A/N: Omg I'm sorry this took so long to write. Inspiration has been a fickle thing lately. Anyway, thank you for reading!

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"You've got to be kidding me," a loud whisper hissed as Cullen strode up the stairs toward his office, drawing him out of his thoughts about the growing headache in the back of his skull, and the nausea that had been creeping through him since he'd woken up.

"No, I'm not. The bet is real and—"

As Cullen stepped up onto the ramparts, both soldiers jumped as though he were a darkspawn crawling out of the Deep Roads, coming specifically for them. Both of them snapped to attention so quickly that the movement did nothing to ease his nausea. Cullen couldn't help but narrow his eyes.

The guilt on their faces was so plain, but he couldn't figure out what it was that they were on about.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, ser!" They both snapped in unison, a bit louder than necessary.

His head throbbed.

Were they afraid of him?

"At ease," he murmured, deciding that whatever their problem was, he would worry about it later. After all, they'd been talking about some bet, not an assassination attempt or anything dire.

And he already had enough to get done before they left in the morning.

If he could focus.

The nausea had hit him about an hour after he'd left Finley's side, and it was like a curse, building up and curling within him, making it a fight to make sure his steps never faltered as he reached his office.

With any luck, it would pass quickly. The last few weeks, most of the times this mess reared its ugly head, it was little more than a small swell of a wave, and as much as he feared it breaking, it never did.

If he could just keep his mind focused, then everything would be fine.

After all, there was no reason for today to be any different. Any worse.

He'd barely had a chance to settle into his office and begin reviewing a few different documents with Knight Captain Rylen—his old friend was going to be left in charge while Cullen was away—when suddenly the door leading to the rotunda snapped open and Josephine stormed in, looking something akin to a vengeful goddess.

"Commander, a moment of your time, if you can spare it?"

Cullen's head pounded, but he lowered the papers he was going through, and inclined his chin toward her. "Has something happened?"

"Our illustrious inquisitor has run off." The usual patience in Josephine's voice was thin, her arms crossed and a heavy frown replacing her usual smile. "If she happens by, would you be kind enough to bring her back to me?"

Even as he nodded, trying not to notice the way the edges of his vision wavered for a second, he reached up and scratched at the pain pooling at the base of his skull. "Gladly, but…wouldn't Leliana and her scouts be better suited for this?"

At that, Josephine hesitated, only a breath. "I have already gone to her, but I thought it good to come to you as well, seeing as she does rather enjoy your company."

Images from the night before flitted through his mind at that, of his fingers tangled in her hair, her body arching up into his, the feel of her beneath him, around him.

He found himself at a loss for words for a moment. Even as heat crept up his neck, making his headache throb a bit harsher, he nodded again, trying to focus on the matter at hand. He'd promised Finley he'd do his job, hadn't he? "Ah, yes."

"Be careful," Rylen offered, a grin in place. "Have him turn her in too often and she'll find a new friend to hide out with."

The words stung. That she might grow wary of his company…

As Rylen's smile slowly gave way to a questioning look, Cullen shook his head. It was just…a joke. He felt a bit of bile rising up in his throat, though he swallowed it down. It was a good thing he'd skipped breakfast.

Maker, this wasn't going to be a good day, was it?

With a tired sigh, Josephine nodded to both men and shook her head. "I swear, sometimes I think I understand her, and then she just…snaps. I have tried to speak with her about what exactly it is that upsets her, but it just makes things worse. I—" Josephine quite abruptly realized what she was saying and snapped her mouth shut. After a pause, she nodded to them again. "Thank you for keeping a lookout."

And with that she was gone, just as quickly as she had come.

Part of Cullen wanted to drop everything and start his own search, if only to make certain that Finley was alright. He could remember her after their fight in Haven's Chantry, of how she'd panicked and had just crumpled to the floor, fear overwhelming her.

If that was what was happening now, he could understand why Josephine was at such a loss.

Further, if that was happening right now, he didn't want her to be alone.

A pang of pain shot through his skull.

Now was not the time…

"I'm sure Leliana's scouts will find her."

Rylen's voice was nearer than he expected, and he snapped his head up, startled. For a moment, the Knight-captain looked as surprised as Cullen felt, though his eyes grew gentler for just a moment. Cullen hated him in that second.

He didn't need pity, didn't need understanding.

He needed to do his damned job.

