Who was it that said, "Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them?" Cullen wondered as he leaned against the door to his new office cum residence, surveying the view.

He was having a difficult time believing that such a magnificent fortress just fell into their lap. Harder to believe was the fact that this place could have remained completely forgotten to all of Thedas, except for Solas, until now. Even if it was situated in the middle of the Frostbacks.

The Commander would have preferred for Tharin to press the elven apostate to give up more details of his background, but eventually decided to let it go. They found a new home. A home that befits the growing power of the Inquisition. It would be ungracious of him to question all this just to satisfy his need to control everything.

Without a warning, Cole materialized by his side, the strange boy who warned the Inquisition of the imminent attack by the Red Templars. Cullen had heard during a war room meeting that despite fervent protests from Vivienne and tepid disapproval from Cassandra, the Herald decided to let him stay.

Cullen was also aware that the boy could erase any knowledge of his existence from people he'd interacted with: he had witnessed it happen to a handful of his soldiers, coincidentally enough all suffering from significant physical and mental traumas. The templar instinct in Cullen was screaming that he – or it – was a demon.

Cole murmured monotonously, "I am not a demon. I am not human, but I am not a demon either."

The Commander sighed. Having to cope with one mind reader in the form of Sister Nightingale was quite enough, but now here was another one. "You must try to not do that. It's very disconcerting."

"I'm sorry. You don't like demons. You are templar but you are nice, like Evangeline." The monotone speech made it more difficult to discern how every thought in Cole's head connected before it was verbalized. It did not matter since he was speaking in codes the next moment.

"Silence speaks unsure, but the unsure speaks out. The chains are in place only to break. Always a step away from his reach. The humming plays no more, but he wants it there. He will be happy when the music comes back. But happy is not what he will be."

That… might be about me, Cullen thought, only to dismiss the idea a second later. He would have to be fairly self-involved to think Cole's nonsensical musings were about him.

Cullen once again sighed. Maker, what strange things would he have to contend with next? For no good reason he suddenly remembered what Dorian said at the Singing Maiden a couple weeks before the closing of the Breach. The mage may have said it in jest, but he would have little trouble believing it now: maybe nugs that could fly and breathe fire were indeed in store for him.

The strange boy interrupted his train of thought. "You are in pain. Let me help."

"How can you help?"

"I can make you forget. All the scary dreams that keep you up at night. I can make them disappear."

Erasing the memories of Kinloch and Kirkwall… He was surprised to find himself drawn to the idea, yet he knew once he crossed that line, he could never return. It would not be so dissimilar to losing oneself to lyrium-induced catatonia, even though he would remain completely conscious and functioning. He would no longer be Cullen Rutherford, but rather some inferior imitation of the man he was today.

As much as he hated having to grapple with his past at every turn, he still valued the lessons learned from those disasters and the complex thinking process he had developed over the years. Without the firsthand knowledge of what happened, he was not sure he would be able to evolve further or even retain what he managed to gain only after much introspection.

Cullen beamed kindly, something he did not think he could do in the presence of the not-really-human-but-also-probably-not-demon boy. "I see. But you can't help me that way. Those memories are part of me and my burden to bear. I would appreciate it if you let them be."

Cole's giant hat flopped as the boy tipped his head in bewilderment. "I don't… understand. If they hurt you, why do you want to keep them?"

"Because without them, I wouldn't want to be better than myself."

"I still don't understand."

"It's… well, it's hard to explain. I'm sorry."

Cole looked contemplative for a minute. When his lips parted, another cryptic message came forth. "He doesn't want you to forget either. He likes the you of now. But the humming owns him, and he owes the chains his everything. He won't fight, but you can."

The next moment, the boy was gone. Cullen was alone again.

Reputationwas the Inquisition's topic du jour.

Once the Inquisition was settled in the fortress, Josephine decreed that everyone was to be on her best behavior. News of the great setback, if not exactly a defeat, traveled fast to the Inquisition's allies and enemies alike, and Madam Ambassador wanted to do her best to redeem the lost prestige quickly.

Josephine's first act after arriving in Skyhold was to utilize Leliana's agents and the extensive network of impressionable Chantry sisters to spread the story of the Herald's miraculous return.

Soon the story was on everyone's lips, and there was no escaping it anywhere in the civilized world. The narrative hyped the Herald's deeds without a trace of irony – Hark, sayeth the Maker, he is my prophet and your salvation, and thou shalt follow his lead to the Promised Land. Ye shall find in Skyhold thine new home.

It embarrassed Tharin to no end, but delighted Varric, Sera, and Dorian. They'd come to greet him with an unnaturally enthusiastic shout of "hail, prophet!" followed by an overly formal curtsey or bow. Their enjoyment did not abate with successive iterations, and Tharin eventually accepted the fact that he would have to put up with them for the foreseeable future.

Josephine's second act was to have Tharin pass judgment on Movran the Under, the Avvar chieftain of Edvarr Hold and the father of the Hand of Korth. According to the man, he was dutybound to smack Skyhold with goat's blood in order to protest his son's death at the hands of the Herald.

