A/N: I'm so sorry for the inconsistent updates. Real life has been pretty bitchy, but I think things are getting better. I don't know that I'll be able to keep a consistent update schedule (my next goal is to finish a chapter for one of my WoW stories), but I'm going to try. Thank to 0wallie0 for beta reading, and to everyone who reads! Thank you to those new, and those who've stuck around through my hiatus.

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Cullen wasn't sure what had brought him to the gardens at this time of day, but it was such a relief to see those unkempt trees reaching toward the heavens with interwoven branches. A quiet part of him chastised himself for taking time for a break when he clearly needed to be working, but somehow he sure that if he turned around, he would find echoes of things he was always trying to move past.

Blood and death, abominations and magic gone so, so, so wrong.

Even as the screams started to ring in his ears, the trees smothered them, pushing them back and giving him a peace he so rarely found. Glancing up, he half expected the trees to be watching him—for a moment he'd been sure someone was—but they were just trees. He'd never really looked at them before, and there was something simply magical about them.

About all of the gardens, really.

They held a hazy light that he couldn't help but feel was off for this time of day, and yet…and yet it was so pleasant that he couldn't be bothered by it. Part of him warned himself to be wary, but it was hard to stay vigilant, here in the heart of Skyhold, where even his Herald had found solace.

His fingers drummed against the hilt of his blade as he wandered, not so lulled by the serenity that he would completely forget the hard lessons that had been scraped into his flesh and soul.

Always be ready for something to go wrong.

As he wandered, the gardens were more like a forest, winding on in wild paths that shouldn't have fit in so small a space.

That did bother him.

Even as he considered that perhaps he had gotten lost somehow, that perhaps he wasn't really in Skyhold, but somewhere else, he turned and saw Finley curled up beneath one of the trees, her wild orange hair glistening as though dew drops had caught in its tangles. Or as if little stars had come down to rest with her while she slept.

Without thinking, his feet carried him to her, though he stopped a few paces short, suddenly unsure what he was doing. She looked so peaceful. After all she had been through, it would be cruel to wake her.

She so rarely got to sleep well. He knew the sort of burden that put on one's shoulders.

Cullen considered staying with her a while, but then, he was the Commander and there was much that relied upon his shoulders, and so long as he could carry most of it, perhaps there would be less to weigh down upon her.

Shrugging out of his surcoat—an action that felt surprisingly familiar—he knelt to drape it over her.

He wasn't sure what caused her to stir, but even as the cloth fell over her, she was pushing herself up groggily, rubbing at one of her eyes. The gold in them stood out more than usual, but it didn't frighten him.

The first time he'd seen her eyes, he'd been reminded of abominations, and it had left him a little nauseous. He'd told himself, however, that falling into the Fade was bound to have lasting effects on a person, and having magic catch in Herald Finley's eyes seemed like the gentlest of burdens to carry.

Still, he felt shame well inside of him when he considered how quickly he'd been wary of her. Just because of a flare around her pupil.

As he'd gotten to know her, though, it had become a sight he looked forward to seeing, a flash of light that was impossible to miss, and the way it flickered was oddly…comforting.

It was hard to be afraid of her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, almost automatically. "I didn't mean to wake you."

She ignored his words, instead inspecting the collar draped against her shoulder, her thin fingers running through the fur.

Swallowing, Cullen fought back the wish for her to run her hands over him with such care.

To feel her skin on his would be…

Hands cupped his cheeks, and his gaze snapped up to meet hers. Her eyes were lidded, her face so close. "I need you, commander," her voice was a soft whisper, a tease in that last word that made it sound more like a pet name than a title. His breath caught in his throat. Her lips were so near his.

All he would have to do is lean forward and…

Maker, but the way she was smiling at him. He wanted to find the words to tell her how he felt, even though he wasn't completely sure what this was. Infatuation? Longing? Something else?

Whatever it was that he felt, she was important to him, and he hadn't been able to get her off his mind since that first morning he'd watched her sleep beneath the trees.

