Her hair was longer. It hung in a braid that she kept over the front of her shoulder and down to her waist. Her black locks framed her fair face in a not-quite sort of curl. Her deep brown eyes still felt as if they could see right through him. She no longer wore Circle robes, but a heavy cloth armor that appeared more … ornamental than practical. But knowing her, he had no doubt it kept her well protected. He noticed her fingers held a collection of various rings, and few long strings of beads adorned her plaited tresses. A snugly fit collar necklace had made it more difficult to keep his attention off of her long, pale neck, along with other features in that general area. The threat of being skewered by the Champion, however, helped to keep his eyes on hers. Altogether, the changes were not unpleasant, but Cullen had always seen Bethany as more of an austere sort of woman. He didn't think he had seen her wear a piece of jewelry in the decade that he had known her. Only the red scarf around her neck before he brought her to the Circle. He was not sure why she would suddenly take up such trappings in the middle of a war, but he was also not sure he would ever have reason enough to ask her.

Cullen briefly wondered if Hawke and the Inquisitor had finished discussing Corypheus, but he could not bring himself to end his strange afternoon with Bethany. For the first time in months, he could concentrate on something other than his headaches; and for the first time in weeks, he could think of something other than building a wall high enough to keep Corypheus out.

After the intensity of their re-introduction, they both seemed content to save the discussion of their history for another time. Or possibly never. The thought of leaving their parting in Kirkwall completely unaddressed was unnerving, but he did not want to risk seeing her upset again. Surely she remembered. In the wake of destruction that had carved its way through their former city, she had made her escape as the walls crumbled around her and her brother. Not, however, before kissing him with more passion than his previous twenty-seven years had contained. There in front of all of his fellow templars to behold. He certainly hadn't forgotten, in spite of his refusal to discuss it with the nosy storyteller.

He had thought his feelings for her - back in what seemed was almost another life - were little more than a passing infatuation. One that was as ill-advised as it was unrequited. No amount of praying or chanting seemed to take it from him. Meridith's merciless rhetoric would have had him believe that she was using blood magic to make him her thrall. But he knew that to be untrue. She had just been a young woman trying desperately to protect her family and pick up the pieces of her life. She just had the misfortune of attracting his attention, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was wrong. Her voice was just a little too soft. Her touch with children was just a little too gentle. The fire in her eyes when she spoke out against injustice in the Circle was just a little too intense and her words held far too much reason for him to keep his feelings at bay. All of that was nothing to say of the dark beauty she emanated with every sad smile. The Knight-Commander's madness might have been what finally drove him for the Order, but his heart had let go of it many years before. He would only be lying to himself if he denied that his feelings for the Bethany were completely unconnected to his suddenly seeing her peers as little more than uncontrollable weapons.

"The soil quality is quite extraordinary," Bethany said as they made their way into the great hall. "Whatever magic that enables this fortress to flourish here in the middle of the mountains must be truly old, indeed. Elven, if I had to guess. It might be best to cultivate some of the rarer herbs here, as I'm quite sure they could grow quite well here. I can write to some contacts I have who work with potions and tonics and try to get a decent supply for you while I'm here."

"That would be most helpful. We have more pilgrims arriving every day," Cullen answered. "Our hall is just through here, if you would like to see it."

"Of course she would," a gravely voice suddenly said. Cullen felt a flood of quiet panic swell within his chest as Varric approached the two of them.

"Varric," Bethany greeted tightly as she narrowed her eyes at her long-time friend.

"Sunshine!" Varric said without any reservation of affection. "You are looking great kid. I'm sure I'm not the only one who thinks so, am I right, Commander?" Cullen coughed, nodding as discreetly as possible as Bethany's eyes almost became slits.

"Varric," Bethany repeated, thought the warning tone was unmistakable.

"What?" Varric said in his very liberal version of 'innocent.' "Can't a dwarf compliment his friend that he hasn't seen in months?"

"Months?" Cullen suddenly questioned, his amusement showing only in his eyes to the trained eye. "I thought you told Cassandra that you haven't seen the Hawkes in years and couldn't reach them. How terribly upset she's going to be."

