A/N: Just so you know, the Bog unicorn will definitely show up, but that was not it.

Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews!

Note: This chapter is NSFW.

...-...

Coming back to Skyhold was odd for Finley. It didn't feel like a homecoming, but she certainly was greeted with open arms. People she scarcely remembered came up and offered her things, words of wisdom, bottoms of this or that, foods, clothes.

A few scouts had joined her party as they drew into the valley, and by the time she made it into the castle, she felt like she was leading a parade. One full of mages and templars and common folk alike, and somehow, they were all getting along well enough.

Horses were brought out to them early on, and the scouts gathered the gifts as she did her best to thank everyone, fighting that feeling of claustrophobia that she'd all but forgotten.

That feeling of being watched.

She was almost certain the templars' numbers had doubled or even tripled. She rode with Solas, as they were both slighter than their companions—she wasn't sure where Cole had disappeared to, but then, that was hardly unusual—and he whispered to her once or twice that things were well. The templars would not dare attack someone with the mark.

It was a reminder she was surprised she needed, and she was glad that he was there to give it.

Their return was two days prior to the deadline she'd promised to meet. For just under two months, she'd been home, safe and hidden away in her Wilds. They'd gathered the notes, sent a corrupted unicorn to a peaceful rest in the world beyond, and even had time to swing by where Marcus had supposedly taken up residence. While they hadn't found him, it had been a blessing to collapse in her own pile of blankets and snuggle down in them, able to at least pretend she wouldn't have to leave them soon.

Without prodding, they'd ended up staying there for a few days, gathering a few reagents that hadn't yet spoiled from her stores and packing up what few things of hers were still there.

She and Alistair had wandered the caves a bit, looking for red lyrium, but they hadn't been able to find any signs of it, which left her wondering where Ser Barnebus had gotten infected. His hunting grounds had been fairly wide, but with their time limit in place, they hadn't the time to search it, leaving Finley to send out more notes to the mages she knew, warning them of the red.

During her time out, Solas spoke with her, restoring her tentative trust in him. He only asked her once what she knew of demons, but when she'd bristled, he'd instead turned his talks to spirits and the Fade, which she hadn't minded so much.

They talked of Cole in particular, of how he could have come to be in the real world, if many spirits might do so, and sometimes the spirit joined them to assure Finley that she couldn't just slip through like he had.

During one conversation, Cole had abruptly hugged her, and then let go, dropping sheepishly to the floor beside her as he whispered, "Even if she didn't know not to hurt them, it wasn't your job to tell her. You bear responsibility for too many pains that you couldn't stop."

It was surprising how much better she'd felt from just hearing those words. Maybe they weren't real, were just a way for Cole to ease her pains, but she liked to think he was honest.

That had seemed to change Solas' outlook on talking of spirits and the like as well, and they began to talk more of spirits' purposes and how they were corrupted. That interested her more than any talk of demons.

More than that, she wondered if demons could be reverted back to spirits, to which Solas had said it was not so black and white, and that natures were fluid and…a lot of things that she'd sort of grasped, but felt like if she tried to summarize, she'd be wrong.

Still.

The trip had brought her some much needed hope. They had notes that might lead to a cure to the Blight and red lyrium, and perhaps demons could be made spirits again.

That rather abruptly made demons less frightening.

Granted, she still didn't like the rampaging ones or the ones that wanted to make deals—that was still all of them, she supposed—but the concept of them felt more…manageable.

Even when she'd fought the ones around the seven rifts they'd encountered, she hadn't been as nervous. Her enemies had been creatures she could study instead of indomitable monstrosities that were too clever to be truly beaten.

She and Solas were getting along better, now, though she still worried about what might happen if they let their guards down too much with her demon watching—that creature always watched, whether Finley felt her around or not.

When she hadn't been discussing magic or spirits with Solas and Cole or searching for red lyrium with Alistair, Blackwall had taken to helping her with her Orlesian.

Alistair had helped with that too, possibly the most out of anyone.

