Many apologies for the late posting. Sometimes life decides it's better than the posting schedule.

The candles in Cullen's office flickered as errant wind blew through the arrowslit windows. And the two men stood by the door entwined with each other.

As the feverous passion of the kisses sublimated into the comforting warmth of their embrace, the fact that Cullen was out of his armor became even more conspicuous to Tharin. He leaned back and asked, "Why don't you have your armor on…?"

Cullen chortled and explained, "I was hoping for an early night… I just finished the Winter Palace after action report, which fully occupied my day."

Tharin pointed to the supper tray on Cullen's desk and asked, "Aren't you hungry?" The soup had surely grown cold and congealed by now.

Instead of replying, Cullen strode to the desk, lifted the bowl, and proceeded to slurp down its content in huge gulps. Tharin watched in awe.

Cullen wiped his mouth with his sleeve and drank from the cup of water next to the bowl. With a smirk tugging at his lips, Cullen laid his arms around Tharin and pulled him closer with a considerable force. Tharin yelped but the silliness of the moment was enough to elicit laughter. As Tharin guffawed, Cullen declared, "Not hungry anymore."

They kissed again, and Tharin detected the faint aftertaste of the chestnut and cream soup. The lighthearted moment passed, however, and Cullen's intense amber irises focused on Tharin.

"Stay the night with me."

Tharin raised his brow. "You mean…"

Silence stretched long. Cullen's earnest face broke. He looked away, bit his lower lip, and scratched the back of his head. With a face that was so obviously incarnadined even under the lambent glow of a candlestick, Cullen spoke hesitantly, "No, I did not mean to suggest that you and I should… tonight… Uh…" The man quickly ran his hand across his hair. "That is… Maker's breath… I wouldn't want to presume…"

Tharin lifted his hand to Cullen's chin, turning the man's head to him. He pecked a quick kiss. "I understand what you meant. I don't want to rush things either, but I would love to spend the night with you."

Cullen's entire face flushed as he nodded. Wordlessly, they climbed the ladder to his bedchamber.

Cullen woke up to low groans.

He opened his eyes to the green glow of the Anchor lighting up the dark bedroom. Zapping noises emanated from Tharin's left hand.

Tharin was bent forward, sitting on a side of the bed. Cullen stood up, rounded the bed, and knelt in front of the man, whose face was twisted in agony.

Despite the obvious pain, Tharin began to speak haltingly, "I am… so sorry… Didn't mean to wake you…"

Cullen shook his head and cautiously grasped the Anchor hand. He felt the small arcane discharges and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. "Did you have the same nightmare again?"

Tharin winced. "…Yes."

A sough escaped Cullen. "It's been happening a lot. You need to discuss this with a mage."

"No, I can… endure it."

Cullen squeezed Tharin's thigh. "I don't want you to have to endure. I want you to get help." He furrowed his brow and looked up. "Please, do this for me."

Tharin looked lost for a moment, but he ultimately exhaled, "As you wish. But who do I ask?"

"Solas? From what you've told me, he's well-versed in how dreams affect magic."

The Anchor crackled, and Tharin breathed harshly. "Away on personal matters… Something to do with spirits."

"Vivienne?"

"She might try to use this as a leverage for something."

Cullen stared at Tharin with pursed lips.

Tharin replied with a grunt. "No… Definitely not Dorian."

Frustrated, Cullen emphasized, "Then who?"

After receiving a message from Josephine about the Inquisition's newest addition, Tharin jogged to the Skyhold garden to meet with her.

Morrigan had her arms folded, looking peevish. "I expected to see you sooner. 'Tis been near a week since my arrival."

Tharin let his ragged breaths calm before he began, "I am sorry. There were matters that required my attention, and I couldn't get away."

The woman stared at him with her unnerving eyes. The gold in them churned and rushed, almost feral in its intensity. But she eventually shook her head and unfolded her arms. "'Tis quite all right, I understand the burden of leadership. Why, I stood next to Celene as she wielded her power over an empire." She bowed lightly. "You were kind to welcome my aid, Inquisitor, even after that less than friendly introduction at the Winter Palace."

Tharin reciprocated, ensuring his bow reached lower than hers. "The Inquisition needs any help it can marshal. It matters not whether our introduction was friendly or testy." As he lifted his face, he searched hers. She seemed satisfied with the greeting. He appended, "But I am glad to have your help."

