with the Qunari.

The Iron Bull shook his head. "Go after the entire Ben-Hassrath? Pointless. Besides, they're done with me now." He looked at the man in the scout's uniform. "That was just the final slap in the face, to make sure I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That I'm Tal-Vashoth. Tal-Va-fucking-shoth."

"Chief."

"It's all right, Krem."

"You sure?" Thule asked.

The Iron Bull nodded. "It's a knife wound, boss. I think I'll live."

"Not what I meant."

"I know. I'll get this cleaned up and let Red know what happened. She might have some fun with it." He bent to lift the body, then stopped and looked at Thule. "Boss. Just so you know … Whatever I miss, whatever I regret, this is where I want to be." He turned his single eye on Krem. "It's more than worth it."

"Thanks," Krem said, his usual flippancy gone for the moment.

"Glad to have you, Bull," Thule told him.

The Qunari grunted, heaving the body up on his shoulders, and left the battlement, Krem in tow.

"There you are."

Thule turned toward the voice, smiling. "How did you know you were just exactly the only person I wanted to see right now?"

"I didn't know … but I hoped." Cassandra looked down at him, frowning into his face. "Are you aware that it is nearly sunset? And no doubt you have not found time for a meal in hours."

"Or all day," he said guiltily, patting his stomach as it growled loudly.

"As it happens, I prepared for just that circumstance. Come." She took his hand, and they made their way down the battlements and through the gardens and the keep and up to his quarters. Thule couldn't help the swagger that came into his walk as Cassandra paraded him through the Inquisition, her hand in his. After having desired her for so long, to have her so comfortable acknowledging the relationship was … everything he had hoped for.

In his quarters, Cassandra gestured to the meal spread out on a cloth in front of the fire. She poured him a glass of wine. "Now, you sit and eat, Inquisitor."

"Yes, ma'am." He sat down and pulled a plate toward him, piling it high with grapes and cheese and chicken and bread. "Aren't you eating?"

"I already did. Long ago, when everyone else was eating." She frowned at him again.

"I get it. I'm sorry, I don't take care of myself very well." He offered her a smile. "That's what I have you for."

As he had hoped, her face softened into a smile, too. "So you do."

"Talk to me, then. Tell me about Varric."

"Varric?"

"Yes. He's very unhappy about Bianca, and it's made me curious as to why you brought him to the Conclave in the first place. How did you get him out of Kirkwall?"

"You must have heard this already. I had the Seekers drag him out of that dreadful bar, and I … held him on the ship until it had left the dock."

"You kidnapped him!"

"There are ways of interpreting the situation that would lead to that conclusion, yes." Cassandra swirled the wine around in her glass, looking down at it. "I wanted him to testify about the events of Kirkwall to the Divine. I wanted the Divine to convince him to bring Hawke out of hiding to be our Inquisitor. I thought I could shape the future by force." She raised her stricken grey eyes to his. "You can see how I failed."

"Hey." Thule put the plate aside without a second thought, reaching for her hand. "The Conclave wasn't your fault. If anything, it was mine."

"But who allowed Corypheus there? Who wasn't there when the Divine needed her? That was I."

"Or Leliana."

"Splitting hairs, I think."

"Wait, hadn't Varric written all that down in The Tale of the Champion?"

Cassandra gave him a withering look. "I had hoped the Divine would convince him to tell the truth. You've seen Hawke—can you imagine her defeating a Qunari Arishok in single combat?"

In truth, Thule couldn't.

"In addition …" Cassandra's eyes took on a soft, fond look. "The Divine wished to meet him. She … wanted him to autograph her copy of Hard in Hightown."

Thule laughed. "Of course she did."

He caught Cassandra's mouth in a long kiss, starting as a comfort and a gesture of understanding, and ending in rising passion.

"You are quite distracting, you know that?" she murmured, leaning her head happily against his chest. Somehow his shirt and vest had disappeared in the course of the kiss, and Cassandra was threading her fingers gently through the red hair that furred his chest.

"I hope so." He stroked her neck, admiring the long lines and smooth pale skin.

They sat like that for a long time. Thule snuck the occasional grape or bite of cheese off his discarded plate, taking the edge off his hunger.

"Cassandra."

"Yes, my love?"

He thrilled to the sound of the casual endearment. "A long while ago I asked you about your brother. Will you tell me about him now?"

She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest, the moment broken.

"Or don't, if you'd rather not."

"No. I want to. It's just … that I have not spoken of him to anyone in such a long time."

"He was older?"

"Yes. He was a dragon hunter." A smile touched her mouth as she gazed into the fire, lost in memories. "A dragon hunter that showed what a Pentaghast could truly be. I wanted nothing more out of my life than to be exactly like him."

"You idolized him." Thule tried to imagine Cassandra as a young girl, watching her older brother with starry, innocent eyes. She was an entrancing image.

"Oh, yes. I was insistent on hunting dragons with him someday, even though our uncle forbade it." She looked down, her clenched fists resting on her knees. "Anthony promised to train me in secret. We would hunt together one day, brother and sister vanquishing the beasts of old." She drew in a long shuddering breath. "And then he died on me."

Thule drew her back against him, holding her fiercely. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried."

"I want you to know," she assured him.

"What happened?"

"A group of apostates wanted dragon blood, and they wanted Anthony to get it for them. He refused, and they killed him for it. In front of me."

"Maker."

She nodded, not looking at him. "I begged the Chantry to let me become a Templar. I wanted to hunt them down, kill them as they had him. But instead the Chantry sent me to the Seekers. It … it took me many years and all the discipline I learned to get past my drive for vengeance."

"I can imagine." He held her to him, kissing her temple and her cheek, wanting to offer her comfort in any way he could.

"I sometimes wonder how different my life would be if Anthony was still alive." With a small, almost indiscernible sigh, she leaned her head back against his shoulder, her long body and longer legs stretching out as she relaxed against him. "I doubt I would have begun an Inquisition."

"Maybe you would have. You never know."

"Or perhaps I would be the dragon hunter I dreamed of becoming." She turned her head on his shoulder and smiled at him. "Or perhaps I would be married to some noble fool, mother of three."

"That one's hard to imagine."

"It is for me as well."

Suddenly he wondered—would she marry him? It wasn't the time to ask, but … for the first time, he could see himself doing so. He wasn't noble … but there were those who had called him a fool. As for the three children—dwarves and humans rarely produced children together, but then, they rarely had relationships with one another. He wouldn't mind, he thought with a great deal of surprise. With her, her children … he really wouldn't mind.

Cassandra was looking at the fire again. She spoke softly. "I take solace in believing that the Maker has a plan—but he is not always kind."

"He was kind to me," Thule whispered. "He brought me to you."

"And I thank Him for that."