A/N: Thank you for reading!

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Cullen was pulling his boots on when he heard the door to the room open behind him. He didn't look back, instead focusing on the task at hand. His head still hurt, but it had settled down in the last two days, as had his nausea.

Granted, he still felt miserable, but the tonics were helping with the worst of it.

"You should be resting."

Cullen's hands faltered before he reached for his breastplate. "I've been laying around enough."

"You haven't," Finley snapped, moving around to take hold of his armor before could put it on. "And Solas isn't here anyway, so you might as well take advantage of your time here." She tried to pull his breastplate out of his hands and frowned when he didn't let go. "Commander Rutherford, do I need to say rank?"

He grimaced as a fresh pang of pain shivered through him and reluctantly let go.

"I've got fresh tonics, and I'd like you to try to eat something today…"

He tuned her voice out as she busied herself with setting things on the small table beside his bed and then, much to his chagrin, made a point to move his armor out of his immediate reach.

They'd been here for five days now, and Finley had done everything in her damned power, shy of actually tying him to the bed, to keep him in it. She'd had Dorian and later the Iron Bull take turns guarding the door, staying in the room with him to make sure he didn't try to sneak out one of the windows.

He hadn't even considered it until Bull mentioned it with a laugh.

He didn't like being coddled like this, but despite his best efforts, he could get no one to his side. When he'd tried to reason with Bull and Warden Blackwall, they'd both simply told him that Dorian and Finley alike were proficient healers and that, as they agreed on Cullen's condition, neither of his fellow warriors were about to go against the mages' decision.

Dorian had, last night, at least apologized for the other day. He'd said something offhanded about not realizing that Cullen had such a fear of magic before a more sincere apology had come forth. He'd then muttered that it must be driving Finley crazy that she couldn't just heal him—her spells were quite adept for such aches.

Or so Dorian had stressed, to which both Bull and Warden Blackwall had agreed. She was great with healing sore muscles and old aches, something Bull appreciated in particular.

Cullen felt a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back, and he looked up at Finley, pausing when he realized that she wasn't donning the chantry robes anymore. Instead, she was wearing...solid plaidweave.

She pulled it off about as well as one could, but it was oddly comforting to see her dressed closer to how she usually did.

He looked up to meet her gaze and was surprised at how disappointed he was to see that her eyes were still a plain blue.

She seemed to read his mind, sighing. "The villagers are still coming by, and I don't want to have to explain why I hid my eyes from them."

"Is this what you used to do?" Cullen asked, pausing when she gave him a quizzical look. "Before the Conclave? You pretended to be someone you're not just to avoid complications?"

"It's how I got into the Conclave, actually," Finley said, shrugging before she considered it. "And it depended. If I was close to the edge of the Wilds, I did hide my eyes on occasion. It's largely useless with templars about, though, as they can sense the glamour and know that I'm hiding something, if not what."

Her fingers felt his neck, his pulse. She held his hand, checking how badly he was shaking. The tremors had subsided substantially. Not that he wanted to admit it.

"I suppose there wouldn't be the legends of the Green Witch if you'd done it all the time."

Finley let out a huff and rolled her eyes. "I suppose not. You should lay down."

"I've been on my back for five days—"

"Four and a half."

"If I stay in here any longer, I'm going to go stir crazy," Cullen said, lightly catching her hands. "I'm well enough."

Finley's lips twisted to one side as she narrowed her eyes at him, likely appraising how much of a fight he was willing to put up. He met her gaze evenly, hoping that he looked as resolute as he felt.

"Some fresh air would do you good," she said, abruptly. "If you want, we can go for a walk...or you can go with one of the others. But you're not going alone."

Cullen took in a slow breath, struggling not to argue about how he wasn't a child that needed someone watching him constantly. Even as he thought that, he abruptly wondered if that was what mages felt like, living in the Circles, under constant scrutiny.

For a second, he wondered if she was doing this to give him a feel for what it was like, but then dismissed it as he looked up at her. She'd never been in a Circle, and even if she had...the healers at Greenfell had treated him similarly.

He didn't need to assign ulterior motives to her actions.

With a sigh, he rose to his feet, reaching for where he'd left his sword, resting beside his bed. He was somewhat surprised to find it still there, considering she'd put everything else out of his reach. He secured it to his waist and then turned to find she was already standing by the door, hand resting on the handle.