"I will do my best to aid your cause with all my knowledge at your disposal. This I swear to you."

"Thank you."

"Now, shall we discuss Corypheus and the Old Gods, or…?" Morrigan tilted her head and drawled, "You have something else in your mind." Her voice brimmed with curiosity.

"Yes." Tharin dallied, but he knew he had no other choice than to confide in this complete stranger. After balling his hands in fists multiple times, he conceded. He revealed, "I have been having nightmares. I am always lost in a place that feels like… a fabricated quilt of places I have been to. And I am pursued by three dark figures."

"Ah, the mighty Inquisitor plagued by a bad dream." Morrigan's face lit up with intrigue at Tharin's revealed secret. "'Tis most peculiar, this ability to recall the events in the Fade of yours. You are not a mage, and thusly, you should not be able to remember what you saw in the Fade as easily as you do." She pointed to Tharin's left hand, quietly humming and thrumming with arcane power. "I would hypothesize your Anchor has something to do with it."

Tharin held his hand up and glared at it. "Every time I have the nightmare, the Anchor… It acts up. It gives off arcane discharge, and it becomes unbearably painful."

The timbre of Morrigan's tone remained unchanged, but its original indiscernibility was gone. There were slight tremors under it now, like the riptides whipping about underneath the surface of a calm sea. If Tharin didn't know better, he would have said Morrigan was excited. "And you could not ask one of your numerous mage allies?"

Once again, Tharin wondered if this was the right thing to do, especially given how eager Morrigan appeared. But he had promised Cullen to seek help, and this was part of it. "No, not really. One's away, one's Vivienne–" Morrigan sneered, "–and one's…" He let his words peter out. As much as he wanted to be an open book, he was not about to disclose his private history with Dorian. He directed his gaze to the grass underneath.

A scoff resounded in the frosty air. Morrigan seemed to be stuck in a permanently scornful state. "'Tis most unfortunate. The Inquisitor does not trust his own companions."

"That is not… Can you fix it?"

Morrigan began to pace in a circle around Tharin as though she were a predator circling a prey, which admittedly had the effect of discomforting him. After several turns, she halted her steps and grasped for his left hand. Reluctantly, Tharin allowed it. Morrigan looked at it intently for a good minute before speaking. Wonder was imbued in that rhythmic, lilting tone as she said, "We do not even fully understand the kind of power this holds, and we only know two rather useless facts about it: that whence the orb came is elven, and that Corypheus wished to wield it along with your Anchor to tear the heavens open. 'Tis most certainly a tall order to 'fix' it as you request."

After a frustrated sigh, Morrigan groused, "I may craft sleeping potions to combat the nightmares. You will be able to sleep without having to confront the Fade or these creatures. But that would be the extent of my ability without any more knowledge. And no matter how many potions you take, they won't help with the Anchor resonating." Morrigan was evidently a glutton for knowledge, and the continued mystery on a matter as important as the Inquisitor's left hand must have been maddening.

Tharin took a deep breath in and out. Even the Witch of the Wilds, the Arcane Advisor to Empress Celene did not have an answer to his quandary. Tharin had to accept he was a lost cause. Discouraged, he muttered, "Thank you. I will accept the sleeping potions."

Tharin could have sworn Morrigan looked disappointed at how easily he gave up on the issue. Mayhaps she wanted a fight. Mayhaps she anticipated Tharin to throw a tantrum and order her to figure out what ailed him so. Nevertheless, she switched the topic. "Good. Now, I have an appointment with your charming Spymaster. You and I have much to discuss, but I shall wait for a more opportune time." Yet, before she sauntered away, Morrigan left an ominous warning, "Beware, Inquisitor. For this nightmare will consume you from within. You may lose what little control you have over the Anchor. For your sake as well as the world's, pray to your Maker your nightmare leaves you be."

As the woman walked away, Tharin mumbled under his breath, "Goody."

Several days later, with no clear solution to the Anchor's constant convulsions, Tharin left with Leliana for two undisclosed missions up north.

Cullen had a bit of free time he would have spent with Tharin in some secluded corner if the man were here. Since Cullen could not, he decided the regular inspection of the castle's defenses would happen earlier this week.

