A/N: Cullen POV chapter for this and the next one. Enjoy :)

Commander Rutherford -

I am sorry to have missed out on such a celebration, but I thank the Maker that our friends have a reason to celebrate and are well. For your sake, I am glad Seeker Pentaghast was there to spare you from the merrymaking. Perhaps I can offer you a lesson in the art of it upon my return? Maybe if you occasionally spent an evening in the tavern instead of your tent, you could at least learn the basics?

Praise be to Our Lady that such progress is being made. Maker knows the folk of the Crossroads need such improvements. I hope Vale and his men find their new post amenable.

I'll think on ideas for positions for our Marcher friends on our journey back and we can discuss it together. I am very pleased to hear that Dennet will be with us. I look forward to seeing the man again and observing how he cares for our mounts. I have no doubt Captain Rylen is doing his utmost to have Haven prepared and I will be excited to see the changes to Haven.

I, too, look forward to our conversation. Thank you for sending Researcher Minaeve's notes, I will enjoy reading over them.

Maker watch your steps on your journey back,

Talitha

I could not stop the chuckle that came at her teasing, nor the blush at her offer to teach me how to make merry. The thought of her approaching me, her lovely eyes sparkling with mischief as they met mine, before her rosy lips parted in a smile. Her rich voice coaxing me to join her, a slender hand outstretched in invitation to dance with her. Warmth spread through my chest and pooled in my gut as I thought of taking her hand in mine and placing the other on the curve of her hip.
The dances of the farming folk had been lively and quick, but as the night progressed some slower, sweet songs had been played. The wedded couples and sweethearts had surrounded the flames of the fire, entwined in each others arms, gently swaying to the tunes. I imagined her pressed against me as we, too, swayed to the music. A contented sigh slipping from her lips, my name on her tongue before she lifted her eyes to mine. I would stare into those pools of jade, ringed in grey, and finally tell her what I wanted to say all those years ago. "I love you."
Would that be enough? Would those words even convey what I felt for her? How would she react? Would her beautiful face shine with joy and surprise - my knees threatening to give out? Would she…would she kiss me? Or would she reject me as she rightfully should? What if she confessed to me first? How would she say it? What would I say?

"Letter from your lover?" Rylen's voice spoke, pulling me from my thoughts.

We'd arrived back in Haven the day before. I was now sat in the new command tent Josephine had ordered to be erected in my absence. I'd argued with the woman that it was unnecessary; my prior accommodations had been adequate for my duties.
Lady Montilyet had refused to back down from her decision, claiming the growing Inquisition's Commander could not be seen working out of a drab little tent by our noble benefactors; she then proceeded to request that I get a new set of armor, minus the "ridiculous" fur mantle, as she felt I looked like some mixture between a disheveled templar and bear cub with mange. I knew I needed to track the woman down and apologize for the unkind remarks I had made in retort, but I was still nursing the offense she'd given my pride at her assessment. Bear cub with mange.
 I had been provided with a few comfortable chairs, a decent desk, a small table, cot and brazier. Despite my objections, I would admit the change was welcome. I no longer felt cramped; I could speak with those needing my attention out of the cold and without feeling as if we were in each other's laps. The desk had provided the perfect spot to sort the never ending paperwork.
I'd even allowed myself a moment to enjoy the fact that the space was mine. Not the shared barracks or templar chambers, not a pitched tent shared with Rylen, not the bedroom my siblings and I had all shared together. Yet, I still had to spend more time out of the tent than in as eventually the canvas walls felt too much like the walls of that magic cage. My skin would crawl, nausea would roll and I could swear I felt the eyes of the demon on me.

"You know I have no 'lover', Rylen," I scoffed as I folded the letter and tucked it away.

"Mince," he swore with a grin. "You were smiling and blushing like a lad." Rylen made his way over to the empty chair across from me, moved a stack of papers out of the way and sat. He wrenched the helmet from his head and ran a hand through his dark waves. The movements caused the smell of lyrium on him to drift my way and my mouth watered in anticipation. I swallowed down the excess saliva and tried to breathe through my mouth to block out the smell awakening the slumbering beast. I reached out for my water goblet and began drinking greedily, knowing it wouldn't sate the thirst. "I know, Cullen. We allknow you got a lass on your mind, but you haven't made any...headway," he said with a wink.

I nearly choked on my water, pulling the goblet away as I had a coughing fit. "Sweet Maker, Rylen," I swore at him between coughs.

Rylen laughed in that easy way of his at my obvious discomfort. "It's why you stomp around here, barking orders like a mabari."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I growled as I dried myself off, ignoring the hot tips of my ears.

"It means you need to walk up to your lass and plant a good one on those lovely lips of hers and take her to bed." Rylen rolled his neck. "Work off some pent up frustration and give us all some peace."

"Rylen," I warned.

