A/N: sorry for the rough formatting on the last chapter. It was a little too long for this site. I guess someone finally complained about the length. *ahem*

Thanks for the comments. I'm glad you enjoyed the twist. I wanted to set it up, to let you see it coming (or at least let you think you see it coming), but not all of it. I thought for sure someone would find a hole I forgot to plug.

Also, sorry for how long it's been since my last posting; I am working on two other stories. If you ever wonder what I'm up to, check out my profile; I try to keep that updated on what's going on, when to expect another chapter, etc.

Anyway, on with the chapter!

Chapter Six: Stay the Course

"This is time consuming," grumbled Bull. "Go to Val Royeaux. Run back to Haven. Talk, talk, talk. Head out to Redcliffe. Find a Vint running the show. Run back to Haven for more talking." He kicked at a log threatening to roll out of the fire. "Too much running and talking. Too much time wasted traveling."

"It will get easier," Cassandra answered, taking a drink from the wine skin before passing it along. "Soon we'll have a horsemaster at Haven; then there will be mounts to ride."

"Like there's a horse that could carry me," he groused, or perhaps boasted.

"You qunari don't need mounts," Varric quipped, taking his pull at the skin. "The horses are for those of us who can't keep up."

"Still," Bull sighed, accepting the wine, "There's too much time spent traveling. We need someone out here, with us, to make decisions on the spot. Someone who has authority. Someone who will say, 'We'll go there,' or 'We'll do that.' Someone who can lead!"

"You volunteering?"

"Nah," Bull brushed aside Varric's offer. "I'm too impatient. I'd have us running all over Ferelden picking fights and chasing down dragons. Oh… that gives me an idea. Boss? Hey, Boss!" Bull slapped Peredura on the knee where she sat, cross-legged, staring into the fire. "Know of any good dragon hunting grounds around here?" He shoved the skin into her hands.

"Oh, ah, what?" she sputtered, coming out of her thoughts in time to keep the wine from spilling onto her leggings.

"Dragons. Do you know of any nearby? I need something challenging. Something that could kill me. Something that will heat my blood and wake me up!"

"Oh," she blinked at him, the skin forgotten in her hands. "Ah, no, no I don't. I wouldn't know where to look for a dragon."

"I heard rumors of one to the east," Solas answered, "When we passed through the crossroads. It's in the opposite direction of Haven, however."

Bull made a disgusted noise before grumbling, "Figures. I could really use a good fight."

"What, the two rifts we encountered in Redcliffe weren't enough? If you're not going to have any, could you pass it on?" Solas' second question was directed quietly at Peredura. She started from her thoughts, saw his gesture towards the skin, and handed the wine over.

"Nah, not really," Bull answered the first question. "I mean, it was serious there for a bit, and those weird time distorting circles were… weird." He paused to sigh, "But rifts are starting to get old. I need something… new… different… challenging."

"Are we still talking about fighting," Varric leaned back, his lips quirking, "Or something else?"

Bull leaned forward and returned the expression, "I'm open to suggestions."

"No, wait, I wasn't suggesting… I wasn't meaning… oh, shit…" he finished, realizing Bull was teasing him.

The qunari laughed at Varric's hurried denial, quickly letting him off the hook. Then he turned and slugged Peredura's shoulder, gently. "Hey, Boss, what's got you so down?"

Peredura was again staring into the fire, her thoughts as distant as her gaze. She lifted her face a little and hummed, her bangs parting to show first the tip of her nose and then her eyes. "Oh, um, nothing. Just thinking."

"About that Vint, what was his name? Alexius?"

"No, not about him," she honestly denied. Mostly.

"Oh, it's someone else then?" pressed Bull. "Let me guess. Ah… that elven mage who met us just inside Redcliffe, Lysas. No? Maybe that young man who served us drinks at the Gull and Lantern; he did keep smiling at you. Oh, oh, maybe it was that dark and handsome recruit we met at the crossroads." When he couldn't get a reaction from her, he threw out somewhat despairingly, "Commander Cullen?"

"Wha…? Who… you… he… no, I… it's… never…" she stuttered, much to his continued delight, her words and tone of voice telling the Ben-Hassrath more than she was willing to share. Seeing his amused smile made her want to blush, and she pressed her lips together tightly to silence the babble. Then she finally managed to wrestle control of her flustered self, stringing together a set of words in an intelligent manner. "What are you talking about?"

Bull's lips slid into a flirty little grin. "Someone has staked a claim to your thoughts. I figured it had to be a crush, some sort of timid romance about to bloom. Just trying to guess who it might be…"

"No," she cut him off, perhaps a little too quickly, ducking her head to hide behind her hair. "No, I, ah, was just thinking, about stuff, and I'm very tired. I think I'll go to bed. Early day and all tomorrow, lots of traveling if we want to make Haven by nightfall, I should rest while I can."

"Good thinking," agreed Cassandra. "We should all go to bed early tonight. I'll take the first watch."