While Blackwall had been helping her pronounce the word for tree, Alistair had dropped beside her, slouching back against the rock she was leaning against, and started making fun of the language itself. He'd purposely mispronounced words and had somehow roped her and Cole into singing a horribly butchered Orlesian song.

She still couldn't really string a proper sentence together, but she was a bit bolder with her vocabulary now.

As their growing procession drew closer to Skyhold, even Solas' assurances couldn't completely combat the urge to hide somewhere.

Those precious weeks away had been such a blessing.

Now, she would be here a few days and then off to a place with even more people.

And the number of templars had definitely grown since she left.

However, the one thing that kept her from trying to turn her damned horse around or just trying to escape the masses and their intent gazes was that she would get to see Cullen again.

Her mind had wandered to him constantly, to the way his calloused hands felt sliding over her body, the feel of his breath on her skin, his weight on top of her. His arms around her as she fell asleep beside him.

He had been the reason she'd looked out over the crowds once they were moving fast enough that she needn't address each person who came up. She knew he couldn't leave the castle often because of his role in managing the army. But surely with word sweeping through the valley that she was back…

The first she saw of him was up on the ramparts, talking to a few guards—mostly templars from the looks of it. She'd fretted the whole journey that he would die before she came back, even after Alistair had explained that the withdrawal didn't kill templars that quickly. That her warden hero had nearly become one had been curious, though she was grateful he hadn't ever taken his vows or lyrium.

Even as Finley wondered if she wanted to dare their scrutiny if it meant a kiss from the commander, Leliana was there, ushering her away and assuring her that they would have a war meeting once she had a chance to rest and freshen up.

Josephine did not wait for a war meeting.

Instead, no sooner was Finley in her tower room, Josephine was sweeping through the door, greeting Leliana and then focusing on Finley. While a few servants brought up water for a bath—Finley preferred a small spot under the undercroft where she could wash up in the edges of the waterfall, not that she'd tell anyone for fear of the spot becoming popular and crowded—Josephine questioned her on her Orlesian.

She seemed mildly pleased that Finley's language skills had made at least a little bit of improvement. However, rather than spend any time reveling in the accomplishment, she pulled a screen in between the two of them so that Finley could bathe in 'privacy' and kept talking.

There were things to be learned for the journey to Denerim. Did she know any Ferelden customs? Did she consider herself Ferelden? Did she know any of the Bannorn? Did she keep up with any politics?

When Finley finally snapped that she was a Wilder, not a damned Ferelden and that she didn't see why she would need to know so many names when she was going to speak with only two people, Josephine finally took a moment's pause to sigh.

"Finley, please. Do not refer to King Cousland and Queen Anora as 'two people'."

"They are," Finley muttered, stepping out of her tub as quickly as she could. She didn't like sitting in water that was full of the grime that had been on her. She pulled her hair up in a tangled, wet mass and managed to tie it up before dressing quickly.

With uncanny precision, the folding wall between them snapped to the side as Josephine closed it and then called for the servants to take out the bath water.

Finley couldn't help but wonder if Josephine had magic of her own.

Surely there was some reasonable way for her to be so…

As soon as Josephine saw her, she was fussing over her hair, taking it down and calling for another servant to dry it rather than let it dry on its own. When Finley darted out of their reach, Josephine explained that she had nobles to meet with after the war meeting, and it would be best to be ready before then.

When Finley started arguing that she'd just gotten back, Josephine simply replied, "And that is why the dress fittings will be tomorrow."

"More of them?" Finley hissed, without meaning to. The maid glanced at Josephine and then back. "Have you not already made me enough for years to come?"

"You do not wear these dresses every day," Josephine explained. "Some you may only wear once."

At that, Finley baulked. "If it can only be used a day, why make it at all? Set some nice curtains instead, make a blanket." She looked at the maid, hesitating. Normally, she wouldn't fight this too much, but she was tired and everything was resuming so quickly and she hadn't gotten to see Cullen yet. She motioned toward the maid, hoping to have someone help her reason. "Would you wear something that could only be worn a day?"