The man met my eyes, his own serious. "No, Cullen. You know I'm right here. What in Andraste's name are you waitingfor? For some other bloke to come along and have a go at her? She's a looker, Cul. And I'm not generally attracted to elven females. You think no one else is gonna notice?"

I knew he was right. She'd had plenty of suitors in the tower as...affairs were rampant within the walls, but she'd refused them all. Open relationships and marriage had been forbidden between the mages, but we'd never been instructed to stop things carried out in secret. I'd always wondered why she'd rejected the attentions, but had never had the courage to ask.
Then Kirkwall... Your fault. I had to ease the sudden grip on my quill to keep from snapping it in half. Don't you ever blame yourself for that again, Cullen. "That's hardly a good enough reason to simply bed her, Rylen," I pinned the man down with my gaze. "She deserves far more than that."

Rylen relented and sighed, "Of course she does." So, he's trying to rile me up on purpose, then. "I'm just trying to say that you need to get a move on. Probably doing a terrible job at it - sorry, Cullen. As your friend, I'm advising you to start wooing her."

I shifted in my seat, my ears burning. "I-I have been…trying. As much as I can as her superior officer; its not appropriate in our current state."

"Well, that's going to change eventually, right? You'll essentially be equals? Better lay the groundwork so you're ready when the time comes. Armor, a dagger, a sketchbook and a few letters is hardly wooing," Rylen groaned. "Armor and a weapon…that's not what a lass wants. The sketchbook was a better attempt - at least that's an interest of hers. Letters are not bad, but only if you're teasing and flirting in your writing; not your usual formal and to the point."

I was becoming genuinely curious now, but I refused to show it to Rylen so I continued my work. I knew Rylen was… more experienced in these matters though, so I asked, "How does one…flirt?" I kept my gaze on the report I was writing, not daring to meet the man's eyes. "I - I mean...I knew once, but I have, um, fallen out of practice."

Rylen boomed a laugh. "Seriously, Cullen?"

"Is everything alright, gentlemen?" Cassandra's accented voice spoke from the open tent flap.

"Seeker Cassandra," Rylen greeted.

Cassandra nodded at him, "Captain. I heard a loud noise."

Rylen smiled wickedly at me. "I was laughing at our Commander, Seeker."

I shot Rylen a murderous glare. "Cassandra does not need to know why, Rylen."

Cassandra took the other seat after removing the contents. "Well, I would like to know why, Cullen."

"Our Commander has an interest in a lass," Rylen began to which I glared daggers. The man only smiled wider. "Dafty that he is, he's failing miserably thus far. Perhaps he could use a woman's perspective?"

"Interest?" Cassandra questioned, her dark eyes searching my face, which no doubt betrayed me in its deep flush. Her lips twitched, humor lighting her normally serious demeanor. "I see. I cannot say I am…well-versed in these matters, but I will offer advice if you wish."

"Ihave no such wish," I mumbled. "There is no need to trouble yourself."

"The last question he posed was 'How does one…flirt?'" Rylen mimicked me almost perfectly and I couldn't help a chuckle. Even Cassandra let out a breathy laugh. "I dare say our mighty Commander is in dire need of help."

"Have you no…experience, Cullen?" Cassandra quirked a brow. She was gently prodding, not teasing.

"I-I wouldn't say that. It's just -" I rolled my eyes to the roof of the tent, sending up a silent prayer. Andraste, preserve me. "Why are we discussing this?" I grumbled. "This is hardly a matter of importance."

Cassandra seemed disappointed. "It is important." I met her eyes, there was concern there as she glanced me over. I was sure she found the evidence I wanted to keep hidden. The light sheen of sweat that was becoming ever present, the shadows under my eyes as I kept avoiding sleep until I couldn't any longer, and the weight I had lost. Cassandra was the only one that knew what I was attempting to do. I forced my now dry throat to swallow as the thirst licked its way up from my gut again. "You work so diligently, I am surprised to hear you could have your attention diverted. She must be very special."

"She is," I voiced before I thought better of it. "I - I mean…"

Cassandra sat up straighter as her interest peaked. "Who is it?"

"Sister Nightingale's most recent recruit," Rylen chimed in. I cleared my throat awkwardly.

Cassandra looked between Rylen and I for a moment, digesting what he'd just divulged. Her gaze found mine again, her eyes softening. "Of course," she breathed as if she should have known. "Very special, indeed." Cassandra knew a little of Meira and I's history, not as much as Rylen, but neither of them knew the full truth.

"At least we know our Commander doesn't suffer from a lack of taste," Rylen agreed. "She's one bonnie lass."

"Then are you also interested, Captain?" Cassandra asked, her brow quirking. Her question was serious, which caused Rylen's roguish smile to falter.

A fire lit in my chest at the idea, despite knowing the idiocy of it. Rylen was a loyal friend and not as much of a charmer as he tried to pretend. The man had a gentle heart that genuinely cared for those in his life - family, friends and lovers. When the right woman came along, he'd happily commit and settle down.