"Warden Blackwall can—"

"I'd rather walk with you," he replied, voice barely above a whisper.

She simply nodded and opened the door.

Dorian was sprawled rather unceremoniously on one of the nearby pews, talking to Bull, who hadn't deemed the seat worth the risk and instead just sat cross-legged on the floor.

Warden Blackwall was fiddling with some cloth scraps and thread.

The three looked up and nodded to them as they headed out.

He'd thought it would be more awkward to leave than it was, but everyone simply went back to what they were doing, apathetic to his newly regained, albeit limited freedom.

When he stepped outside, he was surprised by how much better he felt with his first breath. They'd had the windows open in the room he was in, but still, to be out, surrounded by the fresh air…

It didn't get rid of his headache, or the faint feeling of nausea, or that miserable whisper of power so easily within grasp at the back of his mind, but it did do something to his spirit.

When he looked at Finley, she motioned for him to go where he liked, and he quirked a brow. "You're just going to let me wander?"

"I thought you might like to pick the direction."

It was odd how easily they were talking. For months now, it had been strained at best, with awkward glances and silences and now…

It felt like a tenuous step forward.

Toward what, he couldn't say. He knew what he wanted, to be back to where they were, to have her lying beside him from now until the end of time, but he didn't know how to get there. If it was even possible anymore.

But at least they were talking.

He headed for the treeline, and they wound their way through the trees, maples and birches and oaks. When they reached a tiny creek to the south, Finley sat on a fallen tree and patted it for him to rest.

It annoyed him that she could read him so easily, that she knew he'd been growing weary. It annoyed him more that he was still falling short of where he wanted to be. What he wanted to be.

He tried to think of anything else, only for his mind to go back to the woman sitting beside him.

"Is it magic?"

"Hmm?"

"That lets you see someone's weaknesses," Cullen clarified, feeling oddly bare.

With a half laugh, Finley shook her head. "Not everything is magic, commander. I spent a lot of time studying how creatures—and people—move. That's all."

Silence settled back over them.

The last few days had been miserable. Aches and withdrawal aside, he hadn't known what to say to her. To any of them.

The last time he'd really talked to Finley, he'd made a fool of himself, all but begging for forgiveness that she couldn't give him. And then with his nightmares, he'd woken up more than once thinking that he'd stabbed her, or in the least stood by and watched, uncaring, as someone else had.

He couldn't help but shudder at the thought of how interchangeable her story was with so many others, of how he had been the templar 'doing the right thing' so many times, choosing caution over another person's...everything.

His vision swam.

"I never meant for this to interfere." The words were frustrated, but quiet, and he swallowed as he stared at the water winding gently past their feet. Before she could ask what he meant, he added, "Promises mean nothing if I cannot keep them."

"You've not broken any that I'm aware of," Finley offered, curling her toes in the soft sands at the water's edge.

He paused when he realized she was barefoot. Had she been the entire time? Glancing around he couldn't see any discarded shoes. He almost wanted to take his off and let the cool water wander across his skin.

An ache throbbed in the back of his head.

Finley deserved to know the truth. About him, about his failings.

"You...do you know what happened in Ferelden's Circle?"

"Bits and pieces," she said, toes stilling. "Enough to piece together what happened."

Cullen flinched at that. He remembered falling apart in Denerim, crying in her arms that she could compare their situations. That she had known any of his pain broke his heart, but he couldn't help but feel that they had taken different turns, learned different lessons from their experiences with blood magic.

He had learned to fear magic and she...she'd mentioned being afraid before her own magic came in, but…

"It was taken over by abominations." Cullen said, voice wavering, as though even now he might not be able to talk about it. Maker knew it was hard for him to even think about, much less put to words. "The templars—my friends—were slaughtered." He grew quiet, staring at the little ripples in the water and the stones beneath, shifting ever so slightly. "They must have been planning it for weeks, even months. There were so many of them, and they...they cut down anyone who wasn't with them. Good people died because they were too trusting." He swallowed before adding, "Templars and mages alike."

The forest felt quiet, though the longer he sat there, the more he could hear. The call of birds and rustle of wind in leaves found its way to him. As he listened, he could hear other sounds—creatures moving in the forest, somewhere unseen.