"Ooh! Seeker Pentaghast!" Bethany said excitedly. "I heard she was instrumental in the forming of the Inquisition. Are we going to meet her now?" Varric's color drained just one shade.

"I thought we could go see her now, yes," Cullen confirmed without missing a step.

"You are coming with us, aren't you Varric?" Bethany asked. "I hear you are the best of friends with the Seeker."

"I have a thing," the dwarf said. "See you later, Beth. Good luck with the Seeker. She's a feisty one." His departure was more swift than his customary casual stride. Bethany thought she might have seen a small dust cloud kick up behind him.

"That really is far too much fun," she said behind him.

"I don't think he moves that quickly even when the Inquisitor tells him to saddle up for fieldwork," the Commander replied. Bethany smiled, turning her eyes to the rest of the hall that was clearly in the midst of remodeling. "I can only imagine what this room must have been like once. Very impressive."

"Ambassador Montilyet has been working tirelessly to restore it. Most of our resources have been diverted to the fortifications and growing our army to defend against Corypheus. But Josephine insists the hall be capable of receiving guests."

"A point of contention between the two of you, no doubt," Bethany said, crossing her arms as she stepped cautiously over the debris, her footsteps echoing in the enormous chamber.

"We've had a minor disagreement, I suppose," Cullen replied, confused as to her point. Josephine had stomped out of the war room on several occasions, now that he thought about it. But entertaining nobles were hardly important when they had demon rifts opening across Thedas.

"It was the same when First Enchanter Orsino fought for more study equipment in the Gallows. You insisted to the Knight-Commander that you needed funds to better equip your templars. Ever the pragmatist, still, I see." Cullen remained quiet, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword, still uncertain the motive behind her words. She was not one to speak idly. At least, not that he remembered. Perhaps her life out of the tower had changed that, and she was simply making polite conversation.

"I will admit," he said, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, "after Corypheus's attack on Haven, I can think of little else then doing everything I can to keep him out of Skyhold." He could feel her eyes on him as they reached what was once a throne area, though she remained quiet on the subject. The massive windows of the hall had been blown out long ago, leaving a rather spectacular view of the mountains. A memory flashed in his mind of the last time he saw Bethany standing before such a drop. The night she learned of her mother's murder, and she had stared out over the sea, contemplating ending her life.

He turned, suddenly irrationally afraid for her safety again. The memory had his heart beating quickly. In a strange sort of impulse, offered her his arm politely, hoping to lead her back into the hallway. The mage stared him, and then his arm, confusion and nervousness on her face. He regretted it immediately, realizing it was far too intimate, and the ease he felt in her present was understandably not reciprocated. He had been her jailor, after all, had he not? The strained friendship they had seemed to share in Kirkwall was probably much different in her mind than it had been in his. But before he could lower his arm, she reached out and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow with a polite world of thanks. Relief flooded his chest as she walked at his side as an equal, followed quickly with shame that he had once been content when the world would not have allowed it.

"I can see why your ambassador would want to see it restored. It is sad to see it in such disrepair. Though I suppose that is my fondness for hopeless causes talking. All that time with my brother, perhaps."

"Well, then you should soon find yourself very much warmed up to the Inquisition. Or so it often feels." She laughed as he opened the door leading down the side hall, and Cullen realized how unfamiliar he was with the sound, despite knowing her for over ten years. "Would you care to see the War Room?" She nodded, tucking her arm in his again. "Hopefully we will one day have the resources secured to see Ambassador Montilyet's vision complete, once our forces are secured and trained."

"Well, on the other hand, if you make it presentable enough to receive the Orlesian mucky-mucks, they might be able to throw resources your way more quickly than you think."

"Now you sound like Josephine."

Bethany smiled. "Perhaps my time in Orlais has clouded my Ferelden sensibilities. They do love throwing their money around to people they like. Fairbanks has even sent me to a few parties to talk some supplies our way from some of the local nobles."