"No, Seeker. She's Cullen's lass through and through; one look at her face when her eyes were on him and I knew." My heart stuttered in my chest at his words, but I couldn't bring myself to believe them. "The big oaf is just too stubborn to do something about it."

"You haven't told her how you feel?" Cassandra gasped.

I'd told Rylen most of what had happened while at the farmland which caused him to use several colorful phrases to describe my lack of intelligence. He could not believe I had not kissed her or at the very least mustered up the courage to tell her how I felt about her. When I tried to explain to him that it had been confessed for me, in a way - as I would not discuss Kinloch with him - he'd scoffed and said if I wasn't the one saying it, it didn't count. "According to Rylen…no."

"According to me?" Rylen snorted. "According to everyone in the history of wooing a woman. Please, Seeker, explain to him what he needs to do."

"Well, what have you done thus far?" she asked. Rylen quickly filled her in, though he left what happened at the farm up to me. I explained a few highlights, but avoided saying anything about what happened in the cabin. Both for Meira's sake and because I worried Cassandra would run me through if she thought I had in any way tarnished Meira's virtue. I pictured Cassandra easily filling the role of the knight in shining armor in the old tales Mother used to read to us as children. She'd fit the role better than I.

Cassandra contemplated for a moment. "I think you're overreacting, Captain. I agree, the Commander should leave no room for doubt about his intentions, but you underestimate the number of things that can gain a female's affection." She turned to me. "Talitha does not seem the sort to have her attention easily gained - romantically speaking - so if she's been receptive to your tries to cross the line of friendship, that's a good sign. I believe you've done well, thus far. Continue on your current course, but perhaps add in a few of Captain Rylen's suggestions? Flowers or books, whatever you think would please her, time together when you can manage, but even more so when you cannot, and Cullen -"

She didn't finish until I met her eyes, my face burning, but I asked, "Yes?"

"Touch her," she murmured.

I blinked, for I did not believe I'd heard her correctly. "What?"

Her own cheeks went a little pink, to my astonishment. I had witnessed Cassandra in a state less than serious only once before. "I said 'touch her', Cullen."

My hand flew to the back of my neck as the skin prickled with heat. "What - what do you mean? A-As Rylen...suggests?"

Cassandra made a disgusted noise in her throat. "Absolutely not." I glanced at Rylen who now looked like a wounded pup and I had to stifle a laugh. "Intimacy should be the culmination of a romance, not the beginning of it - at least, in my opinion. Coming only after a proper pursuit. You've taken the initial steps, but you've given no real chase as of yet." From the pounding in my face, I knew I had to be positively scarlet. She spoke about it so nonchalantly and I could hardly bring myself to think about it without forming knots in my gut. I said nothing as I turned my attention back to the report, beginning to furiously scratch what no doubt had to be nonsense across the parchment. I'll fix it later.

"As in marriage first?" Rylen asked.

The image of me on a knee in front of Meira with a ring held out came unbidden. Her blushing in white as she said her vows. A dizzying lightness swirled in my gut at the thought. Then I imagined how terribly I would fumble with my words trying to propose, how I'd most likely drop the ring or trip in my nervousness and crash into her - probably causing us both to fall to our deaths - and pushed the thought away. Sweet Andraste, Rutherford, get a hold of yourself.
 I glanced up at the two when a silence fell. Rylen was studying Cassandra as she turned his question over in her mind. Though friends, Rylen found Cassandra perplexing and did his best to try and puzzle her out. She was an enigma to any who didn't know her: a fierce warrior that hid her soft heart, sense of humor and longing for love.
I'd realized her hard outer-shell was simply a front when I'd caught her reading one of Varric's...suggestive serials on our travels to Haven. I hadn't known what it was about when I caught her with it, but her reaction made me curious. She had been flushed, stammering and unable to meet my eyes. At the first opportunity, I'd snuck a peek at where she'd left a piece of cloth as a mark.
One paragraph in and heat had lanced through my entire being as the salacious words met my eyes. I'd quickly slammed the book shut and put it back where I found it - desperately wanting to pluck my eyes out and burn the words from my mind - all the while worried a Chantry Mother would materialize out of nowhere to beat me with a stick until I perished. Only to bring me back and beat me to death again - the only time a Mother would gladly sanction the use of necromancy.

Cassandra shifted in her seat, pulling me from my thoughts; a blush gracing her sharp cheekbones. "That is...a very direct question, Captain…the pursuit does not necessarily need to end in marriage - not that it should be the end - but an assurance of love. That could take a number of forms. However, I find the idea of waiting for marriage wonderfully romantic. Just as I find the idea of…passion occurring in the right setting at the right time, romantic. Everyone - every female - has their own idea; it is the pursuer's duty to figure it out." I had to fight a snort at how she described it all - so clinical and restrained, despite her form giving away the eagerness with which she wanted to speak about romance.