He shifted a little, uncomfortable at that thought.

Instead, he focused on his hands. They dangled there, limp, faint tremors still making them move without his consent.

"I was tortured. They tried to break my mind and I—how can you be the same person after that?" He bristled, curling his hands into fists as he tried not to dwell on the memories sweeping up. If only he could talk about this without those ghosts rearing up, without those haunting screams and twisted bodies there to remind him of just how terrible it had really been. "Still. I wanted to serve. I wanted to keep people safe from all the harm that magic could inflict, to make sure others didn't face the same…" He shook his head, trying to get the images to leave him, only to have to stop and lean forward as his nausea swept up to claim him.

He felt hollow when Finley's fingertips ghosted against his back. When he was sure he wouldn't throw up, he lifted his head to find she was holding another tonic. He grimaced at the thought of having to down another one of those, some little part of him convinced that he'd never get the taste out of his mouth after so many in so short a time. Still, he took it.

"They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall's Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. The very thing that I'd sworn to stop this time, happened again."

His voice broke and he shot to his feet, pacing along the side of the creek. "I thought this would be better—that I would regain some control of my life. But these thoughts won't leave many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause… I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it!" The words welled up without him realizing it, and he slammed his hand out, hitting it against a tree. Bark splintered and fell away as pain swept up his arm, something real, something new, something that wasn't caused by that damned blue song. Still, the call was so strong, the promise of power so overwhelming. If he were still a templar, still on lyrium, he wouldn't have these weak moments, he'd be strong enough to do what needed to be done, strong enough to... "I should be taking it."

"Honestly…" Finley muttered, moving over to him and glaring down at his hand. The side of his hand was bloody, and he couldn't help but notice the way she shied away from the blood itself as she checked his injury.

He could practically hear her declaration that she wasn't a blood mage.

His stomach turned as he considered that he finally understood why she was so quick to jump to that. With the people she'd loved so completely turning on her, he could understand the fear of what a stranger might do—or even an acquaintance.

She led him over to the creek and knelt beside it, dipping his hand into the water when he followed her lead. Then she rummaged through a small pack on her hip and pulled out some cloth. More plaidweave.

As he wondered where it had all come from, she pressed it against his hand to stem the bleeding.

"You want that, then? To give up?"

His brow pinched together as he looked up at her, though her attention was still on his injury. "What?"

"You want to take lyrium again?" Finley asked, finally looking up at him. That ethereal fire was there in her eyes, and he wondered when she'd dropped her glamour. "Because if that's what you want, then that's what will happen, no matter how much you fight it. I've seen so many people pretend that they want more only to fall back into what they know, what's comfortable. Is that you?"

Cullen stared at her for a long, long moment, before whispering, "No. I don't want it, but I could be str—"

"A paranoid ass, stabbing at every shadow he sees because he's afraid there might be maleficar hiding there?" She wrapped the cloth around his hand, still talking. "Because if I'm to be honest, I prefer you as you are. Without the lyrium. I think it's brave."

Cullen motioned to himself. "You'd rather have a man who can barely take a short walk commanding your armies than someone who could do so unwavering, fearless?"

"I suppose you haven't had the opportunity to see yourself commanding, but you come across as rather unwavering and fearless to me." Finley caught his hand and pulled it back toward her, giving him a sour look as she finished bandaging his injury. "And anyway, if you were any more fearless, you'd be stupid. Caution is important. Without it, you're running blind."

The song still hummed through his veins, but somehow it had already lessened. He swallowed back some bile and pushed aside the thoughts of his aches. "I told Cassandra to replace me as Commander."

Finley's eyes widened like nothing he'd ever seen. "You what?"

"These spells last longer and longer, and I don't know that I can lead another attack like Adamant."

"Maybe there won't be another attack like Adamant," Finley offered before looking up at him, a resolute look on her face. "Besides, you said if the pain got to the point you couldn't handle it, that you'd let me help. You promised. And as I said, I've yet to see you break a promise, so clearly you can still handle it well enough."

Cullen stared back at her, once again at a loss for what to say.

