Thank you all for reading! Special thanks to suilven for her sharp betaing skills. This chapter NSFW.

Pursuant to a note he had received earlier in the afternoon, Cullen met Dagna on the battlements after dinner. She had changed from her leather apron and working gear to a plain but pretty dress, and her red hair was down, draped softly over her shoulders. Cullen had no choice but to recognize this for what it was, and he felt a chill in his blood that was only exacerbated by the contrasting pounding of his heart. He couldn't deny a curiosity to know where this might lead … but he was terrified of what it could mean, at the same time. And neither emotion was fair to Dagna, who deserved only the best a man could offer and was instead making her overtures to a man who had lost the best of himself long ago.

"Dagna—"

"No, let me," she said. Her fingers were twisting nervously together. "I … I need to tell you—"

"I know. I already know. You don't have to—"

Dagna cut him off again, firmly. "Yes. I do." When he would have protested once more, she shook her head. "You can't protect me from this, Cullen. If you ever could have … it's too late now. I love you."

"You can't!" he said instantly, the words torn from him.

"I do. I have, for a long time."

"I am not fit to be loved, Dagna, certainly not by someone as … innocent as you."

"I'm less innocent than you might think. I grew up in the forge. I did my training at Circles all over Thedas. I've seen as much of what happens between mages and Templars as anyone; I'm no stranger to the ways of the world. And I have never met anyone as … as honorable and upright as you. Or anyone who needed to be loved as badly."

Did he need badly to be loved? He had never thought so. Rather he had always thought he had spoiled himself for anyone's love long ago. Or the demons had spoiled him, or Leyden had; however it had happened, the damage was done.

Dagna was looking at him softly. "You always sell yourself so short."

"Perhaps you see more in me than I deserve."

"Not possible."

He was moved despite himself by the softness in her voice. "You are very certain."

"I have been for a long time. Cullen, if you could only see yourself the way I see you."

"I see myself quite clearly. Too clearly to allow you to think I am something I'm not."

"You forget," Dagna said tartly, "that I have known you for a long time. I've sat and talked with you in the depths of your darkest hours, remember? When you couldn't sleep and you would walk the halls of Kinloch Hold and that only made it worse? And then I would take your hand and sit you down and brew you some of my horrible tea and talk to you while you drank it."

Cullen smiled involuntarily. It really was awful tea.

Dagna smiled, too. "You do remember."

"Of course. Who could forget the worst cup of tea they'd ever tasted?"

A warmth arced between them as they shared the memory, and Cullen moved toward her without thinking. Dagna tilted her head back, her lips parting, her eyes shining, and he thought of how nice it would be to kiss her.

But he daren't, he reminded himself, stepping away again. "You know as much about me as there is to know," he agreed. "Too much to imagine I could be a good—partner."

"If you could be one to anyone, it would be me," Dagna said, and he saw how hard it was for her to get the words out, how afraid she was of his reaction.

"I—to be honest, I hadn't thought of you in quite that way until just recently." Her eyes shone brighter at the revelation that he had even begun to think of her that way, and he hurried hastily on lest she get the wrong idea. "But I—haven't thought of myself that way since … since …"

"The demons."

He nodded. "After what they did, I cannot … You'll forgive me, Dagna, please? Because I can't bear to hurt you, and if I—if we—you would be hurt, one way or the other, despite my best attempts. I—I'm sorry." Cullen turned on his heel and practically ran from her, afraid to stay there longer lest he do or say something one of them would regret later.

"Solas?" Merrill asked sleepily. She was lying on the floor of his atrium looking up at the mural on the wall, seeing things in it that probably weren't there. She blinked, her eyelids heavy. "Why won't you meet me in the Fade? You took the Inquisitor there."

"It was not an easy feat."

"Yes, but he's a dwarf. I'm one of the People."

Solas marked something on a piece of parchment and looked down at her. "That just means your dreams are harder to control."

"Are they? Were they like that before?"

He looked at her sharply. "Before what?"

"Uthenera."

"How should I know?"

"Because of your dreaming," she said. Something in his tone penetrated the sleepiness in her, and she pushed herself up on one elbow. "You must have seen things. Wonderful things."

"I have."

"Then tell me. All our stories seem to begin at Halamshiral—the ones about real things, anyway."