As he descended the ashlar stairs in quick and lithe steps, he heard a sonorous voice call for him.

"Commander!"

Bonny Sims, the merchant he assisted with in the case of a kidnapped niece, beckoned him from her stall in the courtyard.

When Cullen arrived at her side, Bonny gestured at her wares and explained, "I've been meaning to thank you for your help in… the matter we shall keep a secret. Is there anything you would like?"

Apparently, her Orlesian mannerisms and flowery dress belied the kinds of materials she supplied to the Inquisition. All Cullen could see were weapons, armors, and crafting ingredients. Indeed, there were shields, swords, and parts of armor he could utilize, but a circular item jumped out at him with golden glimmer. It certainly stood out even among all the other metallic objects.

Cullen pointed to it. "What is this?"

"Oh, it is a locket. It is all the rage among the young lovers of Val Royeaux." She held it up for Cullen, showing the inside. She flipped open the glass case and explained, "You could put a lock of hair or some other keepsake… here."

Cullen remembered the Fereldan custom of keeping locks of hair from passed relatives in heirloom chests. Somewhat askance, Cullen asked, "Do you not find putting a lock of hair in it slightly morbid? We only do that to dead people in Ferelden."

Bonny waved her index. "Morbid? Not at all! In Orlais, we think romantic thoughts. This way, a piece of you will always be with your lover wherever he may go."

Cullen saw Bonny wink and gave up on all pretenses. With a light sigh, he inquired, "Do you think… he will like this?"

"I think he will like whatever you give him," Bonny said in a stage whisper.

After considering for a full minute, Cullen nodded and pointed at the locket. He took out a gold sovereign from his surcoat and tried to hand it to Bonny only to be refused. With her hands waving, she adamantly declared, "No! Your money is no good here. Besides, I appreciate your love for… him."

As Cullen put the stall behind him, he heard a titter. "Mayhaps you could gift a piece of heart to your love!"

Divine Justinia had always harbored a secret fondness for drama. No matter how temperate and holy the woman may have appeared and acted, she was also an ordinary human being.

Leliana received a letter from Justinia a full year after her death. It sent her on a wild goose chase for something that may potentially aid the Inquisition and brought her to the Valence Cloister by the Waking Sea.

No one could fault Justinia for wanting a little bit of dramatic amusement to bookend her storied life. At the Cloister, Leliana found a hidden room with a golden reliquary and nearly killed Sister Natalie, Grand Cleric Victoire's minion. Nearly, because the Inquisitor dissuaded her.

Doubt ate away at her, wondering if she should have finished Natalie when she had the chance lest the Grand Cleric find a way to strike against the Inquisition. But relief was equally as strong in her heart that she did not have to take one more life.

When the time came to open the reliquary, however, she found nothing. Well, not nothing. A message carved inside the lid read: The Left Hand should lay down her burden.

As Leliana pondered aloud at the message, speculating what Justinia meant to convey, whether Justinia felt remorseful for utilizing Leliana to advance her policies, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Tharin exhorted, "You have to let it go. Let her go. You don't owe her anything anymore."

But the thinking continued as they traveled back to Ferelden. Finally, Leliana came to a certain conclusion on the outer deck of a ship traversing the Waking Sea, unbothered by the chill that had descended over the depthless, frigid waters.

Just as the Warden shaped her, Justinia made Leliana. But Leliana was more than the person the Warden and Justinia created now. She could think for herself, and she would stop refusing her conscience from guiding her actions.

She was free.

The realization brought on excitement that was intoxicating, but she did not express it outwardly. It would have been most unlike her. Instead, she let her heart race and repeatedly let forth opaque breaths that instantly disappeared into the ether.

As snowflakes began to fall from the gray sky, Leliana felt another person approach. She turned to find the Inquisitor pulling his coat tighter, rubbing his gloved hands, and ambling up to her.

"It's cold. Come down and rest." Tharin's voice was impossibly soft.

"I will. I'm almost done," she answered honestly.

Tharin leaned on the wooden railing, his face downward at the sea. "I am really glad you did not kill Sister Natalie."

Leliana snorted in amusement. "Oh yes, I am sure Josie will be beside herself with joy. I will never hear the end of it." She mimicked the Ambassador quite skillfully if she did say so herself, "Niceness before knives, Leliana! Haven't I always told you?"