But there was a bit of a dissonance between his professed reason for splatting Skyhold with goat blood and his demeanor after the arrest. If anything, the man seemed to be in a good humor, cachinnating nonstop in his handcuffs.

It was obvious that Lady Montilyet desired to present the world with a new Herald of Andraste, one who was comfortable in his position as the leader of the Inquisition and looked regal passing judgment on a fierce, impressive opponent.

Instead, Tharin felt silly having to pretend that throwing a herd of unsuspecting goats at Skyhold's outer wall was a serious crime. Further, he was uncomfortable having to act morally superior to the culprit who had every reason to do what he did. The young man refused to take the whole spectacle seriously. He decided to have Movran imprisoned in a gibbet for three days and then armed him and his clan to the teeth before banishing them to Tevinter.

Josephine, of course, looked miffed at the way Tharin handled himself at the trial. He couldn't even say "gibbet" correctly the first two times, though the Herald thought he had done an excellent job of imitating princes of noble birth. They liked to look disinterested in the affairs of mere mortals, right?

Despite the humiliations he suffered at the hands of the overzealous Ambassador, the young man was initially supportive of her effort. As the newly proclaimed Inquisitor, he saw it as an essential part of his responsibility to shore up the organization and guard its interests. If a woman of talent such as Josephine was going to play a supporting role in that, much the better.

Yet when she started to hector the companions more than usual, he was forced to step in. The last straw was when Josephine circulated a memorandum asking members of the Inner Circle who she judged to not be suitable for public presentation to stay away from the great hall for the week.

The memo included almost half the companions: The Iron Bull, Sera, Ser Blackwall, and Varric Tethras. In a tiny print underneath the list, she also provided names of those she deemed to be under probation along with specific reasons: Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast (due to her permanent grumpiness) and Altus Dorian Pavus (for being a dreaded Tevinter necromancer).

When Josephine shared the original memo at a morning briefing after she had already sent the copies out to the others, Leliana sighed and chuckled in disbelief. "Oh, Josie… Really?"

Cullen looked peeved. The Commander made it known time and again that he could not care less about the politics of running the Inquisition, and he obviously did not appreciate being dragged into it by Josephine's ill-judged memo. He harrumphed and crossed his arms.

Tharin held on as long as he could but eventually burst out laughing. "Josephine, this is just perfect. I wouldn't be surprised at all if the Bull and Sera were to lay siege on the war room right now with Cassandra cheering them on."

Madam Ambassador's glowing face crumbled into one filled with absolute horror as she mulled over her action. "What… have I… done…?"

The Inquisitor tried to comfort her even as his shoulders convulsed from unadulterated jocundity. "It's all right. I will talk to the companions and sort it out. Meanwhile, I want you to head straight back to your desk and write apology notes to the companions you've offended." And she had better start soon. She had six groveling apologies to write before the day was over.

The Iron Bull and Blackwall were easy enough to handle. Tharin just invited them to the tavern, plied them with cheap booze, and they were golden, though Blackwall needed some words of encouragement. He'd sounded inexplicably low-spirited when he said, "Do ya think Lady Montilyet wrote that about me 'cos… Ach, forget it."

Varric and Dorian just laughed it off when Tharin approached them in their respective corners of Skyhold. The Tevinter mage was especially amused. "I have to say, I'm impressed with the diplomatic finesse of great Lady Josephine Montilyet. My goodness, she could unite a thousand armies under one banner… against her." The Altus let his guttural chortles ring throughout the rotunda. A couple of Leliana's ravens mirrored them with their own caws.

Dorian then smoothed his mustache as he said to himself, "I did see a case of fine wine from Carastes in the cellar. Perhaps I could guilt Josephine into donating several bottles to me. For research purposes. Of magical things." Tharin discreetly rolled his eyes before leaving the mage.

Cassandra, who'd collapsed from a noxious blend of overexertion and pneumonia as soon as she set foot inside Skyhold and was now confined to the infirmary, had not gotten the memo and merely snorted when Tharin told her what had happened. She actually sounded rather pleased that Josephine had described her as permanently grumpy. "It's true, I am gruff," was the extent of her commentary.

Placating Sera, however, proved to be a challenge.

When Tharin arrived at Sera's new hideout above the tavern, he saw a scrap paper with a scribble that vaguely resembled Josephine's face, though replete with fangs and angry bushy eyebrows, pinned to the door with a number of daggers and darts sticking out from it. He chuckled, thinking Josephine did deserve that but told himself to never mention the caricature to anyone.

"It's shite. Josie's acting like Vivienne and she doesn't even know what a bitch she's being. Might wanna talk to her before she becomes Madame Fancypants the Second, yeah? Or else, she might have to watch out for her breeches."

"I know, I know. She made a terrible mistake, and she is very sorry about it."