Honestly, it had started before that, but it had come into focus then and there, in that muted dawn.

Maker, but it was surreal that she could look at him like this.

When she'd accepted the role as Inquisitor, he'd been worried that she somehow felt she was being forced into it, but it had felt worse as he'd watched Josephine, Cassandra and Leliana begin to list all the tasks that would fall to her. Her shoulders had slumped ever so slightly, and then, when they'd expressed that it would be a bad idea for her to leave, it had been like the life had been drained from her. He'd been wracking his brain for a good schedule that they could come up with that would allow her to go to the Mire sooner than later when Cassandra had informed the lot of them that Herald Finley was gone.

Without so much as a goodbye.

It had surprised him how much that hurt. Something was drawing her out there, and she hadn't trusted them enough to say. Hadn't trusted him enough. Had he not had her back at every turn in this miserable chain of unfortunate events thus far? That she could still be suspicious of him after all they'd been through…

Perhaps he oughtn't to take it personally. Despite his efforts, he still found himself suspicious of magic. Perhaps it was the same for her and templars.

Still…he trusted her.

And he wasn't a templar any longer.

Despite being hurt that she would disappear on them as she had, he had pushed such feelings aside, assuring himself that when she returned—

Wait.

When had she gotten back?

Even as he blinked, the space in front of him was empty. That inviting woods was gone, in its place cold and forlorn trees that looked like twisted limbs reaching up into an empty sky.

Her words echoed to him again.

"I need you."

This time, however, they were spoken in a young man's voice.

He could feel eyes on him. He was being watched. It was something he didn't want to see him, not on a regular dream, and not when he was thinking of…

A faint laugh echoed from behind him somewhere, bouncing off the trees.

"Commander!"

Eyes snapping open, Cullen sat bolt upright in bed, gasping as he nearly collided with someone who had been leaning over him.

Even as Cullen took in a few uneven breaths, glancing around as though he half expected demons to be surrounding him as abominations wandered the halls beyond, his gaze landed on a young blonde boy who was sitting beside him, staring at him with large, doleful blue eyes.

Cullen fought to recover from his dreams—pleasant as they had been for a few minutes, he couldn't help the guilt that was bubbling up in him. That he would dream about Herald Finley… Maker, but he was going to have a hard time looking her in the eyes when she got back.

Well, she was likely still a week or two out, so surely by then he'd be over this embarrassment.

Unless this was to be the first of many dreams.

"A prelude, but one of pain or one of hope? To have her here, lingering and luminous like a light in the in the waking world, so near, so willing…or misery to have her not. It's all too… You should talk to her when she returns," the boy murmured, wringing his hands slowly as his eyes seemed to focus. "But not now. She's away, and you're here, and anyway I need your help." He paused, sitting up a little straighter. "It will help her, though. And maybe you."

"What?" Cullen couldn't help but snap, feeling ill at ease as he tried to shake the vestiges of sleep from his mind. The boy wasn't making any sense, and he almost dismissed him, but he had a nagging feeling that he wouldn't want to go back to sleep just yet. "Why are you here? And…who sent you?"

"I came myself. No sending needed."

Cullen's brow furrowed, and he turned slowly to appraise the boy. His clothes were patchwork and tattered, and while the majority of the Inquisition was in some manner of disarray, the boy seemed more so than most. "If no one sent for me, then why are you here? Who are you?"

"Oh." His eyes widened and then he bobbed his head, shaggy hair fluttering around his face. "I'm Cole. I'm help. You can ask Solas, if you're worried, but Finley said I could stay."

Cullen frowned. This boy…there was something about him that he felt he ought to remember, yet nothing was coming to mind. Had he met him before? No…

But he had heard of him…from where?