"Hmm," Rylen made a noncommittal noise in his throat. "So what do you suggest then, Seeker? For our Commander, I mean?"

Cassandra's dark eyes met mine again, she stammered for a moment before continuing on. Her stubborn nature winning out over her obvious embarrassment. "Offer her praise, encouragement and support whenever it's earned and you can. Recognize her hard work. Do little things for her. As for touching her: curl her hair behind her ear, take her hand in yours when appropriate, place your hand on the small of her back to lead her through a room, press yourself close to her when your standing together, lean into her, nudge her shoulder or elbow, place your hand on her arm - whenever there is an appropriate excuse, break into her personal space." Cassandra opened her mouth, hesitated and then went on. "If she doesn't shy away from your touch, you'll know for certain that she is receptive to your advances. If she does then stop and give her time."

I cleared my throat. "I've done...some of those things."

"Did she shy away?" Cassandra asked.

"Um...no." I shifted in my seat and coughed. I placed my elbows on the desk and steepled my fingers in front of my mouth to hide my growing smirk. "She kissed me on the cheek...several times. She also...would, um, touch me...too." As those words left my mouth, I wanted to slam my head into the desk to end this misery. She would touch me too. Maker, Rutherford, you sound like a pervert.

A humored smile broke Cassandra's normally stone-like face at the same time Rylen's lips curled suggestively, pulling the tattoos on his chin. "Then I think you have nothing to fear, Cullen. I believe if you continue to follow your instincts, you'll do just fine."

I flicked my gaze towards Rylen and leaned back in my chair, discreetly stretching the cramps in my calves out. "My Captain seems to disagree. He fears another will come in and sweep her off her feet if I do not...pick up the pace."

Cassandra snorted, "Men."

"What?" Rylen retorted. "Do you disagree?"

Cassandra gave him a flat look, "Emphatically, Captain." Rylen grumbled under his breath while Cassandra met my eyes again. "From what I have observed of Talitha, she is hardly a female to be so easily dissuaded from whatever course she has chosen for herself. Dare I say, Commander, that she may give even your stubbornness a run for its money. I believe she's already proven that true to you."

I blushed further at the words Cassandra conveyed in her eyes, but didn't speak. Lest you forget Kirkwall. Not only Kirkwall, but all the attempts she made to bridge the gap before I had left.
Then the image of her standing tall, her foot slammed into the ground as ice magic swirled around. Eyes blazing, glossy hair curling out of her hood in the wind caused by her mana shifting reality around her as she raged at me. Don't you dare do that to me, Cullen. I'd never seen her look so angry or so beautiful: cheeks flushed with the exertion; frost clinging to her hair, eyelashes and nose; her eyes full of anger at and for me. Yes, she could be very stubborn.

"She has, but...but there's - Maker's breath." I pinched the bridge of my nose. The all too familiar headache was beginning to pound behind my eyes and I could feel the tremor beginning in my hands. "You both are well aware that there is plenty she should reject me for. I would hardly blame her - blame anyone- for doing so."

We'd all become good friends on the road to Haven. Rylen and I already had been before Cassandra came with her offer, but with an ease I envied, the two had quickly developed their own rapport. In turn, they did their best to support me like siblings - a kindness I did not deserve, but they freely gave. Cassandra, normally so guarded, had let down her walls with Rylen and I quickly.
She confessed to me once that we reminded her of her brother - Rylen's easy temper and my strength and kindness. She'd done her best to hide it, but I could see her dark eyes glossing with tears as she spoke of him and I knew that he had died tragically. So, as much as their banter - usually at my expense - could cause me to bristle, I endured it.

Their smiles faltered as a mutual frustration passed through their faces at my last words. Rylen spoke first, "Cullen, if I may, that's a load of Void-coated jobbies."

"Indeed," agreed Cassandra.

I looked between the two of them and sighed. "I appreciate the encouragement, but it is not a load of - whatever you just said." I stood, hiding the weakness in my legs by using the back of the chair and my grip on the desk to pull myself up. I did not want to discuss this anymore - it was embarrassing. "If you'll both excuse me, I need to be getting back to my duties."

"You were taking a break?" Rylen asked, his voice teasing as he eyed the reports I'd been filling out as they tried to help.

"Well - I...no, I suppose not," I grumbled. "However, I need to go check the calibrations on the siege equipment."

Rylen groaned audibly, "Again?"

"Truly, Cullen, how often do you check the calibrations?" Cassandra questioned. "We've been back only a day and I've had to find you by the trebuchets no less than five times thus far."

"Perhaps the Commander likes the excuse to be able to flee from the rest of us?" Rylen wondered aloud. "Or he's like a child with a new toy?"

Cassandra's lips twitched, "I would say both are true. Though right now he's running away as he'd rather be anywhere, but stuck in this tent as we discuss his love life. Calibrations..." she snorted.

I shifted on my feet trying to ease the weight of my body and armor off of them, their teasing hitting too close to the truth. "That's not - I would not ru - Andraste, preserve me."