"And anyway, I rank higher than Cassandra, and I don't accept your leaving. Who would replace you? I'd have to learn to deal with someone new. And it's hard enough figuring out how I'm supposed to act around people now, and you'd toss me to someone completely unknown? What if it's some noble prat who won't listen to me because I don't bow correctly? Or someone who just doesn't like mages? Or, what if they're a templar? Or one of King Cousland's lapdogs? Or a spy? Or someone who will let me do whatever I want without offering good counterpoints?" She paused, glaring down at his hand and double checking the bandage. "No, you'll stay. You're a decent sort, and whatever you may have been as a templar, you're not that man anymore. You—"

"You're making my head hurt," Cullen interjected, taking in a measured breath. "And I doubt a spy could make it that far into our organization—"

"You'll stay." There was a slight waver in her voice, like she worried that he would keep arguing against the point. "And imagine all that I've put you through. Do you really want that to fall to someone else? I promise to be horrible to them. They'll quit in under—"

"I'll stay," Cullen whispered. The defeat was oddly refreshing. After all the tension, all the lack of communication, the notion that she'd be glad to see him go had rooted itself rather deeply in his mind. He could just see her relaxing as he stepped down, finally feeling free from his oppressive presence. That she would argue so adamantly against it...meant something he couldn't explain. He motioned toward the Chantry, and they started heading back the way they'd come. "After all, I don't want to put anyone else through all of that."

Finley peered up at him to check if he was joking and then nodded, content with his answer. "Then you'll carry on as you were. Without lyrium." She glanced up at him again. "Should it be official? Do you need it in writing?"

He couldn't help a half smile as he replied dryly, "That won't be necessary."

They fell into silence as they walked back. This time, it felt so much lighter. He hadn't realized the tension was there earlier until it was gone. As they walked, his mind wandered back to what he'd told her, today and when he'd first arrived. He hesitated. "I...would like to make sure I was clear on something." As he stopped, she did, too, tilting her head and waiting patiently for him to speak. She'd done that the last few times they'd talked, too, giving him time to say what needed to be said. He'd have to try to do the same in the future, instead of interrupting her like an idiot. "As I said, in Kinloch Hold...many people died because they put their faith in the wrong people. When you told me about Cole…" He rather expected a flicker of unease or...something to cross her face, but instead, she merely waited. "I thought Kinloch was going to repeat. That you'd trust a monster and die. I never thought that you were a monster, or a blood mage, or anything wicked." He looked away and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I was so afraid that I was going to watch you make the mistakes that they did, I just...couldn't handle it."

"Cole can be unsettling," Finley offered, softly. "But I've always been good at spotting demons. Blood mages, too. And for all his unearthlyness, he's a good sort, like you."

"You almost had me reassured," Cullen teased, beginning to walk again. He could see the field through the trees, and part of him wanted to turn around and walk back to the creek, or just...keep walking forever. As unsettling as the quiet had been, now it felt welcoming, safe.

She was frowning at him when he looked over his shoulder to see she was still where he'd left her. Without thinking, he offered her his hand. "Are you coming?"

Abruptly striding forward, she caught his hand with hers and tugged him forward, back toward the rest of the world. "You shouldn't be cruel to yourself."

Selfish as it was, he couldn't help but squeeze her hand. "Finley… I've been where Ser Caudry was. When he hurt you. I—"

"You did what you thought was right. But you've since realized it wasn't."

It was the first time she'd interrupted him, and he hesitated, loosening his grip on her so that she could slip free, even though he couldn't bring himself to actually let her go. "...Yes. I don't know how to fix things...or how they should be...but the Order was broken, and I was a part of it."

"And now you're not." The words were final, and the look she gave him said she would brook no argument. "You said yourself you want to atone, make things right, yes?" When he nodded, she squeezed his hand, swinging their arms a little. "I think helping fix the world is a good step in that direction, commander."

"I think I'll need to do more than the job I already have."

"You can think on it while you're resting," Finley replied, looking forward to hop over a small bush.

In her bare feet.

Part of him wanted to pick her up, though he doubted she'd appreciate that. There was also the chance that, in his current state, he'd drop her. Instead, he sighed. "I'm feeling much better, truly."

"I saw you die." Her grip on his hand tightened. "In the Fade. You died, over and over and over. To the Blight, Red Lyrium, withdrawal, curses, magic, my own arrows. It wasn't real, but..." She avoided looking at him, instead tugging on her hair and then her shirt with her free hand. "I don't want you to die."