"Sister Nightingale and Lady Vivienne thought they handled everything. Send away the angry whispers, make time to make them mute. But not every anger finds a voice. Some keep quiet and watch and notice the little things that should be hidden. They reach out for answers, and we need to get them before they do. I don't think they'll use them for good. Which makes no sense, because there's not any bad to find." His shoulders slumped. "But people twist things so much…I..I would rather not leave it to chance."

Reaching up to rub his temples, Cullen wondered if it was because of a headache that was beginning to tighten across his forehead that he was having so much trouble following the boy's words.

"I…sorry," Cole offered. Even as Cullen tried to remember having said anything, Cole was on his feet, motioning for Cullen to come with him. "There's a templar who kept a secret. He heard about a story and thought it might be part of this one. And he's right. But instead of telling anyone, he asked for help, pretending he was ordered to. He's going to get that piece of story if we don't stop him, and I don't think he'll do good things with it. You, though…" At that, the boy fell silent for a moment, as though considering something. Finally, he nodded. "I think, if you see all the pieces and can still smile at her, it would make her very happy. I think you would sleep better, too."

The boy broke into two more rambles that were no more helpful than the first few before Cullen finally realized that Cole wasn't going to go away until he helped with…intercepting a delivery or hearing a story or…his head hurt.

The boy seemed genuinely concerned for that, mumbling about old pains and scars that never healed properly. Cullen tried not to think about how some of what the boy said felt like it made sense, particularly in regards to certain unpleasant memories.

Maker, some of it felt like it came from his own head.

As echoes of Kinloch Hold filled his ears, the boy abruptly stopped talking, a rather deep frown animating his features, brow pinched together as he eyed Cullen as though he were troubled by him.

If he didn't want to be in Cullen's company, he should have found someone else for this little endeavor. Leliana came to mind, as she was more accustomed to espionage and the like.

"Your hurt is very loud," Cole mumbled, sounding almost indignant. "I thought I could untangle it, but it's more of a mess than most." His expression softened almost instantly. "I…I will figure it out. You're just…complicated. You are good, though," he rambled on. "In case the pain makes you forget. I know you're good. It can be hard to keep track of, but you are." His eyes seemed to widen as though he'd just seen something important. "You think—"

However, even as the boy sought to continue with this unbearable spiral of words that were plucking at feelings Cullen would rather not address at the moment, he noticed movement near one of the walls of the main courtyard. He and Cole had wandered out to the castle gates as the boy had gone on and on and on, and Cullen was a little bothered at how little attention he'd been paying. He should have been more alert.

But the ache in his head and the boy's words were…

"He's here."

Looking up, Cullen could see a figure riding in on a horse. With all of the renovations and incoming resources, they had decided to leave the castle gate open. With the bridge as long as it was—and being the only way into the castle, they'd felt it safe enough to leave open for those coming and going, as they would see enemies coming long before they could sneak in.

And it helped that they had plenty of guards everywhere. Cullen had made sure of that.

He paused to nod to two patrolling past.

Then, he walked forward to meet the horseman, waving him down and offering a casual greeting. He thought he heard a hiss of disapproval from somewhere behind him, but when he glanced over his shoulder, all he saw was shadows.

For a moment, he thought he could see someone just in the darkness.

Before Cullen could make a move to investigate, Cole lightly gripped his arm. "The shadows can stay there. I'll keep a watch on them. For now, we need the story."

"Greetings, ser," the man began, giving Cullen a short bow. As he did so, Cullen realized he hadn't any of his usual attire on to mark him as the commander—all he'd taken from his room with him was his sword, which rested reassuringly at his hip. Before he could make an effort to identify himself, the man—a templar—glanced around and then shrugged. "Suppose Teld's got you picking things up for him this evening?"

"He does," Cole replied, motioning to Cullen as though to somehow exclude himself.

"Well, I gotta say it's a bit odd of a fetch quest, but I found the old man he was talking about. He's much too sick to make the trip here, but he gave me this." He held up a leather-bound tome that looked like it had seen better days. "I just flipped through a few pages, but I'd wager this is all the spymaster is looking for and more."