He smiled at her. "Even those are more wishes than stories. And Halamshiral was merely a fumbling attempt to recreate a land that had already been forgotten, even then." He sighed. "Elvhenan was the empire, and Arlathan its greatest city, a place of magic and beauty, lost to time."

Merrill lay back, letting his voice wash over her, her mind painting pictures of what it must have been like—elegant ladies and mysterious men, dressed in flowing robes, all of them as careful and soothing and calm as Solas. "Did they live in the trees?" she asked. "Or in aravels?"

"Mm. Imagine instead spires of crystal twining through the branches, palaces floating among the clouds."

"How could they float?"

"Magic," he whispered.

Merrill smiled. "Of course."

"And dwelling in them, beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing."

For Merrill, it often felt that it was. "Can you imagine what it must be like not to have that?"

"No," he said, his voice hard and sad at the same time. "I cannot."

"Was the magic used by the elves then different than what we have now?"

"No … and yes. Magic is magic, just as water is water, but it can be used in different ways."

Merrill could imagine magic flowing like water, like a crystalline stream you could drink from. "Our magic is more practical than the humans'," she observed. "And they continue to frown on blood magic."

"Superstition. Magic is magic; it matters only how it is used."

"A means to an end. Yes." Although she remembered the cave, and the demon, and Keeper Marethari, and she shivered. "Did they use blood magic to increase their lifespan?"

"No, it was simply a part of being at that time. The subtle beauty of their magic came from their nature, it didn't create it."

"Ah." Merrill felt a deep sadness that she would never be able to see those elves.

"Some spells took years to cast," Solas said softly. "Echoes would linger for centuries, harmonizing with new magic in an unending symphony."

"Oh, it sounds lovely. Can you still hear it now?"

"There are some places, yes. But very few."

"Solas?" she asked, without opening her eyes. "Can I hear the music someday?"

She felt the warmth of his body as he knelt next to her and bent over her, and she opened her eyes to see his face very close to hers, his eyes clear and open as they looked into hers. "Yes, Merrill. Someday, I promise, I will take you where the music still echoes." He sealed his promise with a kiss on her forehead. The touch of his lips on her skin sent a shiver through Merrill, and she sighed contentedly.

Thule came around the post at the top of the stairs in his quarters and stopped short. "Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise."

"Is it?" Cassandra stretched languidly. She was naked on his bed, and Thule was cursing his suddenly clumsy fingers as he hastily tried to become equally naked.

"How long have you been here?"

She smiled. "I saw you caught up with Bann Maynard, and I slipped upstairs."

"If I had only known, I'd have cut off his inane bleating much sooner. Much sooner," he added with a groan, as Cassandra drew up one leg so that he could see all the secrets of her body. He knew them very well by now, which only added to his enjoyment.

"Well, you're here now."

"So I am." He climbed onto the bed, running his fingers up her leg. "You are so beautiful."

Her reply was wordless as his tongue followed the trail his fingers had traced. He teased her with lips and tongue until she was as ready for him as he had been for her from the moment he saw her there sprawled naked on his bed like every fantasy he'd had for months come to life—which was, in fact, exactly what she was.

"Cassandra," he whispered, unable to stop himself from expressing the wonder he felt.

"Mm? Oh, Maker's blood, do not stop!" she commanded.

He chuckled, teasing her again with just the tip of his tongue dancing on the spot that made her writhe so delightfully. He couldn't hold himself back any further. Climbing atop her, reveling in the feel of her smooth, supple skin beneath his, he pressed himself deep inside her, watching her grey eyes flutter closed as he seated himself fully. "Ah, Cassandra, how you make me feel."

"Thule," she moaned, arching beneath him. It was a bit awkward, this position, given the height difference, but he was learning how to manage it. "Thule, lover, yes!"

He loved it when she called his name, and the way she said 'lover' was possibly the most erotic thing he had ever heard. He held himself still for a long moment until she said it again, begging now, and then moved, slowly, letting the pleasure build again. But he was as aroused as she, and it wasn't long before they were both moving together, determinedly climbing toward the ultimate goal.

When it was over, they lay together, tightly in each other's arms. "Cassandra. Whatever happens—the Arbor Wilds, Corypheus … anything that might lie ahead was worth it for this."

"You are a foolish, foolish man." He nuzzled her neck, smiling at her attempt at tartness even while her voice was still hoarse and breathless from shouting at the moment of her completion. "But I must be foolish, as well, because I feel the same."

Thule smiled even wider, and fell asleep wrapped in her arms.