The two laughed before they stood and left the tent. Rylen letting Cassandra go first before turning to give me a wink as he pulled his helmet back on. I let out a breath, allowing my back to bend at the weight of my armor. Not even a full set and yet it seemed to be growing heavier every day, the fit already a little too large before I had lost a few pounds adding to the discomfort; my legs harder to move forward as the lyrium still leeched from my bones.
I bit back a groan as I straightened myself out once again, the aches and pains screaming as I did so. Forcing my feet forward, I walked over to the small table by my cot and scooped up the mirror Josephine had ordered. My hair was a little disheveled, stubble getting worse and the bags under my eyes like two permanent bruises. I splashed some cold water on my face from the basin nearby to clean off the sweat and dried my skin with a cloth. I could do nothing about the shadows beneath my eyes, my hands were shaking too much to try and shave, but I went to my trunk to fish out the jar of wax. Taking a small amount between my palms, I smoothed out the unruly curls. I readjusted my armor and mantle and let out a heavy sigh.
The thirst was starting to come in earnest now. Whenever I was around the templars, I could feel it and the longing called out to be sated. My mouth would water, my heart would thunder with anticipation and I would have to do everything in my power not to rip a philter off their belts. When it got that bad, I'd excuse myself and restrain my legs from running. I'd retch in the snow, my body trembling and slick with sweat.
All of that I could endure - I would endure - but the thing that I feared were the symptoms to come. They'd already started, though they were fewer and farther in between. The spelling of a word escaping me or forgetting a soldier's name; perhaps not unusual given the strain of my position, but I feared the worser truth. What if I forgot something important? Overlooked something that cost the soldiers' their lives unnecessarily? I'd begun double and triple checking everything.
Then the nightmares...there were nights it was harder to escape their grip. Rylen had even had to come in and shake me awake one night, saying I'd been shouting. Between being a Fereldan during the Blight and having been posted in Kirkwall, most recruits politely ignored it.
I plunged my hand into the pocket of my leather pants, my fingers running over the worn, cool metal of the coin Branson had pressed into my palm that day so many years ago. The old talisman had become a source of comfort as of late, my one reassurance that I was indeed awake, that all of this was really happening and not some elaborate vision the desire demon had conjured. I relished that the memory came to me so easily.

I looked out on the lake as I stood on the dock, closing my eyes to listen to the gentle sounds of the water lapping against the wood. The sun was just beginning to show itself, nervousness and excitement sitting equal in my chest as I anticipated what the day held. I took a deep breath to try and ease the knots in my gut.
Everything that I had been working towards - every moment my family had devoted to helping me reach my goal - was about to be rewarded when the Knight-Captain came to take me on to my training. As the sky lightened, I thought back on the past few years and all my family had done for me.
Father, golden hair and eyes. Boisterous laugh, broad smile and broader shoulders. Proud, protecting and strong. Father, who had taken the time to craft a wooden sword and shield for me to train with and given it to me on my tenth birthday, a matching set for Branson on his next birthday. Father, who at every free moment had helped me practice my archery. Father, who'd taught me how to work hard and be a man worthy of respect.
Mother, gentle and warm; who'd taught me what faith looked like, what caring for others meant and whom I had caught time and again beseeching the Maker on my behalf as I aimed to devote myself to His service. Mother, who'd ruffle my hair and place a soft hand on my cheek before saying how proud of me she was.
 Mia, fierce and valiant; who still disapproved of my chosen path, but had done everything in her power to ensure I was prepared; who'd walked with me every day to the Chantry to ask the templars there to teach me all they could. Who, when they had scoffed at me the first time, had demanded they teach me with such ferocity I thought the grown men would flinch.
Branson, witty and jovial, who'd taken every chance he could to tease "Ser Cullen", but had been the first to volunteer to practice sword fighting with me. I'd watched him grow in his own skill and earned my first sparring scar from him. We'd both grinned wickedly when we presented broken fingers to Mother.
 And Rosalie...a lump formed in my throat as I thought of her innocent face. Amber eyes dancing and soft, golden curls bouncing as she ran through the tall grass. She'd always pout about being the apostate for me to chase, until "Ser Cul" started chasing her. I'd let her get some distance before closing it. I'd catch her around the middle and cause us both to descend into laughter as I tickled her soft belly. Her laughter like the chimes of the tinkling First Day bells.

"Cul," Branson's voice spoke from behind me. I quickly swiped an arm across my face, knowing he wouldn't let me live it down if he saw me crying. I turned to find him looking slightly bashful. We were so alike in looks, though he favored mother. We all shared Father's golden curls and eyes, but Branson and Rosalie had gotten Mother's beauty while Mia and I had gotten Father's handsomeness. He closed the gap between us. "It's...almost time."

"I know," I nodded. "I was about to return."

"I...wanted to give you this first," Branson murmured.