Making a point of focusing his gaze on the papers he'd been reviewing, his voice somehow managed to come back to him, strong and measured as he continued with their briefing.

Despite having been sure that he would be up all night working his way through reports and the like, he somehow found himself with nothing to do by midafternoon.

It was the first time this had happened since…well, since he'd joined the Inquisition.

There were reports still coming in, of course—there were always reports—but he'd already set Rylen up in his office to give the man and the scouts time to see how well they worked together and to have time to admonish anyone who felt they could treat the knight-captain differently than the commander, should such an instance occur.

Security for the trip was already in order, he'd checked everything over thrice, and there would be nothing more to do until they were actually leaving, in that regard. There were no plans of moving troops while they were away, aside from a few mineral gathering missions that had already been assigned.

Fortifications to Skyhold itself were still underway, but there wouldn't be an update on that for another few days. Rylen would have to see to that.

And despite tensions between mages and templars, they didn't seem ready to start anything just yet.

Hopefully, they never would.

Even as he wondered if perhaps he should try to get some rest—lunch was still out, with his stomach feeling queasy—though he dreaded the thought. Twice during his rounds with Rylen, he'd thought he'd seen…things in the shadows. Figures, monsters, twisted flesh and hulking, deformed shoulders, dark eyes that only reflected an inner malice. Creatures he'd been fortunate not to see since joining the Inquisition.

Sleeping was not going to be pleasant.

Last night had been so…perfect. It felt like he was being punished for allowing himself to get lost in another's arms. Of allowing himself to forget everything that had happened and just live in that moment, arms wrapped around one another as smile pressed against smile.

What did she even see in him?

She'd called him too kind, once, though he still couldn't fathom how she'd drawn that conclusion.

He wanted to be, though.

Before he'd met her, he'd just wanted to be a better person, to drag himself back from what he'd been, but now…he wanted to be the man she thought he was. Someone who actually deserved her.

Like that could ever happen.

"Still not there, still not good. Can one even be good themselves if they can't see it in others? To see the good is so…hard. So hard not to hate, not to fear. What if a first impression is wrong? Better to be wary than dead. It's so easy to be deceived. A monster hides behind even the prettiest eyes. Any eyes. She proved it was possible that anyone could hide that sort of evil in them."

Cullen blinked out of his thoughts and glanced toward the blonde boy standing beside him. He'd ended up on the ramparts, though he didn't remember walking there.

He'd met the boy before, though he couldn't place where.

"Any power can be corrupted," Cullen murmured, mind flitting back to his former knight-commander at the boy's words.

"And any evil can gain power if it's ignored," the boy agreed. "Diligence is a noble aspiration, but a difficult one."

Cullen shifted a little where he stood, frowning. Uldred and Meredith were odd mirrors of each other. Both had worked right under the noses of those around them, poisoning minds and torturing those they felt were enemies.

The only difference was that he should have seen what Meredith was doing so much sooner.

He had. He'd known the things she did, and yet he'd turned a blind eye, telling himself she was the knight-commander and that it was her job to decide what force was necessary. It had been his job to keep the mages in the Gallows, to find them when they ran. He wasn't there enough to know that her methods were too strict, even when the mages begged that they were.

That's what he'd told himself…

Sometimes he wished he could tell himself that again, if only so he might rest a little easier.

It was a selfish, vile wish.

"You are better than she was," the boy offered as he began to walk. Without thinking, Cullen matched his pace. "It is hard to stand up to evil when you find it."

"I didn't find it," Cullen muttered. "I knew it was there, and I let it fester. I helped it."

The boy nodded slowly. "Yes, but you can't change that. Better to move forward and keep what you've learned in your heart and head."

"I try."

"I know."

With a blink, he was standing by himself on the ramparts, near the door to one of the towers. It was the one where he'd spoken to Finley about being a witch. His headache still drummed at the back of his head, but it was a bit softer than before, and he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps she was up there.

He opened the door and felt as though the darkness inside was ready to swallow him whole. His heartbeat quickened and he gulped as he swung the door shut, feeling as though he were already trapped in the room, with the walls too close, not enough room to stretch, to breathe.

Whirling away, he gripped the wall of the battlements, gulping down air as he looked out over Skyhold, reminding himself that he wasn't trapped in a little space, but in one that stretched out in every direction, the open sky overhead, wide and free.