"I'll take the first watch, Seeker," offered Varric as the others started getting up to head for their tents. He grabbed her arm and waited for them to shuffle off before he continued in a softer voice. "You've noticed how the Herald's been acting, haven't you? Something's been bothering her ever since we left Redcliffe. It might not be important, but then again," he watched her duck into the tent she shared with Cassandra, "We did unexpectedly meet a magister."

Cassandra sighed; she hated complications. "You think she does know Alexius, from her time as a slave."

"I think," Varric clarified, "Something's got her worried."

"Then you should speak with her, get her to tell you…"

Varric was shaking his head before her words trailed away. "The Herald won't speak with me, not if it's something personal. And she definitely didn't feel comfortable telling all of us at once, even sitting casually around a campfire. But she trusts you. She thinks of you as a big sister, remember? She'll share it with you; all you have to do is ask."

She made a noise of disgust, but she had to admit he was right. Something was bothering Peredura, and as the only other woman in the group, it was up to her to offer the girl a friend in whom she could confide. Leliana would be better at this, but they were still a day from Haven, and whatever was wrong might not wait. "Very well!"

Varric watched her stalk off, boots crushing the forest loam, one hand gripping the crossbar of her sword, shoulders back, a determined look set into her features. He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Cassandra wasn't the best person for this, tackling every situation as a military campaign, but they had no other choice. They needed to know if whatever was bothering Peredura was important, like a possible suspect for her would-be assassin, or if it was as Bull guessed, someone who had caught her eye and was giving her her first crush.

Either way, poor girl.

Cassandra coughed outside the tent, giving warning to Peredura that she was coming inside. It wasn't entirely necessary—as the only women in the group they of course shared a tent, so no one else would be entering without permission—but it was considered polite. As it turned out, she needn't have bothered; Peredura was slow at taking off her armor. The young woman was sitting on her bedroll, her sash and coat off to the side, her fingers at an awkward angle fumbling with a buckle near her collarbone.

"Here," Cassandra commanded as she knelt beside her, "I'll help you with your armor, then you can help me with mine."

"Oh," she sounded surprised, but allowed Cassandra to undo the rest of the fastenings, "I thought you had the first watch."

"Varric volunteered."

They grew quiet, both of them unsure what to talk about, or how to bring up what was on their minds. After Cassandra finished with the last of the buckles, Peredura was able to finally shrug out of her armored vest and breathe easier. She gave Cassandra a timid little smile before moving around to undo the fastenings of her armor.

Their little group had decided to only pack the minimal amount of supplies so they could move light and quick; therefore the inside of the tent was bare except for two bedrolls and a single candle. Peredura struggled a little, between the faint light and the unfamiliar buckles, taking far longer than Cassandra would have on her own. Yet the Seeker remained calm, patient, refusing to brush her clumsy hands out of the way and take over. She sensed Peredura needed this, like a sort of bonding ritual between two girls—or something like that.

But her patience could only last so long.

"What is it?" she finally sighed.

"I'm just having a little trouble with this last clasp," Peredura deliberately misunderstood her question. "There, you should be able to take the breastplate off, now."

Cassandra studied her a moment, her expression as dark as her hair, but she didn't press the issue. She ducked out of the loosened armor and set it off to the side.

Peredura waited until Cassandra moved to her side of the tent, before returning to her own bedroll. She sat there a moment, chewing her lip, her teeth worrying it to the point where she drew blood. The sudden taste of metal on her tongue told her what she had done, and feeling guilty—though she couldn't have said why—she pulled deeper within herself, her hair falling forwards like a curtain to block out the world. Sucking on her lip to hide the bleeding, she tugged off her boots, refusing to look up, and laid down on the bedroll.

She rolled over, her back to the Seeker, and pulled the blanket up over her shoulder. Another consideration in traveling light, they hadn't packed any sort of clothes for sleeping in—though that was a luxury Peredura had never known, so she could easily endure its absence. She listened to the noises the other woman made, the soft grunts of frustration as Cassandra tugged off her boots, the soft slap as her under-padding was tossed off to the side, the shifting and shuffling as she fought to find a bit of comfort on the half-frozen ground. At last there was a definitive huff as she blew the candle out, plunging the tent into darkness, as even the campfire outside had been put out by then.

Peredura didn't like the dark. Her cell had been dark, the shadows hiding rodents and pests and spiders. Yet she could never bring herself to ask Cassandra to leave the candle burning. Only children were afraid of the dark, and she wasn't a child, she was a woman, the Herald of Andraste, the only one who could close rifts and—if they could somehow get the mages out from underneath the control of the Tevinter Magisters—close the Breach. Anyone who could do all that, anyone who was so powerful and important and mature, shouldn't be afraid of the dark.

But lying there, in the dark, with nothing to distract her, her thoughts returned to those things that had been worrying her. Try as she might, she could not banish them from her mind, she could not reason through them with logic, she could not hide from them or outrun them.