The maid coughed into a hand, cheeks flushing as her gaze darted from inquisitor to ambassador and back. Finally, she gave them a small shrug. "Not regular clothes…" Even as Finley let out a triumphant 'ha!', the maid added, "but party dresses are supposed to be extravagant."

Undeterred, Finley was ready to argue further, only for a sharp knock on the door to interrupt. Then Grand Enchanter Fiona glided into the room, smile in place, platitudes falling off her lips.

Finley wanted to scream.

…-…

The war meeting had been rescheduled for the morning.

Apparently the noble prats who were at the castle couldn't afford to wait another hour or two to meet with the great inquisitor—and 'herald', though she ignored that part—and it had taken the entire afternoon and evening dealing with them and having disapproving looks from Josephine shot her way whenever she was about to say something that would likely be unappreciated.

Josephine definitely had some sort of precognitive magic. There was no way she could see things coming so clearly otherwise.

How did she hide it so well?

Finley certainly didn't feel magic in her, and she hadn't any of the templars' attentions at all.

Sitting behind her desk where Josephine had left her, her head rested against a small stack of 'reading materials' that would be pertinent for Denerim. She was tired enough that she could fall asleep right there, though she knew better than that. She needed to slip downstairs to some quiet corner—though most of them looked to have been cleared out and occupied as the improvements to the castle continued.

Just as she tried to will herself to sit up so that she could go, she felt the faint prickle of a templar's gaze in the back of her mind.

There was but one man who felt that muted.

Lifting her head, she blinked as she found him standing in her open doorway, hand poised to knock with the backs of his knuckles. What had to be at least a dozen papers were tucked under one arm, and her shoulders slumped at the mere sight of them.

More reading.

She felt oddly betrayed that it had taken paperwork for him to come see her.

Cullen gulped as he watched her and shifted on his feet, glancing toward the floor and then back over his shoulder before finally meeting her gaze. "Forgive me. I can see you're tired—"

"Wait!"

The word was out before she realized she'd thought it, and she was out of her seat. She stopped just short of him, abruptly feeling a little foolish. She'd been thinking of the man for two months and now he was there and she…she wasn't sure what to say, what to do.

She knew what she wanted to do, but how to get there was…

If he wasn't so tall, she could have just kissed him right there.

"I…" The word fell awkwardly off his tongue, and he shifted his weight again, just a short space away. His ears grew red as he mumbled, "I missed you."

She felt warmth curling through her as well as she met his uncertain gaze with her own. "Me too." Immediately, she frowned. "I mean, I didn't miss me. That would be ridiculous. I missed—"

Her words cut off in time with paper hitting and sliding across the floor as a hand cupped the back of her neck and drew her to him, his lips hungrily moving against hers, desperate. She looped her arms around his neck as she stood on her toes, meeting his passion with her own.

He tugged her closer with a hand on the small of her back, fingers curling into her shirt.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, roughing up his smoothed back locks, allowing his curls to spring free at her touch. When one of her hands drew down to tug on his shirt, he released her long enough to jerk the fabric up over his head and then toss it to the side. He reached out and swung her door shut as he kicked out of his shoes and moved back to her.

She ran her fingers across his chest, feeling the soft dusting of chest hair across his muscles and pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

His hands cupped her cheeks as he turned her face back up to him, thumb brushing against her skin as he claimed her lips again.

There was a ferocity and strength in his touch, and it overwhelmed her, leaving her thoughts scattered and little more than the present with her, and all she could think was how much she wanted him there. With her, in her.

She panted softly as his lips trailed down her jaw and neck, his breath warm. His hands trailed down her, over her shirt to rest on her hips for a moment before he reached down, cupped her ass and hoisted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling herself closer to him, even as she moved one hand to pull her own shirt off.

However, Cullen moved them, still kissing her with a passion that left her breathless, and her back pressed against the wall. She forgot her shirt as he rolled his hips against her.

Her fingers dug into his shoulder as he moved against her. She could feel his length through their clothes, and she hated that they hadn't shed them already. Even so, she rocked her hips against his in time with him, smiling against his lips when he let out a growl.

His eyes were dark as he pulled away from her, letting her slip back to the ground as his hands fumbled with the laces of his pants.