Despite feeling a little lost, with Cole's gentle prodding, Cullen took the tome when it was offered. Cullen weighed it in his hands, feeling as though there were mysteries and secrets whispering from the old pages, though he still wasn't sure what they would be about or why Cole had been so adamant that he be the one to get them. If this was something for Leliana, then…

"As I said, I did flip through a page or two, ser," the templar admitted, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "I wasn't trying to pry, just wanted to make sure I had right material."

When he nodded again, a bit worried, Cullen gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You're fine. This was good work."

A small smile slipped across the templar's lips, and he had just excused himself to find somewhere to rest when he hesitated and turned back to Cullen. Whatever his reservations were, he held onto them another moment before finally shrugging and pointing toward the book. "Perhaps it wasn't my place, but I have to say, of all the witches out there, I'm glad the Herald is this one."

Cullen's gaze snapped up from the leather tome to lock with the templar's. "What?"

"She… The Green Witch. With her eyes as they are, that has to be her, doesn't it?" The templar looked confused. "You…who did you say you were again?" The templar looked like he might try to take back the book.

Cullen frowned. "I'm Commander Rutherford." He paused when the man looked suspicious. He wasn't wearing any telling articles of clothing, after all. Dressed as he was, he looked like any other soldier around the keep.

Not wanting a confrontation, especially considering what this book might have in it, Cullen motioned to the man. "I'll see to it that Sister Nightingale gets this. Come. I'll walk you to the tavern and see that you get a proper bed for your efforts. If the people there don't recognize me, you can have the book back."

At that, the man seemed more comfortable, nodding as he fell into step with Cullen, and they wound their way up into the higher courtyard.

Cullen glanced down at the book, flipping a few pages and frowning as it was far too dark to see any of the words clearly. Trying to read it without light would just make his headache worse. "You'll have to forgive me. I've been rather preoccupied with security, and Sister Nightingale has been in charge of finding information on our Herald. When did she learn of this…witch that she believes the Herald to be?"

Despite the man's earlier suspicions of Cullen, something seemed to have set him at ease, for he spoke to Cullen as though they were old friends rather than someone he hadn't trusted not a few moments ago.

"I can't honestly say. A friend reminded me that we knew an old templar who was after a witch with eyes like our Herald's. Ser Ross. He's considered a bit of a crackpot, but it turns out he knew quite a bit about the Green Witch. He's been searching for her for over a decade. Apparently as soon as he heard of the Herald, he tried to make the trip to Haven, but didn't get very far. Health's failing him now. When I met him, he was saying he would come to Skyhold when he felt better, but…" The templar's eyes lowered. "I think he's too far gone to ever make it all the way up here."

They reached the doorway to the inn just as a few soldiers were slipping out, and at their salutes, the templar seemed to have any remaining suspicions dispelled. Cullen saw to it that the man was put in a decent cot, and then headed back to his own chambers. He'd have an hour or two to try to catch up on sleep if he wanted, but he already knew that he would instead be raiding their supplies for a candle to get a good look at this book.

After all, someone had wanted him to see it first.

He paused when he wondered what it was that had even made him get up. There had been someone, hadn't there?

Where had they gone…?

Even as he paused, glancing around, he saw movement in the shadows not far from him, and his hand instantly went to the hilt of his blade. However, wandering closer to the movement was fruitless. There was nothing but empty shadows, and in the end, Cullen returned to his room to look over what might well be a link to Herald Finley's past.

When he was settled in, with a candle lit and the book in his lap, he couldn't help but wonder if this was a sort of betrayal, reading about her adventures when she wasn't there.

But then, these weren't really stories of her, surely. They were the stories of a witch.

A 'witch'.

Maker, but it always gave him a headache to deal with rumors of witches and insanely powerful apostates and the like. The thought that Herald Finley might be the sort to perpetuate such tales was preposterous at best.

After all, she'd been very adamant that she was just a simple apostate…

Gaze wandering down, he flipped the journal open to the first page.