"Madam Herald," she heard Cassandra's voice coming out of the darkness, and she wanted to cling to it like a child clinging to her mother's skirts, "Er, Peredura, something is troubling you. Tell me what it is."

"I… I don't know…" she started, and stopped just as suddenly. Buried under indecision, she returned to sucking her lip.

Cassandra sighed, again. This was costing more patience than she could afford. "Is it the magister? Alexius? Do you remember him from your past? You know you can tell me, Peredura. Was he a peer of your master?"

"No, no, no," Peredura insisted. "I really don't remember him. Honest. He's not familiar to me at all. It's just…" Her words faded away into the darkness, swallowed by the black.

"Are you… crying?"

"What?"

"You're making some sort of strange noise over there," Cassandra continued, "Like you're sobbing, or sucking on something."

"My lip," she answered quickly, responding to her commanding tone. Then, having second thoughts, she elaborated, "I, um, bit it, by accident, trying to undo that buckle, knocked my fist into my chin, drew blood, didn't want to bleed on the blanket, so, um, I'm sucking on it…" It was a lie, and she was afraid both of them knew it, but thankfully Cassandra didn't pursue it.

"Then what is wrong?"

Peredura took a deep breath, wondering how to say it. Ever since they'd told her there was someone trying to kill her, she'd been looking at every shadow, jumping at every loud noise, feeling her skin crawl whenever she was alone thinking that someone was watching her. She tried not to let it bother her, she tried not to let it show, but something she had seen kept coming back to her. It hadn't bothered her at the time, but now it kept pestering her and making her question.

"Seeker Cassandra…" her words sputtered out, half strangled. She rolled onto her back, not quite facing the other woman, but willing to cease shutting her out. "Seeker, can, um, can someone, someone we know, someone we trust, can someone like that, someone at Haven, be a mage, and we don't know it?"

Her eyes were wide in the dark, hungry for any sign of light or movement, staring blankly at the emptiness. Her ears could still hear, however; there was no shortage of sounds in the darkness. She could hear Cassandra blow a harsh breath through her nose, shifting in her own blankets, but taking her fumbling words and childish concern seriously. "Whom do you have in mind?"

"Oh, well," she hedged, unwilling to put it into words lest speaking it made it true, or made her out to be foolish. "No one, really, it's just, well, is it possible? Could a mage disguise him- or herself as a normal person? Could someone do that, fool us all, even Leliana?"

The scoff was reassuring somehow. "It is doubtful anything could escape Leliana's notice. But tell me, what happened that made you start to worry about this? Did you see someone who isn't supposed to be a mage do something that might look like magic?"

"No, not exactly," she evaded again. Her mind filled with the memory, of him standing there, an open box on the table, the pale blue of lyrium shining within, how he tried to cover it up without drawing attention to it…

Only mages took lyrium, to resupply their magic—those who didn't practice blood magic, that is. But, Maker please no, it couldn't be him. He couldn't be the male mage trying to kill her. It would be too cruel a twist, too confusing, too preposterous. Kaffas, he had SAVED her life at the lake!

Yet she kept coming back to one thought: only mages took lyrium.

"I, ah," she paused to chew her lip, felt the sharp prick of pain where she had already bitten it, and let go, "I saw someone, with lyrium."

"You saw someone taking lyrium? Someone who wasn't a mage?" Cassandra pressed for clarification.

"No, I didn't see them take it," she fought against the impulse to describe the scene, or even name the gender of the person. Maker, please, let there be another explanation. "I saw someone, a person who isn't a mage, and there was lyrium nearby, in a little wooden box, with these strange tools, but they closed it so I couldn't see…"

The noise coming from Cassandra was sudden, and sounded somewhat like… relieved laughter? "Let me guess, this person was a templar, one of your honor guard, perhaps?"

"Oh, um," Peredura was left bewildered, both by Cassandra's sudden relief and by the sudden question. "Yes, they were…" she meant to finish that the person had been a templar, though not someone in her guard, but Cassandra cut her off.

"Well, there you have it," she stated as if everything was explained.

It wasn't explained, not to Peredura's satisfaction. "Templars… take lyrium… like mages…?"

"Yes, of course they do," she stated, as if it was something everyone should know, not realizing she was painfully pointing out Peredura's ignorance. "It's where they get their power. Now, no more worries. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."

She laid there, listening to Cassandra shifting in her bedroll again, trying to get comfortable. Peredura didn't bother, knowing if she shifted away from the rock poking her shoulder, there'd be another poking her in her ribs or someplace else. Sleeping on the ground was always uncomfortable, but she was used to discomfort.