"But sorry isn't good enough, y'know? It's like, I get it, she's someone big, but now she's acting like it too. Ugh… I hate when the good ones turn bad…

Sera sat on her sofa cross-legged and cross-armed. Her face was all puffed up, her brow creased in naked anger. Tharin realized there was only one way to resolve this.

"All right, fine. What if I give you my permission to prank her? You know, nothing too elaborate or dangerous, just enough to take her down a peg."

Sera's lips curved upward and eyes crinkled until her whole face broke out in wicked joy. And just like that, he was back in business.

"How many times?"

"Just once."

"Three times."

"Once."

"Three!"

"Sera!"

"What?! The number ain't gonna change just 'cos you yell at me!"

"Okay… Twice."

"And you buy everyone a round tonight."

"Builder's grog?"

"Fine, be cheap. You arse."

"…All right."

"Ding, ding, ding, sold! To the stinkin' new fancy-schmancy quizzy!"

Sera clapped joyfully and leapt to her feet. She never failed to make Tharin laugh and it helped after his advisors foisted the title of Inquisitor on him. It was good to remind himself that he was just an ordinary person, still able to laugh at the silliest of things.

Tharin was tempted to keep his deal with Sera secret from Josephine, but only slightly. He liked Josephine as much as he liked Sera. What's more, he appreciated Josephine's diplomatic and administrative skills, regardless of the slipup with the memo.

At least he didn't know what the upcoming pranks were. That would preserve the element of surprise and make things that much better for Sera. And for him too, by extension.

Thus, Josephine was blocked from managing the companions and was appropriately punished by Sera. First, the rogue placed a bucket of cold slop on top of the door to Lady Montilyet's salon that dropped on her head as she greeted a Fereldan arlessa. And then Sera put saw marks on two of the legs on Josephine's chair, just enough that they broke when the woman sat down, which resulted in her landing on the floor arse-first in front of an Orlesian vicomte.

Following these instances of very public humiliation, Josephine turned her attention back to the Inquisitor, much to his chagrin.

She got it into her head that Tharin needed to master chess in order to impress their noble allies. Naturally, it fell on Dorian to train him. His doubly hated status as a Tevinter and a necromancer made his role somewhat limited in Skyhold, and therefore he was the companion with most free time on his hand.

When the Ambassador summoned Tharin to tell him the "good news," he briefly wondered if she was trying to punish him after learning of the clandestine negotiation between Sera and him. It was a distinct possibility, considering he had never expressed any interest in chess. Not even once.

Other than his skepticism regarding Josephine's real motive, the semiweekly chess lessons with Dorian turned out to be stimulating and enjoyable. Whatever else he may have been, the Altus was certainly not dull. His wit and intelligence made the time pass fast, and he was a charming man despite his tendency to resort to vulgarity just to get a rise out of his playmate.

Gradually, Tharin found himself opening up to the mage more and more. Plus, their shared experience of escaping Redcliffe Castle was a bond that gave their relationship a good starting point.

On Dorian's part, he found in Tharin a good listener and a quick study, something he could appreciate in anyone. It didn't hurt that the young man was easy on the eyes too. Though Dorian would never admit it publicly, had he been several years younger he would have undeniably seduced the man.

The piece de resistance that followed would have been good too, thanks to his finely tuned body and skills. Now he felt distinctly too old for meaningless romps – not that he was old, Maker forbid – and the Inquisitor was too unapproachable. It was hard to explain exactly, but the man was somehow too… shiny. Or maybe too incorruptible.

But most of all, Dorian knew he had no business trying to bed a taken man. Even if there was nothing between the Herald and the Commander, it was obvious from their conversations that the young man was unavailable. Watching Commander Rutherford, the living embodiment of stoicism and bottled-up emotions, make cow eyes whenever the man was in sight also made it enormously easier for him to let go.

The problem was that flirting came to Dorian naturally. Walking a tightrope between the carnal and the innocuous was as much a hobby for him as it was an art. Sometimes he couldn't help but let it slip.

Tharin was obviously no half-wit. He reciprocated the flirting. Once, during the early days of the enforced chess tutelage, the young man pushed the envelope, probably to gauge Dorian's reaction. Nothing too blatant, just a hand brushing against knees and thighs, smiles and gazes that would linger, and stretches that would direct the mage's eyes to his massive arms.

But Dorian, perspicacious as he was, rebuffed these efforts with pointed silence. After that, the mage was more mindful, and Tharin seemed to let the matter drop.

That was how the two spent the summer days, at least those rare ones that were free of treacherous adventures beyond the walls of Skyhold and hushed whispers of idle nobles worried about imminent attacks by the Elder One. Dorian thought they had formed an intimate emotional bond, one that he came to treasure immensely, but it remained strictly in the realm of friendship and did not advance to anything more substantial.

Or so he convinced himself.

The Inquisitor showed up to the chess lesson almost a half hour early. He readied an excuse in case Dorian decided to play dumb and confront him on it, that the spare time gave him an opportunity to catch up on readings that went forgotten in other days.

