A/N: Thank you for reading!

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Since the night he'd held her at the edge of camp, Finley had been avoiding him. Cullen was sure of it.

Maker, Josephine had even suggested they talk. She'd said that Finley seemed even more on edge than usual and that Cullen seemed to have a way with her, but the way she said it had made Cullen worry that perhaps Finley had said something to her, and she was trying to resolve matters before Denerim.

There was tension between them, and he knew Josephine had to noticed it.

He'd tried to tell himself that he was just overthinking things, but…

But everything was making him on edge.

Worse, he kept hearing people whispering about some damned bet. He'd asked Cassandra about it, but she'd simply shrugged and said she'd heard of one that was how long it'd take her to kill Varric, so she wasn't really interested in knowing what the newest one might be.

With the pace they'd set for Denerim, there wasn't a lot for him to do, other than ride and think things over. And his mind was merciless. It replayed his most recent interactions with Finley, thinking about the way she might reach for him, then pull away, as though she were troubled by something. The way she twisted under his gaze, like she was…afraid.

Of what?

Him?

He would never hurt her…

He almost wished Alistair was there, if only to give him a distraction. The man had spent his childhood screaming in Chantries, so Cullen didn't doubt he'd be good for a laugh or even an argument. At this point, he would have taken listening to a victory speech about how 'witches' had to be real.

Unfortunately, Alistair had stayed back at Skyhold. When Finley had asked Alistair if he was coming with them—stars in her eyes and hope in her voice—he'd said no.

Well, there had been snorting, extreme exaggeration, and even a short giggle from Finley despite herself.

The famed grey warden was certainly good at drawing a smile from their Inquisitor…

But no, Alistair was going to wait for Hawke to get back, as Hawke had sent word that they'd found something important. Considering how he'd marked all of his letters to Skyhold as important, telling them that they needed to allocate resources they didn't have to help people who wouldn't let them in their country, Cullen wasn't sure how serious to take the latest message. However, Alistair had been firm in staying behind.

Cullen was fairly certain Finley wanted to toss Hawke off a cliff for claiming the warden's attentions, but Cullen hadn't been able to mind that part so much. The man could trip into a room, and Finley was giddy and girlishly adorable.

She never did that with him…

He supposed he ought not to be jealous, considering she was sleeping with him, not Alistair, and yet he could not keep his scowls at bay. And a relationship between the Inquisitor and a warden outside of the Inquisition wouldn't cause the same sort of stir as her finding comfort in her commander's chambers…

Maker, help him.

Even with Finley's adoration for every warden she met—at least it seemed so—he still wished Alistair was around, if only to distract him from the facts that Finley was avoiding him and that he had no desire to meet with King Cousland.

Maker, don't let that man remember him. Please, please, please…

He'd been a no one back then, a pitiful wretch, mad from the horrors he'd seen, when Warden Commander Brosca had led her group in to save the day. It had been bad enough that Alistair had seen him that way, but he'd never thought of the strangers.

That he worked with Leliana now was a certain level of misery, as he still expected her to bring up Kinloch Hold at some point, though she never did. He was glad of her silence.

Perhaps, even if the king did recognize him as the raving madman from the tower, he would keep quiet about it.

It was a hollow hope.

King Cousland had been one of the more vocal members of the group who had saved the Circle. At the time, Cullen had thought the noble a blessing, a voice of reason that should have given credibility to his own demands.

He could still taste that bitterness in his mouth from when Knight-Commander Greagoir had refused to kill the remaining mages, not seeing them for the dangers he was certain they posed. With all that had happened, all those who had pretended to be a decent sort only to turn into murderous abominations, how anyone had been able to argue with him had been madness in his mind at the time.

Cousland had agreed. Better to cut them down now than to have them take out the remaining templars and make sure that the Wardens' treaty could not be fulfilled.

Warden Brosca had been ready to toss both Cullen and Cousland into the lake, hissing that she'd like to see them swim in their armor. She'd had more choice words, though they'd been directed at Cousland rather than Cullen, and all he'd known was that Alistair and the others with them had managed to calm things down.

In the end, they'd gone on to save the world, and he'd gone to Greenfell to 'recover'. As though all he'd been through was something that could be gotten over with a bit of fresh air.

Granted, after the first month, he'd thought that…

He'd been a fool, a young, traumatized fool, who'd sought comfort in the first arms that would take him.