No, Peredura didn't notice the uneven ground, her mind trying to reason through Cassandra's statements and cure her ignorance on her own. Templars take lyrium, like mages. And also like mages, lyrium gives them their power. What power, she wondered. The templars in Tevinter never showed any sort of power, nothing magical or, or, or un-magical, or whatever. Then again, they didn't take lyrium. Of course, she'd never seen the templars here do anything out of the ordinary, nothing that would explain this mysterious power they got from lyrium. Yet Cassandra seemed sure of herself, and she trusted Cassandra, so she chose to believe her.

She'd seen the box in Cullen's tent, and she knew Cullen had been a templar before he joined the Inquisition, therefore it wasn't unusual that he took lyrium. Yet she couldn't help but wonder why he continued to take it, thinking he might have wanted to stop once he left the order, but maybe he…

She shook her head, deciding it didn't matter. What did matter was that, despite the lyrium, Cullen was NOT a mage. Now that she had affirmation, she realized just how silly and foolish the thought had been. And though she wanted to ask Cassandra more questions about templars and lyrium, she didn't want to admit to her ignorance—nor give her the idea that it had been Cullen she'd been worried about. She was such a stupid, foolish girl…

"What else?" floated a weary breath from Cassandra's side of the tent.

"What?" she answered quickly, wondering if she had been thinking out loud, feeling her cheeks burning and—for the first time ever—thankful it was so dark her blush couldn't be seen.

"Something more is bothering you, isn't it? What else?"

Peredura swallowed, still not wanting to talk any more about templars; no matter how many questions she had, her embarrassment over appearing stupid outweighed her thirst for knowledge. Instead she grabbed the other little thought that had been nagging at her and answered, "I, um, I think I recognized that other Tevinter mage, Dorian Pavus."

"WHAT?!"

"Right," Cassandra leaned forwards, the palms of her hands pressed onto the top of the table, "We'll go over this again. We arrived at Redcliffe, only to find…"

Peredura was tired. Scratch that, she was beyond tired. What was more than tired? Exhausted? Done in? It didn't matter, she supposed, not enough to make her want to waste the energy just to discover the right word. She couldn't even muster the ability to yawn as the discussion droned on without her. Maker, but this meeting had been going on for hours.

After her revelation to Cassandra the night before, the Seeker had wanted to leave for Haven that very moment. They may have, too, if it hadn't been for a very grouchy Bull staring her down for waking him just minutes after he'd fallen asleep. They all had returned to bed, but Peredura had slept little, feeling anxious and nervous over Cassandra's strong reaction, afraid that somehow she had done something terribly wrong. In the morning, they had started a lot earlier than originally planned, and had trekked long and hard throughout the day, only to make it back home after suppertime. Then, despite the lateness of the hour, Cassandra had insisted on calling a meeting to include the two of them, Leliana, Josephine, and—she somehow found the energy for her cheeks to blush—Cullen.

It wasn't fair; Varric and Solas and The Iron Bull got to sleep, why couldn't she?

"Madam Herald! Pay attention!"

She jumped at Cassandra's command, hearing something in her tone of voice—though not the words—that reminded her too much of how her former master would speak to her. "I… what… yes… um…" she trembled, knowing she'd been caught with her mind wandering, trying to recall what had just been said. She was falling back into her old habits of not wanting to disappoint others, of fearing punishment or…

"Cassandra," Cullen sighed, coming to her rescue, "She's tired. You both are, after traveling so hard to reach Haven. It's late and she needs her sleep. We all do."

"I want to go over this once more," she insisted, unwilling to say in front of Peredura that she was sure the young woman was keeping something from them. She hoped, if she could get Peredura to repeat herself often enough, some of what she was hiding might slip out by accident.

"We've gone over it several times already," Leliana took up the cause and earned Peredura's gratitude, "There's nothing new. Yes, Madam Herald recognized the term Venatori, but not Magister Alexius."

"She did recognize the other magister, Pavus."

"Altus," Peredura corrected absently.

"What was that?" Josephine asked, her quill poised above her board.

"Oh, um," she felt her cheeks flush deeper, this time because she felt she had spoken out of turn and corrected her betters. She knew she was an equal of everyone in that room, but those old feelings and habits were still too easily resumed and irritatingly immune to logic. She withdrew behind the soft brown curtain of her hair and stared at her toes as she clarified in a submissive tone, "Dorian Pavus is an altus, not a magister. Not all mages are magisters in Tevinter; only a mage who's a member of the Magisterium is called a magister. The rest are called altus or laetans."

"Whatever he's called," Cassandra waved her misuse of the term aside and pressed for clarification, "You did recognize him."

"I…" she struggled to answer, to find an answer, feeling she should do her best to obey. But it had been from her time as a slave, not too recent, yet not so very long ago. She didn't want to remember…

…walking down the hallway of an unfamiliar mansion, faithfully following her master, feeling shaky and sweaty as the opeigh began to wear off, knowing a blood magic ritual was coming, wanting it to come, to be over, so she could return to the peace and nothingness that was so preferable to the pain of knowing… seeing a door open off to the side after her master had passed, growing more curious as she came out of her stupor, looking at the face pressed to the crack of the door, handsome and young, light eyes in contrast to the dark hair, kind eyes but full of hurt and betrayal, staring at her master, staring at the other magister, staring at her…

"It was a few years ago," she stated as clearly as she could, "I think. A magister had asked my master to perform blood magic, and he brought me to the magister's estate. There was another man there, younger, but I only saw him for a moment. It might have been Dorian Pavus."