"Good afternoon."

The Inquisitor placed a bookmark in the Antivan treatise on taxation and looked up. He saw the Commander take the seat.

"Cullen? Where's Dorian?"

The man flashed a roguish smirk. "Apparently he's come down with a severe head cold, though I suspect it has more to do with the satinalian spree he and the Chargers were indulging in last night." He added with a little snort, "And our Lady Ambassador asserts that, since we have a bit of a breathing room in the military front, I am currently the second most idle person in the Inquisition who can also play chess, after Master Pavus."

Tharin chortled. "Ah. So, you are my partner for the day?"

"If the message Josephine's sent me is anything to go by, your tutor more likely. But yes, I will be playing with you today." The relaxed attitude suddenly vanished, and his eyes darted nervously. "I hope you don't mind."

The pain of rejection still hit him occasionally, but it had become quite manageable. He could even give the Commander a polite grin as he was dealing with it. "Nonsense, why would I? Please, prepare the board."

Whether Cullen understood the implication of the polite grin was unclear, but he sounded moderately cheerful as he laid out the pieces.

"As a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won… Which was all the time. My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won…" When he was done, he put his hands together and stared at the pieces intently, as if he were imagining all the different moves in advance.

Cullen, as Tharin knew well from experience, was an endless fount of mysteries.

"I can confidently say that we talked about well-nigh everything under the sun, but I don't remember you talking about your family in any detail."

Cullen looked up from the board, folded his hands, and tapped the thumbs together pensively. "Haven't I? I suppose not… Mind you, I wasn't keeping them secret. It's probably because I haven't seen them in years. You know that I… had a tough go with the templars. We've only just reconnected recently." As he spoke, he motioned to the board. "You first."

After dithering for a moment, Tharin moved a pawn in the middle. "Don't mean to pry, and you can definitely ignore me, but have you many siblings?"

The Commander did not falter, either with chess or with his answer. "Two sisters and a brother:

Mia, Rosalie, and Branson. They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write them as often as I should. Mia, the eldest, is the chess champion of the family. I wonder if she still plays."

Only a handful of moves in, Tharin felt his fingers waver as he moved the pieces. It had never happened with Dorian. True to his promise, Cullen was a tough opponent. "I hope you've sent them a word since we arrived in Skyhold."

"Not yet," said Cullen nonchalantly.

Tharin was shocked by the man's blasé attitude. "Cullen!"

"Yes, my lord?" The Commander's warm honey-colored eyes shot up quickly.

"You must write them."

"I will."

"No, today. You must write them today."

A shadow landed on Cullen's face. He fell silent, but not from concentrating on the board. Tharin immediately understood what it signified and regretted pressing him.

"Cullen, I haven't changed my opinion of your work as our commanding officer. You saved the world with what little the Inquisition was able to give you and you will save the world once again by defeating Corypheus. You should be proud of who you have become and what you have accomplished."

He longed to reach out to Cullen. He would have held the man with no hesitation if this were before… that morning when they ended everything. But there was a wall now, not so conspicuous but nevertheless real. With his right hand hovering over the other man's left arm resting on the table, he cautiously asked, "May I?"

The Commander remained mute, only nodding uncertainly. When the Inquisitor's hand enveloped his own hand, Cullen closed his eyes firmly like the contact burned.

"Write them. Let them know you are alive and doing well."

"But… Haven was–"

"Not your fault. None of us could have predicted what happened that night. You are not to blame."

Cullen replied in an overcast voice, "You stayed behind, all alone. I can't stop thinking… We almost lost you."

"But you didn't lose me. I am still here, alive, playing chess with you. Very poorly, evidently." His chuckle petered out when he saw Cullen's eyes. They were dry but filled to the brim with self-reproach. No amount of consolation, no matter how jocular or logically convincing, was going to wipe them away. The memories were still too fresh.

"Please, forgive me," said the Commander in a ghost of a voice. Tharin did not ask what he was apologizing for.

The young man let summer occupy their little corner of the garden while Cullen regrouped. Only the distant wails of cicadas broke the thick silence between the two men. The breeze was cool, but at this altitude it was anything but unfamiliar.

The Commander held his gaze away, but it wasn't focused on anything. His suffering was intense, but his silence was total and unyielding. Nothing more was to be uttered. The man's powerful jaw flexed as if he was trying to swallow back all the regurgitated emotions.

Each sad furrow on Cullen's brow, each pained dimple by Cullen's locked mouth, each lash from the whip put a deep gash on Tharin, until he was willing to take no more. He shut his eyes and convinced himself that avoidance was kinder than engagement. Now, only the balmy scent in the air, infused with the humid, nurturing smell of the golden sun, commanded his attention. It seemed to reach deep within and flush out the gloomy thoughts.

For one glorious moment he forgot where he was and who he was.

After a long while, the Commander spoke, timid and afraid. Words were obviously put together with great care, deliberately skirting the hurt and the guilt that infested the man's soul. "We haven't had a chance to talk properly after we got here and… I am glad you are here w–with me."