Ellendra.

He'd needed someone, anyone to keep him grounded in reality, and Ellendra had offered him her hand and her bed. He'd been desperate to learn and please, to do anything that distracted him from his memories, anything that kept him awake long enough that he was too tired to have the nightmares that haunted him.

He hadn't loved her, but at the time he thought he had. She'd been his first, and he'd felt that with her he could build some semblance of a life, something constant, something different. He'd even mulled over leaving the Order a night or two, though he hadn't known what he'd possibly do with his life if he wasn't a templar.

And then that had fallen through as easily as it had started, and he'd requested transfer, again wanting to be anywhere but where he was.

Knight-Commander Greagoir had suggested he not head off so quickly, that he take the time to allow himself to get better—that he would fight for the Order to allow Cullen that. He came by a few times—when he could spare—to check up on Cullen, though he'd seen the old man's visits through a haze of betrayal, after the lenience at the hold. The knight-commander had tried again and again to talk to Cullen about what had happened, to encourage him to work through his problems.

But he couldn't.

And he couldn't stay in Greenfell. To know he was just one in a long line of Ellendra's lovers, to know that he'd meant as much to her as he had to the demons that had toyed with him…

He'd needed to be anywhere else.

And so even though Kirkwall was the largest Circle in Thedas, he'd gone there when he'd heard of an opening, hoping to recover some part of himself that he'd lost by throwing himself back into the dream he'd had ever since he was a child.

He would be a protector, someone who would keep the innocent safe from monsters.

Before he'd thought that meant keeping regular people safe from abominations, and keeping mages safe from mobs.

After the madness at Kinloch Hold, though…

His concept of monster was already blurry when Meredith had gotten ahold of him, and she'd done nothing but make sure that the lines were redrawn in all the wrong places, the places he feared they should be.

She had been so confident, so firm, that he'd trusted her. She'd been the strict, stern leader that he'd wanted Greagoir to be. She didn't give the mages chances to fall to temptation, she protected people.

Or so he'd thought at the time.

Because of that, he'd been her most loyal templar, one of the many reasons that he was promoted so quickly to her second in command.

There were rumors that he was Meredith's plaything, though it held no merit. Their relationship was strictly professional, and he'd figured that any relations with mages or other templars would lead to nothing but heartbreak or manipulation.

Linda had been a poor waif in Lowtown who somehow always managed to be around and in need of saving. While he'd initially looked into her, suspecting her of helping blood mages seeing as she was always somehow involved with them, it ended up that she was there for him. She fancied him and risked most anything for a moment or two to talk.

After a particularly bad night, he'd fallen into her arms much as he had with Ellendra, just wanting a distraction from everything that was wrong with his life.

She'd been kinder, gentler, and yet he'd never been able to coax his heart into their affair.

They'd carried on for a few years, until one day she came up and told him that she was getting married.

Cullen had been surprised that that hadn't hurt him like he would have expected it to, but he'd figured that that was what his life was. A series of short reprieves from the usual misery of the horrors that lay just beneath the surface, that haunted his nights.

After that, he'd limited himself to The Blooming Rose when he absolutely couldn't stand the loneliness that smothered him.

It had been well enough, good enough for someone like him.

Though, as he'd realized what was going on in the Gallows—what he was letting happen—he'd turned away from even that.

Meredith had not been amused when his gaze had turned inward toward the templars, when he'd started listening to Ser Thrask and First Enchanter Orsino.

She'd been even less thrilled when he'd brought several templars to the Grand Cleric's attention for their crimes against mages after Meredith dismissed him.

It was like he'd made a declaration of war against his superior, and even as he feared lines would be drawn within the templars, he learned that they were already there, and that he'd been on the side of the real monsters.

Maker, he'd been one of them.

Suddenly, he'd found himself having to make sure Ser Thrask or one of the mage-sympathetic templars were out hunting down apostates with him, or he'd find himself getting shouldered into boulders or shield bashed in the face as a fellow templar 'mistook' him for a mage in the heat of battle.

All accidents, of course.

And while it was a monster coordinating these things, he couldn't help the slithering, twisted self-loathing that curled inside him, whispering that he deserved at least this much.

He deserved to be hurt, to be lonely, to suffer as those he'd neglected had suffered.