"What was the ritual?" Josephine asked, curious, wanting her notes to be complete.

"Oh, um," Peredura found her lower lip, but the place where she'd bitten it last night was still tender, so she let it go. "My master ended up not performing the ritual, so I don't know what it was. He didn't share with me ahead of time what he would use me for; I would find out as it happened."

"Why wasn't the ritual performed?"

Now Leliana was asking questions, digging into the personal and painful memories; so much for gratitude. Yet Peredura continued to feel compelled to answer. "I don't know why not. We went there, he talked with the other magister for a bit, we waited in a chamber, then we left. I only saw Dorian—if it was him," she vainly tried to throw doubt on her own words, "For a moment, off to the side, and he didn't speak with my master. Then we left without performing the ritual, and I didn't ask questions. I was only glad, well…" She finally managed to force herself to stop talking. Sore or no, her lip found itself being mangled between her teeth; some things simply shouldn't be shared.

Cassandra was still convinced, rightly, that Peredura was holding back from them. "And the word, Venatori? What does it mean?"

"I don't know," she shook her head, her lip gaining a brief reprieve. "I've heard it before, I think my master called himself that, or used the term somehow, but I can't remember clearly. I only know it's familiar, though Magister Alexius is not familiar."

"Yet this Pavus person is familiar."

Cassandra sounded triumphant, but Peredura couldn't be bothered to wonder why. She nodded in answer, back to chewing her lip, too tired to answer verbally. The room was beginning to grow darker, making her think the candles were dying. Someone should light fresh ones.

"She's told us all she can," Cullen's voice was soft, and very reasonable sounding. "Look at her; she's dead on her feet. Let's adjourn for the night and reconvene in the morning. We can go over it all again then if you wish, but after a full night's rest."

A full night of sleep. Maker, but that sounded wonderful.

"I'm only concerned," Cassandra's thick accent was getting hard to follow, "Because Pavus is planning on showing up here with information that could help us. A male mage, a Tevinter, who may recognize Peredura from her past, who offers aid to the Inquisition even at the cost of betraying his mentor. It sounds too good to be true. It sounds like he may be the assassin we've been looking for."

"All the way from Redcliffe?" Leliana doubted. Peredura wanted to agree with her, she knew Dorian couldn't be her assassin. But then again, maybe, if he knew who she was, who her master had been, what she knew about him…

"He may not have been in Redcliffe this whole time. For all we know, he could have arrived there just before we did," Cassandra countered. "There haven't been any attempts since the tampering with the healing potions, leaving plenty of time for him to reach Redcliffe. And knowing what his mentor was planning, he could reasonably assume that we'd go there to speak with the mages, only to find Alexius in control…"

"Seeker Pentaghast," Cullen broke over her words, "We can stand here and go over it again and again, and make all the suppositions and inferences you desire, but we'd accomplish nothing other than chasing our tails around in circles. It's late, all of us are loosing our ability to think straight, and at any moment she's going to collapse from exhaustion."

Peredura wondered whom he was talking about collapsing. Curiously she lifted her face to peek between her bangs, only to find his gloved finger was pointing at her. Oh. Right. Well, perhaps he had a point: her mind was a mess and inundated with too many remembrances of her time as a slave, her body was trembling with exhaustion and lack of food and straining to keep her on her feet, her emotions were dark and mercurial like a deep eddy overflowing with long-ingrained and unreasonable fears…

Cassandra made one of her trademark noises of disgust. Peredura took her eyes off of Cullen's finger to peek at her next, only to find Cassandra studying her in return. "I suppose you're right. Fine. We'll adjourn for the evening. Madam Herald," she gave a short bow, "I hope you can understand, it's only my concern for your safety that has me so insistent that we prove, one way or the other, what Pavus' intentions may be."

There was a pause, as if Cassandra was waiting for something. Peredura figured, since everyone was staring at her, that she should answer somehow. She gave a nod and mumbled an, "Of course."

At long last she seemed to have done something right. Cassandra's expression lightened—just a little bit—and she inclined her head.

"Excuse me," Josephine shifted past them all, "But it's going to take hours for me to transcribe these notes into something intelligible. I'll be up half the night…" she continued to murmur to herself as she hastened out the door.

Peredura thought she had the right idea: escape before Cassandra changed her mind. She forced her legs to obey, put one foot towards the door before bringing the other one forwards. Then repeat. The doorway neared, looming larger, but just as she reached the frame Cassandra's voice sounded again.