Cullen chuckled. "I'm having a hard time picturing you rubbing elbows with Orlesian nobles. You were always so direct with your apprentices and even Meredith on occasion. I wouldn't think you would have the patience for it."

"I'll have you know I can be quite charming when I want to be," Bethany replied with mock indignation, betrayed by the slight upturn in the corner of her mouth. "At least when Garrett isn't there to muck it up. I know the Chantry has long concerned itself with the dangers of magic, but I'd take fighting demons over flirting with Orlesian nobility any day. Even if I am quite good at it, mind you. Monsters are far easier hidden at court than in the Fade."

Cullen could not bring himself to reply as he opened the door to the War Room. Its renovations remained one of their top priorities. The massive wooden table had been created for their maps and plans and all of the construction was just about complete. He watched as Bethany's eyes fell on the table, approaching it slowly.

"It is strange to think how many decisions will be made in this room, should you be able to rally the support you want," she said softly, releasing his arm and picking up one of his large tokens on the map. "And how those decisions will affect countless lives. When we are children, we play games with small metal pieces. Then we grow into men and women, and play with the lives of others. How many lives does this represent?"

Cullen released a breath he didn't realized he was holding. "Five hundred."

"And for every soldier, you have perhaps a wife or husband and children. Could very well mean a thousand lives tied up in this little piece." She placed it back down. "They will come for you, you know. All of them. Orlais. Ferelden. Antiva. The Chantry. The Chantry most of all. No matter how noble the cause. If you build an army, you will be a threat. And none of them will want to share power with an Inquisition that is truly caring for those beneath them."

"If we don't fight Corypheus, there will be nothing left for them to even come after. We will have to worry about the squabbling of the nobility and royalty after we save the world."

Bethany nodded, looking up at the light coming in through the windows, a soft smile on her face. "May this room be blessed with the wisdom and temperance of the Andraste. For your sake, and for those you lead."

Cassandra could only see red.

That slimy, conniving, self-serving dwarf had made a fool of her for the last time. If not for the Inquisitor's interference, she would have snapped that sawed-off, tree trunk body of his in twain. For the moment, she had to settle for a rather unfortunate training dummy that would soon be retired to fire kindling at the tavern. With every swipe of her sword and bash of her shield, she imagined it was was that bottom-dweller of a marksman.

"I know I've pissed off many people in my life, but surely this is a little uncalled for," came the sly, dark voice behind her. Her sword was raised as she turned around with half a mind to pound whomever had interrupted her into the ground.

But there stood the man that could only ever be the Champion of Kirkwall before her, after evading her for so long. She channeled every ounce of fury into one final blow, sending the training dummy to the ground with a snap of the weakened post.

"Ser Hawke, I presume," Cassandra greeted in her strained lilt, doing her best to keep her barely contained rage at bay. She would save it for the individual for whom she truly held it. "It is an honor to have you at Skyhold."

"How nice to hear it, especially from a woman who just split an armored dummy in half. Once I'm done pissing my pants, I'll be happy to shake your hand." Lady Pentaghast's thin brows came together in disgust until she deciphered a compliment towards her combat abilities in his words.

"Maybe later," Cassandra replied. Her body was suddenly exhausted as her adrenaline faded, leaving only her worn muscles behind.

"I understand I might have upset you in my desire for secrecy as to my location," he replied. "I apologize for the subterfuge. If I had known you truly needed help in this, I would have come without hesitation. But my enemies have been innumerable since I fled Kirkwall. You can only imagine what someone from the Chantry questioning my friends appeared to be. Varric has a special talent for ruffling feathers; but if it has any bearing with you, he was trying to protect a friend."

"It does not," the seeker replied firmly. "But I thank you for your time, all the same. Good day, Champion."

"You've been chasing after me for over a year, and all I get is a 'Good day, Champion'?"

"Were you expecting a fanfare?"

"A banner or two would have been nice." Casandra wasn't sure if it was the exhaustion setting in, but she managed to form a faint half smile on her normally severe mouth.

"Next time, perhaps."