"What?" I asked.

He grabbed my hand and pressed something into my palm. "It's for luck, don't lose it," he murmured before turning to jog back towards the house.

I uncurled my fingers to find a coin. I smirked, knowing it wasn't some lucky coin, just what he happened to have in his pocket as he came to find me. Yet, I cherished the gesture all the same. Slipping it into my own pocket, I hurried to catch up to him. I flung an arm around his neck and ruffled his hair. "For luck, Bran? You do care."

He snarled and shoved my arm off. "Shove off, Cul. Of course I care, you dolt," he grumbled. "You better write."

I smiled broadly, "You know I will." I ruffled his hair again, causing him to smack my hands away before tackling me in a hug.

That day had been difficult, despite my excitement. Everyone had cried, but Rosalie most of all. I remembered her wrapping her small arms around my legs, begging her Cul not to leave. Mother and Mia had to pull her off and hush her, while fighting back tears themselves. Father and Branson had stood tall as they sent me off. The Knight-Captain had clasped my shoulder and said something about having a good family.
My chest hollowed out at the thought that I would never see Mother or Father again. Would they still be proud of their son, who'd let anger blind him and caused others to suffer because of it? Regret threatened to overwhelm me as I recalled my promise to Branson to write. I had initially, often.
Then Uldred and Kirkwall. I didn't know what to write - didn't want Mia to suspect. Eventually a letter reached me in Kirkwall and I read it. Full of reprimands, the news of my parents' passing and updates on Branson and Rosalie - I'd been both comforted and gutted. Knowing they were still the family I had left behind, but I was not the brother they knew. She'd sent letter after letter after that, but I'd ignored them all. Even the ones Bran and Rose sent. Did he - did they all hate me?
 After several attempts to write and a lot of trying to convince myself I shouldn't, I'd sent a letter to Mia telling her I'd left the Order and joined the Inquisition. I had yet to receive anything in return. How old would they be now? I did the calculations in my head, forcing my throbbing mind to work. Mia would be around thirty-three, Branson would be twenty-seven, and Rosalie would be twenty-three. Sorrow coiled my spine at the thought of how much I had missed. Mia would no doubt be strong and capable; Branson, a carefree, handsome man - What was he up to? Has he found a girl?
 And Rosalie, Rose, Rosie...she'd be a woman. A woman. I recalled braiding her soft curls for Mother and how Rose would squeal in delight at the masterful plaits I would create. Maker's breath, a woman. Would she even remember me? I could hardly believe I was nearly thirty, having turned twenty-nine just days ago. I rubbed my fingers over the coin some more, I flicked my eyes to the chest that contained all the unopened letters from Mia - I need to start reading them - counting to ten, breathing slowly in and out before exiting the tent.

...

"A skull? On a...staff?" I asked.

Solas's blue-grey eyes met mine, a hardness in their light. His body was relaxed, but his gaze gave him away. He was nervous about what these things were. He'd been in the Hinterlands, searching out relics of the elves that he believed could help strengthen the Veil. Magical items, but ones he had determined upon activation, would hinder the opening of any more rifts or passing through of demons in the area their magic covered. I had allotted a few of the recruits to go with him in order to keep the elf protected, but he had declined citing that he'd attract less attention alone.
While on his travels, he'd stumbled across a glowing, whispering skull sat on a staff. He'd looked through the eyes of it to find that it revealed magical items across the landscape. He'd tracked down the ones revealed, one of which now sat between us on the desk. The thing was ominous and how it came to be found even more so.

"Why bring it to me?" I asked, perplexed.

His full lips twitched. "Former or no, you think like a templar. I have never seen such a thing in my travels. I wanted to know if you could discern anything from the object or perhaps if you could tell anything about this." He placed the skull on the desk. "I've conducted a few tests, but all have been inconclusive."

With a grimace, I picked up the skull first. It was not bleached white, so it was most likely not very old. I turned it over in my hands, there was a crystal embedded in the back that must have allowed the user to peer through the eyes and use whatever magic had been cast. I could feel the spells, but the magic was barely clinging to the bone and crystal, so I could not discern what they were. Yet beneath the outermost layer, I could sense something familiar and - "Blood magic."

Solas nodded, his slender fingers holding his cleft chin. His brows knitted together as he looked between the two objects. "I fear what the origin of these is, Commander. Even more so who is behind their creation and what they are after." He leaned forward to pick up the "shard" as he called it and looked it over. "These shards far predate these...skulls and just about everything else in the area, but I can find no record of what they are anywhere."

I leaned forward to grab the shard and the carved stone that had held it. It was definitely of magical origin and old. The carved skull that had held the shard in its mouth on the front of the stone was near monstrous. I turned the stone over, expecting there to be something on the back, but it was blank. "A mystery indeed. Were there others? Did they seem concentrated in a particular area?"

"The others found more," Solas informed, absently.