Tharin took his hand away but gave the other man a faint grin. Genuine, this time. "I've missed you too."

Those four guileless words lit up Cullen's visage from night to day in an instant. Not a sunny one, but day, nonetheless. And then came a whisper from him that was almost imperceptible, just a thin wisp of something hopeful springing from his lungs. "You said that…"

The man looked up with poignant eyes and finally showed a subdued smile that seemed to make Tharin's tremor worse. "We should… finish our game, right? My turn?"

"Go ahead, Commander. Vanquish me." The Inquisitor sighed and leaned back in his chair, trying to ignore the lassitude that plagued his shell all of a sudden.

By the late afternoon, the summer sun had lost much of its ferocity and was lightly caressing the

Inquisitor's face, softening the bumps and grooves that accentuated it. Yet his eyes burned intensely, as he discussed the most pressing Inquisition businesses with his three advisors.

"All right, thanks for the update. We will need to monitor the situation in Hasmal closely, but I agree. We can't act unless they explicitly ask for our help. We must do everything within our power to dispel the notion that the Inquisition is just another bully.

"Sister, please make sure to post additional scouts in the city, perhaps two or three. Commander, have a small group of veteran soldiers, no more than thirty, ready to depart at a moment's notice. Now, Madam Ambassador, what news?"

Lady Montilyet cheerfully tapped her writing clipboard and began to speak breezily, "We've been receiving marriage proposals from noble houses in all nations of southern Thedas. You are a very popular man indeed, particularly among Orlesian debutantes.

"There have been about two dozen so far, but we are receiving more every day. And there's one particularly interesting offer from Tevinter, which Dorian tells me is not some trap. We should sit down and discuss whether you like any of the prospects."

The Inquisitor's face darkened. A divot appeared between his eyebrows, deep enough that not even the sun could simply shine it away.

"I thought I'd already said no to this nonsense. I can't imagine these people are even half-serious. They don't even know me, yet they are willing to fling their sisters and daughters at me? It's too ridiculous for words."

Josephine's voice became steelier. "Inquisitor, these proposals are genuine, and I urge you to treat them as such. You don't have to marry right away, and you certainly don't have to marry anyone you dislike, but you must start considering these offers."

"You let me ignore them when we were at Haven. So whyever would I actually take them seriously now?"

"Because circumstances have changed. We now know Corypheus has many more allies than previously thought. The Red Templars alone can field a formidable army, not to mention the powerful magisters behind the Venatori.

"Also, since the Battle of Haven more people have been coming to us – volunteers, refugees, pilgrims, fighters, and odd apostates – and we are in dire need of more donations and supplies to take care of them. Yet we have no stable source of income, other than what you bring in from your adventures.

"We need to gain access to the coffers of noble families, but we can do so only if we appear to be a real power, an organization that no one can overlook and many must fear. A marital alliance with a right dynasty can provide us with that kind of reputation."

The young man scowled unpleasantly. "So, you would have me sold to the highest bidder?"

"No, nothing as vulgar as that. But…"

"Then what is it?"

Leliana finally intervened. She first turned to Josephine and sounded, "Allow me." It was like an experienced mother taking over as her baby began to throw a tantrum.

In a calm voice the Spymaster then chimed, "What Josie is trying to say is that the Inquisition must play the Grand Game well to grow now. And part of playing the Game includes carefully considering the pros and cons of offers that come your way.

"Betrothal and alliance, you must think of them as one and the same. It does not mean that we have to decide right now or that you will be completely bound to your commitment, but it does mean that we must appear to be actively searching for the right match."

Josephine nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, thank you, Leliana. It would help me a great deal if you could entertain the ladies mentioned in the proposals when you are in Val Royeaux next time? I'm sure we can scrounge up an official business as a pretext if you feel uncomfortable."

Tharin folded his arms and sneered. "I see. Really, you just see me as a studhorse, to be led around to breed mares unfortunate enough to be in my way, so you could charge however many sovereigns their owners are willing to pay?"

"Inquisitor!" He watched with some measure of petty satisfaction as the coarse metaphor shocked Josephine. She fumbled and dropped her tablet on the map table. The ink splattered all over the Free Marches, taking out Ostwick and Hasmal.

"Well, that's just too perfect," Leliana mumbled quite audibly as she stared at the fresh stain. She made no attempt to stem the flow even while Cullen busied himself to get the rest of the map out of its way.

The Inquisitor whirled around and called on the man absorbed with saving Thedas from an untamed tide of black ink. "I've heard plenty from you two. I want to hear from you, Commander."

Cullen's hands halted at the declaration. He began to shrink before their eyes. "I don't… believe this is an area that requires my input…"

"Regardless, you must have some opinion on the matter. You are one of the three advisors for the Inquisitor and I need to hear your thoughts right now." Tharin knew he was grasping, but he could feel his own life slipping away and his chest was about to burst. If there was anyone in the room who would take his side, it had to be Cullen.