Finley dragged her nails gently down his chest as it rose and fell, kissing his skin again before thinking better of it and tugging off her own clothes. It wasn't long before he was helping her along, his large hands pulling and tugging her free.

She'd barely kicked off her pants when his fingers were digging into her bare ass, again lifting her up. She felt giddy as the cool stone of the wall pressed against her bare back, a stark comparison to his body, warm and burning against her.

He nipped her neck, and she let out a soft whine that only encouraged him to do it again. His fingers tangled in her hair and he gripped her gently but firmly, tilting her head back so that he could press open mouthed kisses along her throat.

Tightening her legs around him, she rocked her hips against him, pleased when he let out low, growled, "Maker…"

He lifted his head, resting his forehead against hers a moment, catching his breath to speak. His lips were bruised and kiss-swollen, and she reached out, fingers brushing across them as she took in the flush on his cheeks, the way a few damp curls clung to his forehead, the way he looked at her with such…want.

She tugged him back to her, kissing him and coaxing him to open his mouth with the tip of her tongue. He surged back against her, forgetting whatever his earlier question was as she rocked against him again.

When they broke for breath again, she brushed the tip of her nose against his and nipped his lip, fingers wandering down his chest and stopping on his hip. She couldn't find her voice and instead asked him with her eyes.

He searched her gaze a moment before kissing her, down her neck until his head rested against her shoulder. Pressing her closer still to the wall, he braced himself with one arm as he reached down with the other, angling himself so that he could slide into her.

She let out a soft cry as he filled her in one fluid motion. For a moment, the world seemed to still, and she closed her eyes as she savored this. The closeness, the feel of him, his breath and body against her.

When she finally opened her eyes, breath stuttering in her chest, Cullen was watching her. His fingers feathered against the bottom of her chin, tilting her head back again as he kissed her, gently this time.

Her whole body tingled.

Then he began to move inside her, slowly at first as they found their rhythm, and picking up speed with each thrust. She moved with him, holding him as tightly as she could against her.

His chest rumbled with each grunt and growl, and she pressed herself against him, wanting to feel every one work their way through her. Wave after wave of pleasure swept through her, through them both, and she forgot everything save for the feel of it, of him.

Finally, her world exploded in a brilliant flash of white stars and she let out a soft cry as everything disappeared into that heavenly light.

…-…

The candles had burned out some time ago, a little after they'd finally made their way to the bed, and Finley had to say it was a decent one, though truthfully, she probably only thought that because of the man next to her, who was slowly running the tips of his fingers up and down her bare back, sending shivers through her.

It had taken them a while to make their way to the bed, and she had a feeling that she'd be miserable in the morning from lack of sleep, though she couldn't bring herself to regret anything they'd done.

Cullen was a blessing.

She'd had her share of flings since Aubrey, but she couldn't remember having nearly this much fun with anyone. And they'd only been together twice thus far. The idea of what might come left her lightheaded and giddy.

A little voice warned her that if she kept this up, it was going to end up far more serious than anything she was looking for, but she ignored it as she felt Cullen's gaze on her and opened one eye to peek up at him.

His eyes were heavy with sleep, and the movements of his fingers were getting slower and slower.

Moving onto her side so that she was facing him, she reached out and let her fingers trace down the side of his face gently, taking in the contours of his face, of the scar that ran up from his lip.

He was covered in scars. Magefire burns and cuts that had been made by daggers and claws. Most of them were old, though, and as she let her fingers trace down one near the center of his chest, she wondered what lessons he'd learned from them.

"I'm glad you're back, safe," he murmured, sleep sticking his words to his tongue.

With a flicker of a smile, Finley rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. I won't run off with the mark and leave this mess to fix itself."

At that, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm gently. It was her unmarked hand, the one with the mark curled close to her chest. He held her hand against his cheek his fingers locking loosely with hers. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm fond of more than just your mark."

"Are you?" Finley feigned innocence, meeting the confusion that settled on Cullen's features with batted eyelashes. "I hadn't noticed."