When he'd left the Order to join the Inquisition, he'd hoped he could find a way to atone, to…not to make up for what he'd done. That could never happen. But he'd wanted to try to be the man he'd dreamed of being when he was boy.

A protector.

He'd never even considered he might find someone…let alone a mage who held the key to saving the world. That someone like Finley could even consider him…

He'd given up on romance long before he realized he didn't deserve it, and yet here he was, jealous of a hero because of the way the woman he loved seemed drawn to him.

His mind stopped at that, for some reason, slowly playing back his most recent string of thoughts.

Cullen nearly fell off his horse as what he'd thought processed. Snapping up and alert, he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his near accident, though no one seemed to be paying him particular mind.

He ran his fingers through his hair, staring ahead, heat creeping up into his cheeks.

Maker, he loved her.

He loved Finley.

How?

How could he love her already?

Even as he wondered, all he could do was think of the way she spoke, of the quiet, hesitant smiles she gave him, of the way she came to him before anyone else, the way…

Maker, help him.

He wanted to offer her a ride on his horse, just to feel her body against his. Theirs was a slow enough pace that they could have talked off and on.

Talked and touched and…

And she was avoiding him.

Had she figured out before he had and been scared off? This was…it was far too soon. Love was something that took time and…

And he needed to see her.

When they'd camped for the night, he made sure the guards were posted and then searched for Finley, only to find that she was being as elusive as usual, though Leliana had assured him he needn't worry and so he'd figured the spymaster had eyes on her wherever she was. Despite wanting to keep looking for her, he'd given in, his body weary from the days on the road, and headed to his tent.

However, when he reached it, he found a small paper tied to his tent flap's tie. He unraveled it, a mite bit annoyed, especially seeing as the delivery reminded him of Sera, and she was supposed to be back at Skyhold.

He scanned the letter carefully and then sighed. The misspellings screamed that Sera had stowed away with them. While he didn't care so long as she didn't cause any mayhem, he knew that Josephine would be concerned if she found out.

Perhaps he'd forget to bring it up.

The note, however, said that he'd find something important at the stream just south of where they were camped, and so he headed off, even as he wanted to do nothing more than crawl into his tent and pretend to sleep as his mind played through every interaction he'd ever had with Finley and why she might be mad at him at present.

When he reached the stream, he found another note tied to a branch—almost hidden—that pointed him to the right.

As he wondered if he should have his blade drawn, he wandered along the brush, watching the water flow past, quick enough that it was clear and crisp. The underbrush and foliage were dense enough that—while it could hide someone easily—he doubted anyone could move through it easily to prepare a sneak attack, so clearly the notes hadn't been alerting him to a possible weak point near the camp.

If this was some simple diversion tactic…

He forgot about sneak attacks and pranks the second he heard a surprised gasp and looked up to see Finley. She was sitting on a large rock beside the water, washing her long hair.

It was one of the first times he'd seen it nearly tangle free, and his breath caught in his throat as he watched her, imagining for a second it was his fingers in her hair.

"Commander." Her voice was hesitant, as though she wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. He was surprised by how much that caution hurt.

"Finley."

At her name, that small, quiet smile he so loved whispered across her lips. It was gone too soon. "Has…something happened?"

That was what he wanted to know.

"Someone left me a note that I should come out here."

"Oh…" He could see the gears turn quickly in Finley's head as she assigned blame to the appropriate parties. So she knew Sera was here.

Wonderful.

She'd shed most of her clothes to keep them from getting wet as she fought with her hair, and the way her under shirt clung to her made him want to take her in his arms and cast it aside with everything else. To feel her heart beating with his, to…

"You shouldn't be alone out here."

"I'm used to being alone," she retorted, shrugging and turning back to her original task.

Cullen stepped up beside the rock she was seated upon, watching her muscles in her bare arms move beneath her skin a few minutes before he managed to gather his thoughts.

"You could be hurt."

"I'm used to getting hurt."

Cullen flinched at that. A thousand responses flitted through his mind. He was sorry, even though he'd never hurt her himself. He wished she wasn't used to it. He wanted to make sure she wouldn't be ever again.

There were so many things he wanted to say, and instead, he stood there, close enough that he could reach out and cup her face in his hands, and yet feeling like he couldn't.

"Finley." Before he'd realized it, he'd knelt in front of her, peering up into her face, searching her expression. He wanted to ask what had happened between them. He'd found her in the woods early on when they'd started traveling, and she'd been crying, and she'd… He'd held her for a little while before taking her back to her tent.