Tharin bellowed hearty laughter, making it ring in the empty air.

Leliana chuckled. With her lips still upturned, she remarked, "I've noticed… You smile and laugh more now. You seem happier." When Tharin made a stricken face of someone caught doing something forbidden, Leliana rolled her eyes. "You don't really believe I wouldn't know about you and our dear Commander?"

"I was hoping we were being discreet…"

"There's only so much you can do," Leliana noted wryly, remembering the reports on their clandestine rendezvous from the agents she had planted around Skyhold.

But recalling those reports directly led to the memory of what she had done at Haven. What she ordered Cullen to do. And her conscience thrashed around painfully.

After torturing herself with the weight of guilt pressing down because she deserved it, Leliana cleared her throat and came clean, "Back at Haven, it was me. I told the Commander to end things with you."

"Ah." Tharin hummed. His eyes were distant. "I knew someone did. I didn't know it was you."

"I am sorry. Truly."

When he turned to Leliana, there was no ire or frustration. But neither was there amiability. A divot appeared on his brow. "I believe you. But I don't know if I can forgive you."

Leliana shrugged. "Perhaps you shouldn't forgive me. Perhaps I am too far gone."

Tharin crossed his arms and emitted a huff, "Leliana…" He twisted his body until his back was leaning against the railing. "We've been through a lot together, haven't we? I would like to think I know you fairly well as a person, and you are not too far gone. If you were, you wouldn't be questioning yourself."

As the wind kicked up, Leliana brushed back the stray hair on her face. Silence, it seemed, was the only appropriate answer.

But Tharin apparently had another matter in his mind. "Are you at all interested in becoming the new Divine?"

The Spymaster blinked, wondering if the conversation was heading toward what she was thinking. Instead of tarrying to obfuscate her true intentions, Leliana decided to be forthright, "I am."

The Inquisitor was forthright as well. "I hate what you did to Cullen and me. I think you are a detestable person. But you confessed what you did and sought my forgiveness. You are the only viable candidate who has both the skills to win the Game and the scruples to consider what's right. At the very least, you will agonize over the choices you must make." After a long pause, Tharin asked, "What is your stance on the Circles?"

Brutal honesty was the name of the game with Tharin now, and Leliana went along with it. "I want to abolish them. I want mages to govern themselves. I want to wean templars off lyrium and make them answerable to individual mages, make them equal partners."

Tharin's face was imperceptible, but his words were decisive. "I still think you shouldn't have done what you did. But I will support you for the Divine Election."

Her fiery hair flew around in a gale yet again. While trying to push it back behind her ear, Leliana murmured, "Thank you."

The surfs broke against the hull and sprayed infinitesimal vapors, and she felt them prickle on her lukewarm skin.

Cullen was embarrassed enough about the unabashed sentimentality of the locket to seek privacy from the public. And the most private place at Skyhold was the dusty library in its undercroft that Tharin had designated the Forgotten Study.

Quickly passing through Josephine's salon, Cullen headed to the secret library with The Dialectics on his side. It had been months since he saw Tharin here, but he used to keep coming back in the hopes of seeing him in their little sanctuary. With everything that had happened, it was never to be.

Now, surrounded by the droning ambient noise of comfortable silence in the pit of the castle, Cullen sat at the ancient desk and took his dagger out.

With some effort, he cut off a few strands of his blond hair. He rolled them into something that resembled a little knot and placed it behind the glass case of the locket.

He then opened The Dialectics to the literary Elvish phrases chapter and took out the delicate tissue papers placed inside. He opened them to find the lone plum blossom from Haven, dried but intact. Using his fingernails and willing his hand to not shake too much, he lifted the blossom and placed it alongside the hair.

Once he was satisfied with the placement of the items, Cullen pushed the glass case close. Feeling mortified, he vigorously rubbed his face and emitted a long exhale. He murmured to himself, "Maker… I hope he likes this."

Next up, Tharin's adventure with Leliana continues with a very, very, very special guest! Due to upcoming travels, I will post the next chapter sometime between Friday, July 1 and Monday, July 4.

Comments and reviews are never obligatory but give me life! Thank you for reading!