The Commander folded his arms, looking defensive, as he began to speak deliberately. "I agree with the Inquisitor that this whole talk of matrimonial alliance is… preposterous. But I must confess… In principle, I favor duty over personal feelings. There could be no harm if you only need to appear to be considering the proposals and not actually accept them. And if the Inquisition can benefit from participating in the Game, then… it would be irresponsible of us not to."

"Cullen… Would you be so calm if I asked you to abandon your love and marry some noblewoman in Maker-knows-where? If I were to cite duty and obligation as the reason why you must marry someone you do not even like? Or have met? Would you then just say all right and go ahead with the wedding?"

"Inquisitor…"

Leliana sharply interrupted Cullen. "Inquisitor, are you trying to tell us that there's someone you are already interested in? If so, please let us know. Perhaps we can accommodate your preference."

Tharin actually felt his forehead boil. How dare she? She had to have done her research, which meant that she definitely knew about his involvement with a male mage in Hasmal. He found her feigned naïveté repulsive.

He made no effort to hide the disgust. The Spymaster had to know how Tharin thought of her, yet her lightless maw kept moving. She was serene. "As I've mentioned before, Empress Celene of Orlais used to keep an elven handmaiden as her lover, yet no one questioned the legitimacy of the throne or her ability to rule."

Josephine scoffed. "Except for Gaspard and his cronies."

Leliana gave her friend a sharp look. "That has more to do with internal politics and the grand duke's thirst for power. Do you think the Orlesians care? No. There is nothing virginal about their empress, yet that is what they call her. The Virgin Empress."

This was getting nowhere. He felt like he was shouting into the void. "This is veering off on a tangent. You do realize she is unmarried and heirless?"

"What I am trying to emphasize, my lord, is that arranged marriage or no you can still live your life the way you want to."

The young man brought down his fist on the map table and with a loud bang the marker pieces convulsed. Josephine yelped. The Commander sucked in air and stared intently at all the markers.

"Except I couldn't! I won't put on a show just for you and Josephine!"

All the air in the room seemed to have been sucked away. It took Tharin a moment to calm himself enough to argue without exploding all over the place again.

"What about the woman who will be stuck with me? What about her life?"

"She will live her own life, separate from yours if you so desire." Leliana's voice was unchanged: dry and remorseless.

Tharin sniggered cynically, refusing to even look at the Spymaster. "My, my, Leliana. You have an answer for everything, don't you."

He then lifted his face to once again reason with Cullen, whose gaze was now firmly secured on the tips of his boots. "I know Lady Montilyet and Sister Leliana will have me married off and soon. You are mistaken to think I only have to pretend for a while.

"In some not-so-distant future, I will be gone because our Ambassador will have finally gotten her way. All I will be is a pet kept by a stuffy duchess somewhere opulent and empty. I will keep my title, but I won't be in Skyhold.

"Cullen, I may not be able to… To see any of you ever again once I leave. And after Corypheus is defeated, everyone will treat me like a taxidermied beast. To be paraded around with fancy adornments, to be gawked and marbled at, but completely useless. Is that what you mean by duty?"

"…"

"Isn't there anything you will say?"

"I… I can't…"

"Cullen?"

"…"

Silence.

Tharin exhaled miserably and closed the meeting. At least that would put an end to all this maddening verbal tug of war. "That's enough. I'm calling it a day. Thank you all."

As the advisors filed out of the room, Tharin called out in a meek voice, "Josephine, I need to apologize for my outburst. You do not deserve that. I know you are just doing your job."

The woman's brows furrowed sympathetically as she spoke, "We can talk later, my lord. I will be at my desk when you need me." She then padded out.

Absolute silence had conquered the chamber. The sun was still blindingly bright, but it was without the requisite warmth. The brightness of its rays was oppressive. Tharin was leaning forward on the table, glaring at the Inquisition map marker pinned on Skyhold. He could sense the Commander lingering, hoping to talk.

"Yes?"

Cullen spoke in a soft, melodic voice that used to brighten his heart. Hearing it just hurt now. "It was not my intention to imply that I would condone Josephine and Leliana to manipulate your life to benefit the Inquisition. It's just that… we've come so far."

"I know. You don't have to remind me what's at stake here. But I'd hoped you would…" What did he hope for? An ally? An advocate? A friend who cares more about his happiness than the Inquisition? A knight in shining armor to rout the idea of a marital farce?

"Never mind. Just forget it."

"Your worship–"

"Stop!" The Anchor flickered menacingly as the young man tightened his grip on the map table. "Please, Cullen… Don't call me that. I just… I just can't be… what you want me to be right now."

A hand landed on his shoulder, and the Inquisitor felt an overwhelming urge to swat it away but fought it. This was not Cullen's doing, and he had no right to take his anger out on the man.

Cullen shuffled out, but not before offering a meager apology, "I am truly sorry." Instead of replying, Tharin exhaled harshly.