He could remember how she'd been when she'd marched out of Adamant, the way she'd been so harsh with Alistair, the tears on the report. The way she'd looked at him when she'd found him fighting with Alistair and Garrett, before he'd walked away. There had been worry there, genuine despite her words that contradicted what she'd told them before.

At the time he'd been so frustrated, so angry to find that once again, he really knew nothing of her, that once again she hadn't trusted him enough to tell the truth.

Then she'd left without talking to them, with that report there to 'explain'...

On the trip back, however, that angry had turned to misery and to resignation. He'd accepted that they wouldn't ever make it back to what they'd had, that she would always be afraid of him, that there would always be an uncomfortableness between them.

Now, though…

Now he couldn't help but remember his time in Kinloch Hold, of the demons making him watch his friends die over and over. Sometimes they'd even worn the faces of his family.

That Finley had seen him…

"I read the reports the others filed, on their time in the Fade." Again, he was kicking himself for what he said.

Finley's shoulders slumped at the mention. "I need to write about it, don't I?"

Guilt curled in Cullen's gut and he wanted to take it back. Instead, he said, "Yes, you will."

"I'm still missing part of my memory," Finley murmured, her hand slipping out of his as she lifted it and ran it through her hair. She fidgeted and started picking at her nails. "I don't know what happened while I was in the Fade the first time, but I do know...there's no way it was Andraste." She flinched as she spoke the next words. "I think it was a demon."

"A demon," Cullen repeated, and instantly hated himself for it as she flinched again, gaze downward, avoiding his. "You think...a demon would follow you all the way to the rift and just...push you out?" His brow pinched together. "Why didn't it come out after you?"

Finley blinked, surprised, and then lowered her gaze, searching for an answer. "I don't...know. Maybe it wanted to help me or…" She floundered a moment longer before shrugging.

"Demons only help if they get something out of it," Cullen said, only to hesitate. This sort of talk had led to their last fight, hadn't it? Him acting as though he knew more of demons than she did, acting as if he knew more of Cole. "Am I wrong?"

It sounded forced, even in his ears, and he waited for her anger to bubble up.

Instead, she just looked lost. "I saw what happened to my mother. The thing inside her destroyed her piece by piece. It took her memories, who she was… I would have died in the Fade before making a deal with any demon."

Cullen reached out and gently took her hands in his. "Then I don't think it could have been a demon. I've said it before, but you are a force of good. There is no doubt in my mind of that. Whatever it was that pushed you through the rift, it helped save the world because it saved you. That doesn't sound like a demon to me."

She looked like she wanted to say more, but instead, she simply looked down at their hands. Realizing what he'd done, he let go. "I'm sorry—"

Before he could finish apologizing, Finley moved forward abruptly and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him to her as she buried her face against his chest. He went rigid a moment before slowly, gently curling his arms around her. His fingers still trembled as he ran them through her hair, but he barely noticed it, instead feeling like he might very well be in a dream.

Though that couldn't be true, because his dreams were never this pleasant.

He wasn't sure how long they stood there like that, there at the edge of the meadow, with the trees still reaching up overhead while the Chantry stood silently in the distance.

What felt to be far too soon, Finley gave him an extra squeeze and then pulled away, brushing her hair back behind her ears only for it to fall back into her face again as she looked up at him shyly. "It's good to hear your heartbeat."

He stood there, mind completely blank.

Maker, but she was good at throwing him off balance, wasn't she?

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Reaching out, he gently caught her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it. "I said I have to make things right, didn't I? I can't let myself fall apart before that."

"Says the man who pushed himself hard enough that he was collapsing from exhaustion." Despite her words, she seemed relieved.

He offered her a small smile. "I promise not to do so again if you promise not to disappear again."

She eyed him before shrugging lightly and breezing forward, fingers laced with his. "Be careful who you make deals with out in the woods, commander. There are severe repercussions for going back on words promised to a witch."

His smile widened as he caught her watching him from the corner of her eye. That blue charade had taken over her irises again, but even that wasn't as unnerving as before. Nudging her with his shoulder, he shrugged. "Good thing I don't know any."