The next morning, there had been a change, though, and he wasn't sure what had caused it.

"Cullen."

Her voice was soft, but the sound of his name on her lips sent a shiver through him.

"I just…" she trailed off, letting her hair fall against her back and shaking her head. "I miss the Wilds. It's a lot easier when you know what to expect and what will likely happen and…here…nothing makes sense."

Without thinking, he finally breeched that impossible distance between them, fingers gently brushing across her jaw and cheeks. He just wanted to do something, anything that would help her. "You're not alone with that. Everything's a bit of a mess right now."

Finley leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as she brought her hand up to hold his. Even as she pressed a kiss into his palm, she straightened up, worried. "Am I…should we even…" He leaned toward her as she struggled to find her words. "I don't really get how to do this. With you. Everything is so complicated."

Cullen blinked, staring up at her, at the earnest worry settling on her features.

She looked away from him, wincing as she started to say something, and he couldn't help himself anymore.

Leaning forward, he caught her lips with his, moving his hand back to the nape of her neck, as he moved his lips, seeking to memorize hers.

There was a second's hesitation that almost made him stop, before her fingers were in his hair, tugging him closer.

He moved with her, surging up and pushing her down onto the rock, his knee propping himself up slightly over her as their hands wandered over each other, desperately seeking bare skin. One of her legs slid up along his to wrap around his waist, though Finley stopped short, pulling away a little.

As she caught her breath and he fought the urge to simply kiss her again, she bit her lip. "Cullen…your sword is pressing into my leg."

"That's not my sword."

"What I'm talking about is."

With a glance, he saw the problem—obvious thing that it was—and felt like an idiot. Of course he was still wearing his sword on his hip. Even as he cursed how in the way it was, hand reaching to his belt he stopped himself.

Something had cracked in the woods. A stick.

Cullen held his breath, waiting to see what would come of it. Finley was the one to dismiss it. "It was just an animal."

When he looked back at her, however, he couldn't shake the fact that someone could have snuck up on them, and they would have been caught off guard.

Maker, he was supposed to be protecting her, not putting her in more danger.

She seemed to be on the same page, already sitting up and running her fingers through her hair to make sure it was still clean.

"I'll…stay with you until you're ready to go back." The words were forced, and he was half afraid to meet her gaze, that he might lose himself in thoughts of touching her again.

She simply nodded, reached out, and squeezed his hand. Then she was back to finishing up with the last few tangles in her hair. Cullen watched her, trying to keep his attention on their surroundings as well, though he had a hard time with that when they were so close.

Turning his back to her, he walked away a few paces, trying to think of something to calm the fire in his blood. Abruptly, he straightened up and looked back at her. "You were going to say something."

"Hmm?" Finley braided her hair quickly and turned back to her clothes.

"When I kissed you. I didn't mean to interrupt you. I just…" He wasn't sure what to say that would excuse his actions, but he didn't want her to think he would just kiss her to get her to stop talking or…

She hesitated at that, fingers gripping her shirt with more force than necessary as she stared blankly at the fabric.

"It wasn't anything important." She tugged it over her head and then gave him a hesitant smile. "Just a silly fear."

That gave him pause.

That she'd been willing to open up to him made him want to press the matter, and yet…

Cullen could understand not wanting to talk about things well enough, and so he nodded, reaching out and lightly catching her hand. "Alright." A light blush settled on her cheeks when he squeezed her hand, and he motioned back toward the camp. "We should get some sleep."

As he let go of her, she drew in a slow breath, nodding before she exhaled. "We reach Denerim tomorrow, yes?"

"We do."

"We…we're not going to be there more than a few days."

Cullen gave her a reassuring smile. "We'll be heading back to Skyhold by the end of the week."

As he gave her that assurance, she let out another slow breath, tilting her head back and staring up into the branches overhead as they wandered back. "I'll be glad to have this past us."

"As will we all."

And for the first time that night, she gave him a more genuine smile, stretching up on her toes to kiss his cheek before winding her way back through the trees to camp with the soft, quiet ease that made him wonder if he hadn't been wrong in assuming it would be hard to have a sneak attack in this area.

He'd order a few more guards before he went to bed.

He'd messed up so many times before, but this time he would act as the protector he'd sworn he would be.

He would.