"A moment of your time, if you would be so kind, Commander."

Relief flooded through Peredura, almost making her faint. Cullen was the target; she was in the clear. She had felt him close behind her, following her, gaining on her thanks to her slower paces, but then the heat from his body retreated as he agreed to Cassandra's request. Her back felt cold without his protective presence.

She slipped outside the war room, took a few extra steps for good measure, and stopped to take a deep breath. On either side and a few paces in front of the door stood her honor guard, two former templars hand-picked by Commander Cullen, their faces continually changing from day to day, though their faithfulness and attentiveness remained constant. Templars, she mused to herself, non-mages who took lyrium and had some sort of mysterious power. The idea of asking her guard about this power of theirs was dismissed as quickly as it was thought up; showing her ignorance to those she considered friends was hard—total strangers would be even worse. Instead she gave them a very timid, shy, partially hidden smile, but they didn't answer with any gesture or word.

Maybe their power had something to do with being highly disciplined.

"Madam Herald," Leliana's voice drifted over her shoulder. She glanced up as the older woman walked around to her side. "Are you all right? Do you need anything?"

"Oh, um," briefly her lip hid between her teeth, like a masochist seeking pain, "No, I was just thinking. Thank you, though. I should, um, be going, now."

Leliana studied her for a moment, the look slightly unnerving, but whatever she saw remained her little secret. "Of course. Good night, Madam Herald." She gave the two guards a quick perusal, but didn't offer them any well wishes for a restful night.

Peredura looked back at her honor guard. Leliana didn't seem to think they needed to be spoken to or acknowledged. Perhaps she should try treating them that way, like a chair to be sat upon, or a tool to be used.

Or a slave.

She shuddered. No, she could never treat another person like that, no matter their chore or position in life. Especially these brave men and women who protected her, whose duty—and a very real possibility—would be to willingly sacrifice their lives for hers. She should talk with them, get to know them, tell them she appreciated all they did for her…

"Madam Herald?" a voice warm with affinity called out to her. She blinked and found herself leaning against one of the guards while the other stood beside a very concerned-looking Commander Cullen. He was staring at her, his brow drawn and almost scowling. She gulped, feeling fear lend energy to her muscles, wondering what she had done wrong this time.

"She didn't faint, ser," the other guard was saying, "But she sort of… went blank… and Abbets there caught her and propped her up, while I went to fetch you. Should we bring her to a healer?"

Cullen straightened up. Peredura didn't notice he had been leaning over to reach her eye level. Her gaze followed him, though she remained silent, and watched him shake his head. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. All she needs is a hot meal and a full night's sleep, in that order."

"Yes, ser," the guard agreed.

"Go to the tavern," Cullen continued, issuing orders as if he had been born to the role of a commander, "Fetch a tray of food for her. Whatever they have that's still hot will be fine. And bring it to her cabin."

"Yes, ser!"

Cullen watched the soldier race off, his hazel eyes hard and constantly evaluating his men. Then he turned back to the one keeping her on her feet. He didn't speak, but he did lean forwards a little, an eyebrow lifting expectantly.

"Excuse me, Commander," the guard, Abbets she thought his name was, cleared his throat, "But bringing her Worship to her cabin, ser, I shouldn't do it alone. I mean, what if she faints? Or what if I have to protect her, by myself, while she still needs me to keep her on her feet? Can't let her drop to the snow, can I?"

Cullen's nostrils flared a moment while he exhaled. "No, of course not. I'll take the Herald, you perform your duty, soldier."

Abbets snapped to attention as Cullen reached out and took hold of Peredura.

"Come along, Madam Herald. Let's get you home."

Home, she repeated to herself, thinking the word sounded wonderful. Cullen very solicitously and very chastely put her hand through the crook of his elbow and led her towards the main door.

"You'll feel better once we're outside. The fresh air will be bracing."

She didn't want to be braced; she wanted to sleep. But he didn't give her a choice, opening the door and stepping outside, pulling her along. The cold slapped her cheeks, making her gasp and pull the air into her lungs, which left her chest tingling and stinging. It definitely woke her up. "That is cold!"

There was a sound, gentle and soft, like a chuckle coming from Cullen. "Not to worry, you'll be back inside before you know it. Your cabin's not that far."

"Far enough," she forced out from between chattering teeth. He continued to hold one of her arms, but she wrapped the other around her torso tightly, wishing she had worn a thicker coat. She risked a glance up at his face, and in an unguarded moment saw his expression without act or pretense, without the weight of authority or any concern. He strode beside her as merely a man. "You like the cold, don't you?"

She shouldn't have spoken. The mask of Commander slipped back into place as he returned her gaze, and she felt cheated somehow. "Well, er, not exactly. I do like fresh, moving air. Stuffy rooms without windows leave me feeling… itchy."

"Itchy?"

"Like ants are crawling all over my skin, and I have to get up and leave before I'm smothered to death." He saw the look on her face, and immediately regretted using such a graphic description. "Excuse me, Madam Herald, I shouldn't have been so forward."