As he managed to gather himself enough to let go of the wall, his gaze just happened toward the back of the barn. There, on an outcrop of wall behind it that was mostly hidden by a few trees growing there, a ledge that must have once served as another set of stairs, though the wall was far too debilitated to know for sure, was a bit of cloth stretched out. A slender hand moved it and he caught a faint flicker of green that went with it before disappearing back behind the barn.

Cullen took in a few slow breaths, eyeing the wall to see how one might get to that spot in particular. Not wanting to walk through the tower, he chose to backtrack, going down the steps carefully, feeling a little foolish that his balance wasn't quite what it should be, and then wandering through the courtyard and into the barn.

Stable boys and Horsemaster Dennet were busily preparing for the trip in the morrow, with the older man barking orders and making that chaos move at his whim.

It was impressive, though Cullen quickly drew himself up the stairs to the second floor of the barn. There he found Warden Blackwall going over his own supplies and inspecting the different bags he had. The warden looked up and started to get out of his seat, though Cullen waved for him to stay where he was.

"Commander," he nodded respectfully.

Even as Cullen glanced around, wondering if the warden would even know about the ledge behind the barn, the man coughed. When Cullen looked at him, he nodded his head to the side, gaze flicking with it and then resumed inspecting his bags.

Cullen stood there a moment before slowly walking the way he'd indicated. It seemed further from where he was trying to get, but as he looked around, he found an old window was opened and, if he stepped on the sill, he could pull himself up to the beginnings of a ledge a little way to the right of it.

Once he was up there, the roof of the barn made it impossible to follow the ledge without crawling on his stomach. Instead, he opted to carefully step across the roof itself.

Even as he wondered if he was being foolish, he looked up from where he was stepping to see the roof ended shortly and there, on the small space of the ledge beyond, was Finley.

She was in a rather lovely Ferelden styled dress, with the skirt spread out around her, except for the part she had pulled to herself where she was…

Maker, she was sewing the hem herself.

No wonder Josephine had been displeased to have her run off.

As soon as his gaze was on her, she was looking back up at him. There was a second of hesitation before she straightened up where she sat, relief flitting across her features.

It sent a shiver through him that merely seeing him could make her feel better.

He made his way the last few steps before hopping down to where she was. Two long strides took him to the edge of her skirt, and he tried not to frown when he saw that her sewing skills were wanting.

While the hem looked even at a glance, it was far too thick for a typical hem, and when he looked closer he realized that she had half a dozen threads winding around. The finished sections were wide enough that they gave the illusion of being neat, but at the closer glance, he could see that the threads crisscrossed over each other, filling gaps that had been left by others. The stitches themselves varied in length and there was no way to try to pretend that the part she was working on now was in a straight line. It reminded him of a half-starved, leafless vine, twisting its way across the fabric.

He doubted that was her intention.

When she patted the edge of her dress, fingers just barely brushing the stone beyond, he took the invitation and sat beside her, watching with poorly veiled amusement as she went back to the task she was taking most seriously.

"I suppose it is too much to hope that you are here of your own volition and not on Josephine's behalf?"

"I doubt I'd have found you if she hadn't let me know you were missing," he admitted. He wished his was close enough to run his fingers through her hair, but he'd have to crawl across her skirt to do that, and he wasn't about to leave shoe prints or scuff marks on the fabric. When Finley replied with a soft 'humph', he couldn't help his smile.

Leaning forward as close as he dared, he peered up at her, catching her gaze. "Is there a reason you're up here by yourself?"

"I thought you'd be busy today." There was a hint of disapproval in her voice as she added, "You did leave rather early."

"I wanted to make sure I didn't fall behind," he said, straightening out of his lean when he felt his world spin a little.

Even as he settled back, she followed, moving onto her knees, one hand propping herself up over her skirts as her other brushed against his forehead and then cheek. "You're not well."

The dress she was in was well fitting at the top, though it was a low cut, and as her hair spilled over her shoulders, he found himself rather distracted by the view of her collarbone and the skin beneath. His hand was halfway to her when she repeated her statement, moving and tugging her skirt out of the meticulous circle she'd set it in so that she could reach him better.

As she tilted his head back, fingers feathering over his neck feeling for swelling or other signs of illness, his gaze finally moved to her face.