The final wail of the wicket gate sounded, and the room was deserted. The Inquisitor stood there staring at the map until the shadows stretched long.

Leliana and Josephine served the Inquisition, not the Inquisitor. He could not fault them for employing every means to advance their common cause. Reputation, wealth, political leverage, popular support, whatever they could get their hands on, they would use. Yet their methods were starting to hit too close to home. They were treating him as a beast of burden, destined to carry the Inquisition on his shoulders forever.

It began to dawn on him that he had little choice in the matter. Rationally, he knew playing the Game by showing interests in marriage proposals was the surest way to attract the attention of the right people.

And once an alliance was forged through a betrothal, the Inquisition would no longer need to worry about running out of money or supplies. Every noble house in southern Thedas would be clamoring to curry favor, showering their wealth and influence on the Inquisitor. Thus, as a responsible leader, he had only one possible choice: to marry.

Still, being a conscientious leader meant that he would no longer be part of Cullen's life. It would not matter one whit whether he missed the Commander's company. When… No, if the Inquisition managed to defeat Corypheus, he would be stuck in a marriage of convenience for the remainder of his life, resenting the woman who would have him ensnared in purposeless court rituals.

Except this was not about Tharin, not when he could actually think of the larger picture, anyway. The people looked to the Inquisition to help them in these dark times, and the Inquisition needed him to find a suitable match.

Moreover, regardless of his feelings about arranged marriages, the young man wanted Cullen to have a good life. Whether Tharin was to be happy or unhappy in the end, funneling the available resources to the Inquisition and eventually defeating the false Archdemon would mean Cullen could build a new life for himself. The former templar could finally find the peace and stability he'd desperately searched for years. And what could be more gratifying than knowing that he handed Cullen a real chance at happiness?

This was the Inquisitor's chance to recompense for dredging up the Commander's past. This was his chance to heal the injuries left by his words.

This was his duty.

After contemplating for hours, Tharin decided he was going to marry. Not for the Inquisition, but for Cullen and his future.

It had been hours since the meeting adjourned, and the Inquisitor was still in the war room. Josephine kept glancing at the hallway hoping to see the young man emerge.

She took supper at her desk. It was remarkable how bland her plate of grilled vegetables and salmon en croûte turned out to be. Like biting and chewing on piles of old diplomatic correspondences. At least those would be seasoned well from the nervous sweats her polite, yet demanding words brought out in people.

Her dinner this evening, on the other hand, lacked proper seasoning as well as mandatory spices, and was honestly overcooked in general. She was almost sure the cook boiled the greens first and then merely put grill marks on the soggy mess. Voilà! Grilled vegetables.

The Inquisition had an adept warrior with a magical hand, supported by the best spymaster and the best diplomat in the world, leading companions who lay claim to all sorts of amazing abilities, yet it still could not hire a cook who wasn't trained in Ferelden and who did not believe every ingredient needed to be boiled for over an hour before being served. Ridiculous.

Nonetheless, she failed to completely dismiss the sneaking suspicion that it was in fact the verbal altercation with the Inquisitor that was interfering with her enjoyment, not the actual horridness of the entrée.

She had long been done with her work for the day, major tasks and routine chores, but she stayed. She could not head back to her quarters before talking to the Inquisitor and coming to an agreement about considering the options. The Inquisition needed this.

At least, that is what she thought. Like anything else in life, the outcome rather than the process signaled either the success or the failure of a diplomatic endeavor, but there was no way she could be perfectly certain about any of the advices she was giving to the Inquisitor. After all, she was no clairvoyant.

Yet her finely honed instinct was telling her that political alliance through marriage ties would work, that it would bring the Inquisition closer to victory. So, in theory, she wanted to make this happen.

Her personal feelings on the matter were a different story. Setting aside the uncouthness of the metaphor, the Inquisitor was right. She was looking to sell him off to the highest bidder. She was asking him to consent to being sold.

Her stomach felt queasy.

There was definitely something wrong with that salmon.

She was rereading the offer letters and trying to calm her stomach when the wicket finally opened. The hinges on the heavy wooden panel creaked loudly, breaking the silence in the moonlit corridor.

The young man came through the open door to her office looking graver than she had ever seen. He strode right up to the desk and wordlessly stood in front of her for some time. For far too long, actually. At least he did not appear to be irate, but who could know for certain?

Although she had never thought much about Tharin's stature before, it was all she could think about now. He was a good inch shorter than the Commander, yet his hefty musculature more than made up for any perceived deficiency in height. Everything about the man was thick. Brute strength permeated his presence. The Diplomat wondered if her heartbeats were echoing audibly.

"Which offer caught your eye? I'm sure at least one of them did." The young man's eyes were forlorn, and he spoke softly, clear in his intent to make amends.

Josephine exhaled deeply. She didn't even realize she was holding her breath. Of course, Tharin was a gentleman through and through. She supposed her fear was warranted given the severity of the quarrel from before, but now it all felt silly and insignificant.