He let out a low bark of a laugh before reaching out and tugging her closer to him, moving so that he rested slightly on top of her. The skin around his eyes crinkled when she laughed, snuggling closer to him and stretching up to nip his throat.

"I'm glad you're safe, too," Finley whispered, closing her eyes and resting her palm against his chest. "Remind me to get a proper look at you in the morning, hmm?"

He settled down into the blankets beside her, hand running slowly up her arm and then down it. "What for?"

"I'll need to get a better idea about your lyrium withdrawal if I'm to find a way to ease it."

"Finley…"

It was funny how that word on his lips sent a thrill through her. She hadn't even been Finley for a year, and already that name was hers so completely, and when he said it, she couldn't imagine ever trying to go by anything else.

However, there had been a hesitation in his tone, and Finley looked at him, brow pinching together. "I don't want you to hurt."

"I deserve it," Cullen murmured, turning his head away from her, into the pillow. His hand had stilled, his touch lighter, as though he was going to pull away.

Without thinking, Finley drew herself closer to him, pulling his arm around her and then reaching up to play with a few curls around his ear. "No, you don't."

"I do." He looked back at her, something in his eyes. Pain? Fear?

Shame.

"I deserve to hurt, and I don't deserve…" he trailed off, as though he were too afraid to say whatever was on his mind. As though saying it would make it true.

She didn't know what he'd wanted to say, but she did understand the fear of it. Words held a power to them, and sometimes even a simple admission could bring things tumbling down.

"Do I have to set rank on you?"

He let out a disbelieving laugh as he looked at her, slightly bewildered. "Come again?"

"I do outrank you…" She felt a little unsure as she spoke, suddenly wondering what she was even trying to say. She said it regardless. "And if I say you shouldn't hurt then that should matter. And people work better in general when they don't hurt. And you're not people in general. Well, you're a general, but that's not really…the same…"

She trailed off.

He was biting his lip, trying to hide a smile as he watched her, and she abruptly buried her face in her pillow.

"I had a point."

Her voice was muffled by the fabric. Just as she tried to think of how to make her point make sense, she felt the mattress shift beside her and then Cullen's lips brushed against her shoulder.

"I will try to keep that in mind, inquisitor."

The way he said her title affected her almost as much as how he said her name, and she felt heat burst to life in her cheeks. She waited a moment before peeking up at him again.

He brushed her hair back, that beguiling half-smile in place as he watched her.

"That I had a point?"

"That…" he leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth, pulling away before she could turn to make it a real kiss, "you need me to be able to do my job."

With that, he slid to the edge of the bed. Finley scrambled after him, catching his shoulder before he could stand. "What are you doing?"

He shook his head, glancing over his shoulder at her, that smile tugging on his scar as he said, "My job."

"That can wait until morning," Finley protested, sliding closer to him and wrapping an arm around his.

"When I came to see you…" Cullen started, turning back to her. His hand cupped her cheek before sliding down to rest against her neck. His thumb stroked her throat gently. "I had plenty left to do, but told myself that if I came to you to talk about reports, then I could still see you without wasting time."

"Tonight was hardly a waste."

"Not to us," Cullen murmured, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss to her forehead. "Unfortunately, we run an organization; one that's growing quickly. I should have gotten more done yesterday. I have a day to get things in order so that things will run smoothly while we're in Denerim."

Reluctantly, Finley loosened her grip on his arm, settling back amidst the rumpled sheets. "But this isn't the end." When his eyes widened slightly, surprised, she hesitated. "I mean, us…this…"

"Maker," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her, lips moving against hers, molding in ways that were already becoming a welcome familiarity. "It seems too much to ask, but I want…this."

An odd warmth curled and settled in her chest at his words, and she let her hand slip away from him, giving him leave to go. Even as she resigned herself to his leaving, she perked up a little, despite herself. "Is there anything I can help with?"

"I'm sure your day is going to be hectic without me laying extra work on you." He ran his fingers through her hair once and then kissed a few long locks before standing. "Get some rest. I'll tell Josephine to let you sleep as long as you need. That might buy you an extra hour or two."