"No, no," she tried to ease his discomfort, "It's all right. I feel the same way, about spiders, all those legs crawling over everything, and their webbing clinging to your skin…" she shuddered, though this time it wasn't from the cold. "I suppose, that's your fear, isn't it, airless spaces?"

The mask slipped again, for the briefest of moments. She felt his hand cover hers, saw the corners of his eyes bend with remembered pain, his lips part to pant and gasp at stale air. Then he was himself once more, though perhaps his calm was a little forced, and his grip on her hand a little too tight. "It… can't be put into words… quite so succinctly," he paused to force out a smile, "But I suppose that is a large part of it. We're here."

She looked off to the side to see the front door of her cabin only a few feet away. "Oh, we are."

Neither one moved to let go of the other.

Suddenly they started speaking, both at the same time, their words bumping into each other and tumbling away to fall onto the snow. Embarrassed silence followed, her cheeks turning redder, his starting to flush.

"Ladies first," he gallantly stepped aside.

"Commander," she started quickly, afraid he was pulling away, "Could you, er, that is, would you come inside for a few moments? There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

That was the second time this evening that someone wanted to speak with him privately. Cassandra had asked him to stay behind after the meeting, to discuss Peredura's strange concern about templars and lyrium. And now Peredura wished to speak with him; he couldn't help but wonder if it was about the same thing. "Of course, Madam Herald." He nodded to Abbets, who took up his watch outside in the snow, and reached out to open the door for her.

The interior of the cabin was cozy, a warm fire merrily devouring logs in the fireplace, a table and chair nearby with a thick throw draped over one arm. She immediately left his side to race to the fire, sticking her hands out towards the flames before bringing them back to rub at her upper arms. "Excuse me, but I really don't like to be cold."

He followed her into the room, though remained at a distance. "You wanted to speak with me about something?"

"What was it you were saying outside just now, when we both spoke at the same time?"

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"No," she brushed her hair away from one side of her face to tuck it back behind an ear, thought better of it, and simply let it fall over her shoulder. "We'll get to that in a moment. I was just curious."

"Ah, well, I, that is to say, Seeker Cassandra spoke with me regarding your honor guard. Apparently one of them was taking lyrium in front of you, or something, giving you cause for concern. If you remember which one it was, I'll look into it…"

"No, no, that wasn't what happened, honest," she interrupted, fearing she had gotten someone into trouble.

"Peredura, if someone was taking lyrium while on duty, it could be a symptom of a serious problem…"

"You called me Peredura," she hummed, the corner of her mouth curling upwards, just a little.

That shut him up, for a moment at least, his mouth opening and closing like a gasping fish while he tried to find a way to explain himself. "I, ah, I mean, that is your name, isn't it, so I assume, er, that I can call you that, by your name, when we're alone, unofficially, can't I?"

She nodded, that mysterious and coy little smile still trying to claim her mouth.

He cleared his throat, trying to gather his scattered wits, wondering why she affected him so, fearing his face was about to catch fire. "So, um, what did happen, that prompted your concern over lyrium?"

"Oh," her face dropped, the smile slipping away. She tried to hide it by turning back to the fire, but he had already seen. "It was, um, your kit. I saw it, by your breakfast, the morning we left for Redcliffe. I didn't know," she peeked at him from over her shoulder, "I didn't understand, about templars and lyrium. And I, well, I was afraid… Kaffas, this is stupid!" she hissed quietly at the flames, having turned away once more. "I was afraid you might be a mage."

He was quiet behind her, palpably quiet, and she found herself turning dizzy from holding her breath. She reached out towards the mantle to steady herself and waited to hear what he might say.

"A male mage, in disguise, the one trying to kill you, perhaps? Peredura, that doesn't make sense. You do remember that I dove into the lake to save you?"

"Yes," she rolled her eyes, "I know it was stupid…"

"I wouldn't say stupid…"

"…But I couldn't find any other explanation. The templars in Tevinter don't use lyrium. Ever."

"So in your experience," his voice was closer, as if he was closing the distance between them. She resisted the urge to check. "Only mages use lyrium. And when you saw my lyrium kit, you assumed I had to be a mage. Makes sense, I suppose," he laid a calming hand on her shoulder, "But you know better now, don't you?"

"I… I guess so," she shrugged, but her other shoulder so she wouldn't dislodge his hand. "I mean, I still don't understand why the templars here take lyrium, or what this mysterious power it is they get from it. That's what I wanted to ask you," she peeked at him again, "If you could explain that part. Cassandra, well, she acted like it was obvious, and I already felt stupid for making such a silly assumption about you, so I didn't ask her, but I still don't understand…"

"You're not stupid," he denied, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. "Lacking in education in some areas, perhaps, but that doesn't mean you're stupid. Once you're taught something, once it's explained to you, you remember the lessen fairly well, even discover ways to apply it to other aspects of your life. That's not a sign of stupidity; that's a sign of great intelligence."