Her lips were slightly parted, eyes lowered as she looked him over so that he could see just how long her lashes were.

For a moment, he forgot to breathe.

"A headache?"

"I'm fine." He wasn't sure how he managed to find his voice, but as soon as he'd spoken, Finley frowned and settled back to her previous seat, busying herself with setting the fabric around her back into place. She looked mildly indignant, though she said nothing of his dismissal of his pains. He watched her resume her sewing for a few minutes before sighing. "You know, there are seamstresses here specifically to do that."

"I wish to do this here."

"Would you like me to show one or two of them up here to help you?"

The look she gave him was one of betrayal, and he was surprised at how sharply that hurt.

"Finley…"

Her gaze darted away from him, and he found himself resting his knees on her skirt anyway so that he could reach her. He brushed her hair back as she blinked up at him, surprised. As he tucked her hair behind her ear, he let his fingers curl around the shell of it, and he gently kissed her.

Whatever tension was in her seemed to drain at the mere touch of their lips. Their kiss was far gentler than anything last night, and yet it left his heart racing just the same. As he pulled away, she chased him just long enough to give him a quick kiss on his scar.

"There's too much movement in Skyhold today," she mumbled finally, slender fingers working the needle through the fabric, again and again. After a few more stitches, she dropped that thread and went back to one of the others that was waiting where she'd left the majority of them. As that second thread chased after the first, sometimes crisscrossing the stitches, he peered up at her, watching the murky expression that had taken hold.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just go somewhere quiet with Josephine so that she can help you with what you'll need to know when you meet the nobles in Denerim?"

"Except it wouldn't be somewhere quiet," Finley retorted, frown deepening. "There would be the experts on Ferelden culture and the seamstresses and whatever other manner of people she decides to drag along with us. All rushing about, moving from one side of the room to the other, slipping behind me with sharp things…" She trailed off a moment before shrugging. "They're saying the king doesn't care for mages."

"Who told you that?" Cullen asked. It was likely true enough, if what little Cullen remember of King Cousland remained true, but he could hope that someone had created some elaborate story that he could dismiss to allay her fears.

"No one." Her voice wavered slightly and she cursed softly as she stuck her finger with the needle. It was healed before a drop of blood could tarnish her skirt, and she kept going. "Alistair dragged Leliana to whisper about it. Alistair doesn't like him, said he's cruel, that it would be better if Leliana went to speak with him alone." She dropped that thread and started on another. "He helped stop the Blight, you know. King Cousland."

"I know," Cullen murmured. He sighed, reaching up and scratching at the back of his neck. His head still hurt. "But you don't need to worry. I'm bringing our best guards—and Leliana, Cassandra, and I will all be there to protect you. And Josephine. She knows court intrigue like no one else, and while I may not understand the necessity of it, she's saved a lot of blood from being spilled with what she does. Have faith in us, would you?"

"A general doesn't outrank a king."

"No, but that doesn't mean I won't stand between you and him if it comes down to it. I'll make sure you stay safe," Cullen offered.

"No." He was surprised at the distress in her voice as he spoke. She shook her head furiously. "No. I don't need people deciding to stand between me and whatever threat. I'm capable of taking care of myself." Despite her words, there was fear in her voice. "I don't need—"

Cullen leaned forward and caught one of her wrists, tugging her to him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her a breath, his chin resting in her hair, with her half in his lap. "Would it help if I told you have I no intention of letting anyone cut me down, even a king? We'll escape together."

She shifted in his arms. At first he thought she was moving to put distance between them, but even as he loosened his grip, she snuggled more firmly against him, head resting against his shoulder. "Good, because I don't like leaving people behind."

Even as Cullen pressed a quick kiss onto the crown of her head, Warden Blackwall's voice interrupted them. "Commander? There's a courier looking for you."

It was then that Cullen realized there was a window closer to the ledge than the one he'd climbed out, though it didn't have a good way to get up to where they were. Even as his shoulders slumped, Finley slipped back to where she'd been, resuming her task.

"You know I have to let Josephine know where you are."

Finley sat a little straighter. "If you must." Her gaze snapped toward him. "I'm not moving until this skirt is finished, though. She'll have to come up here."

With a low laugh, Cullen rose to his feet, shaking his head. The motion made him a little dizzy, but it was nothing he couldn't work through. "I think you're underestimating our ambassador, but I'll let her know."