As we awaited Meira and Ellana's return, the advisors and I had sent Varric, Bull, and Asaala out to see to requests and odd jobs within the immediate area. Protecting caravans, escorting refugees, helping rebuild. Blackwall was tracking down more leads about the Wardens, trying to figure out where his brethren may have gone and searching for artifacts pertaining to them that may have been left behind to avoid their being destroyed. The Chargers and some of the soldiers were currently scouring the remains of the Temple for anything of use, looking for what Solas believed had been behind the explosion. Some kind of magical device, as he did not believe any being capable of releasing that kind of magic without aid.
Lady Josephine was juggling several different visiting nobles and disputes, while seeing to the final steps to securing our audience with the Lord Seeker. Leliana was seeing to final preparations of her plan for the envoy with the Magister in Redcliffe and had her agents combing the area for remnants of the cult that had occupied Haven before the Chantry had come to build the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I'd hardly believed the account Leliana had given of her and the Hero's run-in with the cultists, wondering what poor souls had to clean up the village and Chantry before the Conclave.

"There was no clear pattern to their locations, other than being set high enough they could overlook vast expanses of the landscape," Solas continued. "Hopefully, we will find clues as to their origin and purpose in our travels. For now, if more are found, I would advise collecting these shards and removing the skulls after they have been used. We do not know who built them, nor where the skulls came from; however, we both know blood magic was used in their creation. I believe it unwise to let such things stay intact given our current state."

"I agree," I nodded. "I apologize that I could not be of more help, Solas, but I thank you for bringing this to my attention none the less."

The elf stood from his seat and offered a slight bow, "Commander."

He reached a lithe hand for his staff, his fingers curling around the shaft. Crafted of what I assumed was ironwood, with runes and images carved into the surface that glowed faintly as his hand held it; the top had been whittled into several small shoots to look like roots. It was a fine instrument, despite being simplistic in its make. I suspected the elf male had crafted it himself, and to the untrained eye it would appear as no more than a walking stick. At the thought that he'd made it himself, I spoke out. "Solas."

The male turned his eyes to me, a brow quirked which caused the scar on his forehead to pucker slightly. "Yes, Commander?"

I shifted and cleared my throat. "Could I ask you...that is - what do you know about making a staff?"

I had his full attention now as curiosity lit in his eyes. "A great deal, if I am to be honest." He held his own across his palms. "I crafted this one myself. What do you wish to know?"

"I would like to have one made...for a friend," I muttered. "However, I know little of the process. It was the duty of the First Enchanter to have staffs crafted."

Solas's lips twitched. "Certainly, Commander. A staff should reflect the user to truly work properly. I assume in the Circle, it was viewed as no more than a tool and one that could be used by any mage." The elf's gaze grew scrutinizing which caused my back to stiffen. There was an accusation in his words, even if he did not speak it outright.

I clenched my jaw briefly. "That is correct." He continued to stare at me with that accusatory gaze. You think like a templar. I had to remind myself that he was an apostate and had most likely not had friendly dealings with templars in the past. I breathed out, forcing myself to relax. I may think like a templar, but I am a templar no longer. It was hard not to feel the hypocrisy in the thought as my hackles raised at the elf's mana swimming around him, powerful and experienced. Not soothing like Meira's, but raw and contained. He knew control, restraint and I had no doubt could kill me in an instant if he so desired.

The elf's lips pulled in a smirk as if he were reading my thoughts. "Let us walk, Commander. I could use the exercise as you tell me about this...friend."

I stood, fighting down the groan of pain I wanted to let out as my limbs protested at the movement. Solas's eyes studied me like a scholar studying a specimen, his head tilting slightly. "Lead the way," I gestured out the tent.

We walked around Haven which allowed me to see to a few other duties at the same time. Speaking with Rylen, checking the progress on our fortifications, handing off a few reports to Minaeve and the other advisors, checking on the mounts and speaking with Dennet.
Awkwardly, I described Meira as best I could. I could not fight the feeling that Solas was merely playing a prank on me - knowing full well who we were discussing and not actually requiring any of the information I shared. The feeling was confirmed when I caught the corners of his mouth fighting to curl up in a smile. "You do not actually need to know any of this, do you?"

The elf chuckled. "I am afraid not, Commander. I bet Master Tethras five silvers that I could get you to confess your feelings for Talitha to me in no more than three maneuvers. I triumphed in two. Forgive me for the cruel joke, but it was certainly entertaining and I will have made ten silvers off the dwarf."

"Maker's breath," I groaned. "I am a fool, aren't I?" I murmured more to myself than to the elf.

The elf faced me, his hands clasped behind him. "Not at all, Commander. Perhaps foolish at times, but not a fool."

"Meaning?" I asked.

"Keeping what could be perceived as flattery to a minimum," he chuckled, "in the short time since I have joined, I've watched as you turned a rag-tag group into an army with little more than your skill and earning of their loyalty. From what I've gathered, mostly at Master Tethras's discretion, you have been through much in your life. Though you think like a templar, you do not act like one. He told me you chose to leave the Order - that in and of itself is impressive. Yet, you have made your share of mistakes in your time."