The compliment, coming from him, left a nice and cozy feeling inside her that no fire could ever match. It spread through her, relaxing tension and anxiety, and filling her face with warmth.

"Let me see, how to explain lyrium," he mused, letting go of her shoulder—her skin cooled without his touch. He paced away and back again, organizing his thoughts. "It's not something we speak of very often. It's a requirement, a part of being a templar, and it's a punishment if we are ever expelled from the Order. I'll…" he paused to clear his throat, keenly feeling the pull of lyrium, how little was left in his vial back inside his tent, how little he'd had that morning. He pressed his shaking fist against his thigh. "If you don't mind, I'll not go into details, but when someone becomes a templar, as part of their initiation, they take their first draught of lyrium. After that, there's no going back. It gives us… power, similar to a mage's power, but counter to it. Where a mage uses magic to affect the Fade and twist reality to their will, a templar can use their power to assert reality and block a mage from using magic."

"Truly?" she asked, so bewildered by such an incredible idea that she had to turn and face him squarely. "You can do that? Keep a mage from using magic? Even a powerful magister?"

He nodded. "Well, perhaps not I, but templars can, yes. And the more templars there are, the stronger their combined power will become."

"So that's why…" her words trailed off, too many ideas coming at her at once. First there was the vision of her master, trying to use her for blood magic, and being blocked by Cullen and his templars. A silly, girlish, flighty dream of fancy, but it was so very pleasing to envision. But then the thought occurred to her, of why Cullen had been so adamant concerning the use of templars to close the Breach. Magic had created it, so naturally he would—as a former templar—wish to counter the magic and cancel out the Breach. "I'm sorry, Cullen, I didn't understand. That's why you wanted to use templars against the Breach, instead of mages, to counter the magic that created the Breach. If I'd've known…"

He had trouble answering, having been first too lost in his thoughts surrounding lyrium, then too surprised by how easily—and how perfectly—his name sounded on her lips. "Yes, well, the decision's been made, and we'll stay the course."

"Just like that?" she wondered. "But… I understand, now, about templars. We could track them down, use them to help me close the Breach…"

"…And leave the mages in the hands of Tevinter Magisters, these self-named Venatori? No, Peredura, we couldn't do that, could we?"

She dropped her gaze demurely, "No, I suppose not. We have to help the mages. But," she bit her lip, not wanting to question his loyalty any further that night. Maker, but she already wrongly thought him a mage.

"Yes?" When she shook her head, he came up and put his hands on her shoulders, despite the strong impulse to pull her lip free from her teeth. "Out with it, young lady, before you chew a hole in your lip. But what?"

"But why? Why are you so willing to help the mages, when you would rather help the templars? Why don't you continue to argue and, and, and why not take this opportunity to switch and use the templars instead?"

"Because a decision has been made," he answered simply. "Before, when we were still discussing what to do, yes, I did argue for using the templars. But now that we've chosen the mages, we will put all the Inquisition's forces into helping them. I'll see to it personally." He gave his head a little shake, like a tilt or a shrug or some similar gesture, "I've always been a templar at heart, Peredura, a soldier. And soldiers follow orders. A decision was made. An order was given. And I will fulfill it to the best of my ability."

"Stay the course," she borrowed his statement from earlier.

"Stay the course," he agreed.

A knock sounded on the door, and Cullen left her to answer it. It was the other guard, arriving with her supper, a covered tray that practically filled the entryway with steam. "Here you go, your Worshipfulness," he came forwards to set it on the table by the lone chair, "A bit of stew that was left in the pot. Might be a tad overdone, but it's hot and tasty. Got a nice loaf of bread, too, and an apple pasty for afters," he leaned over to whisper, "Or before, if you like. No one's here to see, right?"

"Soldier!" Cullen snapped.

"Right! Yes, ser, Commander, ser," the former templar snapped to attention, and just as quickly leaned back over to whisper again, "Ah, good night, Madam Herald. Rest easy. Old Abbets and I will keep you safe tonight." He left her with a wink and a smile.

She smiled, wider than before, and mused aloud, "What is his name?"

"Devensport, I believe," Cullen answered. "Why?"

"I like him," she hummed, "And Abbets." She looked to find him staring at her. Refusing to blush, or to let her current blush deepen, she defended weakly, "I just thought it would be nice, to learn some of their names."

He stared at her like he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. "Good night, Madam Herald."

Just like that, her smile faded away, and he realized it was because he had grown formal once more. Mentally he kicked himself, while outwardly he bowed and let himself out.

Why did she react so quickly and so strongly to every little thing he did?

A/N: yeah, okay, so I took a little creative license. If you've done Dorian's companion quest line, then you must have seen this coming, right? And it fits, doesn't it? And just think of the possibilities… *rubs hands together gleefully*