She went through the stack of letters and picked out the most luxurious stationery to hand to the Inquisitor. Predictably, it was from Orlais. "I would recommend Adelia, Grand Duke Gaspard's daughter and Empress Celene's first cousin once removed."

Tharin took the letter and read cursorily. He scoffed. "So, Gaspard wants friends, is that it?"

"Apparently so. But it's still a good offer."

"Wouldn't my marrying her commit the Inquisition to one side of the Civil War? Not necessarily to the side that would come out victorious?"

Josephine could not conceal as the corners of her mouth curved upward. She was excited by the complexities of political dynamics.

"That's the beauty of it. Adelia is the only child of Gaspard, born when her father was nearly forty-five. But she was born illegitimate. Hence her surname: de Verchiel. Only recently has the Grand Duke formally recognized her as his daughter, which everyone knows is so that he can name her as heir should he win the war. But…"

Josephine's grin broadened. "…There is a twist. She has publicly declared her support for Celene. She now resides at the de Chalons estate in Val Royeaux, attending social events as a senior member of the empress's entourage. Whichever way the war leans, the Inquisition could wait to throw its weight behind either side. Plus, your being engaged to Adelia would confer the Inquisition with a direct access to the financial power and the military of the Orlesian nation."

"What about Ferelden or Nevarra? Won't they object based on their fear of the Empire's territorial ambitions?"

"On the contrary. Before you resolved the situation in Redcliffe and dealt with the Breach, your appraisal of the situation would have been correct. Back then, they did view the Inquisition as unacceptably Orlesian. But now thanks to your brave deeds, they see us as an independent force stabilizing the border region between Orlais and Ferelden.

"Even if we were to form a matrimonial alliance with Orlais, they know we've grown too much to be subsumed entirely to the Empire. In fact, they are more likely to seek out a closer partnership with us because we could act as their access point to the imperial court. The Inquisition would fulfill the role of a mediator and a peacekeeper much better with this marriage."

Josephine tweeted lightly. "I've already contacted Fereldan and Nevarran ambassadors in Val Royeaux. I admit, it helped that they are my old friends, but they still agreed with my evaluation of the situation and pledged to speak on our behalf to their sovereigns. At any rate, King Alistair is a reasonable sort, and I could recruit Seeker Pentaghast to pitch in if Nevarra gives us trouble."

"So, this one is your top choice?"

"Absolutely. It's pointless to wait for a better match because there can't be one."

"Then you have my permission to initiate the contact. I will ask Princess Adelia for her hand in marriage."

When Tharin forced a smile, Josephine had to put down the letter pile and ask somberly, "Are you sure about this? You could think it over and decide later. We could go over the others in the meantime."

The young man quietly shook his head. The smile did not last. "No, of course I'm not sure. But you are sure this is for the best, right?"

"Right." She lied. Her stomach growled in protest.

"Then there's no need to ponder." Now a sad grin. The Ambassador felt a pang of guilt but ignored it as she busied herself with the details.

For the greater good, she chanted the phrase like an incantation in her head.

Josephine sent word to Val Royeaux that night. By late morning tomorrow, the carrier raven would arrive at the palace and the negotiations to match the Inquisitor with the only adult offspring of Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons would begin. No matter who won the war, the Inquisition could expect the Empire's support once the engagement was announced. Which was the only thing that counted.

Tharin had followed Josephine to the aviary, and watched her explain the decision to Leliana and release a raven. As the large bird spread its wings and disappeared into the night, he almost wished he too could just fly away and leave everything behind.

The Inquisition was a predator with a voracious appetite. So many things that used to be his had been swallowed up by the creature, yet it showed no sign of abating. The only thing that still remained totally unclaimed by it was his continued devotion to Cullen's welfare. That, he was never going to part with.

The Cullen who sacrificed himself in Redcliffe told him to be brave and to persevere. This was Tharin's time to be brave and to persevere, for everyone's future.

But Tharin had to swallow the fact that he was just a propitiatory offering to the greater good, a beast of burden that would be led to the altar to have his throat sliced open after he outlived his usefulness. Essentially, a beast with no future.

This recognition brought a rather frightening idea to the fore, an idea he hadn't had to contend with for some time. But he had to admit that while frightening, the plan was also inspired and alluring.

After contemplating as he stared at the two advisors, the young man was able to reach a decision. Serendipity was providing a way to satisfy both his heart and his duty, and he shall not question her.

He was sure. It was for the best.

End Notes:

Is Cullen going to raise his objections at the wedding? Find out in the... well, not the next, but a later... episode of As Thedas Turns.

Also, what possible plan could you have up your sleeve, Tharin?

Next up, Cullen ventures out of Skyhold for a good cause.

Follow me, isk4649, on Tumblr! You can find frequent updates on my new WIP, Where the Waves Crest (波が上り詰める所): Tharin/Cullen AU fic set in contemporary Japan. I've posted the summary as well.

Comments, reviews, and critiques are always welcome but never obligatory! Thank you for reading!