I looked out towards the frozen lake. "I have."

"So foolish, but not a fool," Solas repeated. "You know the mistakes you've made and you seek to correct them as best you can, no matter what others may think of you. I find that admirable, Commander."

I met the elf's gaze and gave him a curt nod. "Thank you."

He gave a slight bow. "I will see to your friend's staff. I believe our blacksmith should have everything he needs now to make a proper one for her. I just hope that we are able to craft one that works."

"Works?" I quirked a brow.

"Do you not know?" he asked. "Your friend has told me that when she has tried to use a staff in the past, it either hindered her or it would shatter as she attempted to channel her magic through it."

I thought for a moment. "I suppose I do remember that she rarely used one."

"As a former templar, could you think of any reason why that would occur?" he quirked his brow. "Outside of it being a staff not made for her?"

"There were instances of mages that had magic too powerful or unpredictable to channel through a staff; or they lacked the focus to contain their magic within the tool. Perhaps those things occurred because we used commonplace staves and it was, in fact, not the mage's fault at all?" I wondered aloud. "However, it did not happen often, so it was never looked into. The First Enchanter would simply commission new staves to be made. Once an apprentice became a mage, they were given a staff crafted for them and, generally, there was no issue."

"Do you believe it was her having too much power or a lack of focus?" Solas asked.

"I would not say a lack of focus," I voiced. "She has never lacked focus, determination or resolve." My cheeks warmed at his answering smirk. "Though her magic is different now, she was a prodigy by the standards of the Circle. Her magic was...powerful, to say the least. That's why her Harrowing had been so daunting. The Knight-Commander feared what would happen if she did not succeed."

"Such a profane practice," Solas scoffed, that accusatory glint returning to his gaze. "What could possibly have possessed a person to believe such a practice would end in little else, but misery and hatred?"

I shifted on my feet. "I do not disagree with you, but we had no other tool at our disposal."

"For what? Weeding out the weak from the strong? Ensuring that demons stalked the dreams of your charges?" his voice was growing angrier, despite his still calm demeanor.

I met his eyes, clenching my jaw. "I left the Order. I will answer for the mistakes I made. I will do what I can to change things from within the Inquisition, but I will not be made to answer for the Order's mistakes as a whole." I placed my hands on the pommel of my sword to hide the tremor that was causing them to shake. "You may be able to keep the demons at bay, but not every mage is as strong or skilled. Would you prefer they be left to become abominations? Killing anything in their path until a blade cuts them down? Like it or not, that blade is usually held by a templar as few others have the fortitude or training to end such threats."

Solas hesitated a moment, his anger fading. "I apologize, Commander. You can understand my frustrations, can you not? But you are right, I can not ask you to answer for the deeds of the Order you left." His eyes swept over me. "If you'll excuse me, Commander, but I am sure I've taken up enough of your time," Solas inclined his head, causing the green light of the Breach to reflect off his bald scalp.

"Thank you, Solas, for your...help." He chuckled again. "Also, you're welcome to call me, Cullen." He nodded and headed off towards the woods outside of Haven.

I looked up to the sky. I could hardly believe I'd grown accustomed to living under such an ominous thing. It no longer groaned or crackled, but it was still a horrifying sight as it swirled above us. With it came an ever present prickle at the back of my neck. I could sense the barely healed tear of the Veil; sense the darkness pressing against it, begging to be released. Screams from Kinloch echoed in my mind and I shuddered.
The sooner Meira and Ellana returned, the sooner we could go to the mages and templars to close the thing properly. Maker, please. What would become of us once that was done? Hope flared in my chest as I thought of all the possibilities, but quickly died as that hunger, that thirst clamped down on my gut. So painfully, it took everything I had not to buckle where I stood, in full view of the practicing recruits.
My knees shook with the effort to stay upright, sweat beaded at my brow, the pain in my head feeling as if something were trying to claw its way out behind my eyes. I will endure. I will. I will! I took in several sharp breaths.
The night is long, and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come. For a moment, everything stilled as I recalled the old Chantry hymn. I remembered singing it as a boy after I'd been taken for training. The melody so like that of the lullaby Meira had hummed to me that night in the cabin. I will call you home, I will call you home. The dawn will come.
 I took a deep breath through my nose and went through the verses of the old hymn again and again. It helped subdue the ache in my skull and refocused my attention just enough that I could straighten under the weight of my armor. I set my back to the Breach and looked towards the clear sky in the distance.
The dawn will come. It wouldcome. She would come. I would endure everything withdrawal could throw at me, I would rise to every challenge that was to come, I would fight for that future I was beginning to feel on the tips of my fingers. "Get your shield up, recruit!" I shouted at one of the sparring pairs. My Maker, know my heart.

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