A/N: This chapter includes references to Cass/Trevelyan. Just a heads up if you're not fond of that pairing. Fluff.

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"Don't you dare throw that snowba—Maker dammit, that's cold!"

Cullen's, Cassandra's, and Ser Barris' eyes widened as they turned with growing incredulity to see that Ser Yorric Trevelyan was trying to fend off a veritable army of small children, each eagerly wielding the valley's snow against him. One of the children had climbed up onto his back—might have launched himself from one of the tops of the small buildings that had been crafted since the base camp's founding—and from the way Ser Yorric had his eyes screwed shut, it was rather apparent that the child had shoved snow down his back.

Considering how hard it was to remove armor, he'd be freezing for a while.

When he finally opened his eyes, he paused, shoulders slightly hunched and child still clinging to his shoulders, eyes wide and unsure if he should run or laugh. When Ser Yorric paused to glance over his shoulder and give the child one of his characteristic grins, the little one hopped from his back and ran with shrieking laughter back to his friends, all of whom had dropped their snowballs upon the higher ups having found out about their game.

Cullen was told that his gaze was often harsh, and he hoped he hadn't been the sole cause for their abandonment of their fun, even if it had saved Ser Yorric.

As the templar jogged to catch up to the others, as though he hadn't just been mobbed, Cullen turned back to the architect they'd come to meet.

When they'd made it to Skyhold, a little over a year ago, none of them could have known how much the Inquisition would grow. Just a month ago they'd begun discussions of putting together a few barracks and other buildings down along the river.

Now, there were half a dozen in the works, including an armory that would make it easier to uniform new soldiers without trying to cram everything into Skyhold itself. The architect had wanted to discuss civilian housing today.

While Cullen thought it was a good idea, there were so many families who had come together to assist in whatever way they could. He was a little uneasy with the idea that they'd have to pick and choose who got houses first, and it felt unfair.

"You should be ashamed, cursing at children," Cassandra chided when Ser Yorric was close enough that she could speak without raising her voice.

As he tried—and failed—to take the admonishment seriously, Cullen looked back at the architect. How to voice his concerns…? "What have you got as far as plans go?"

Funding for the houses would be another issue, too.

The woman presented drafts and budgets, and Ser Barris politely dismissed himself as the templars would likely not be involved with such matters, and he had his own orders to tend to. As he dragged Ser Yorric off, Cassandra looked after them with an almost wistful look.

"Missing him already?"

She scoffed. "He is a fool."

"Your fool."

With a quiet laugh, she turned her attention back to the drafts. "It is feasible."

When they moved away to walk the area that was to be converted to housing, Cullen was surprised to find Finley there with Sera.

Again, there was a snow war ensuing with local children.

As they drew closer, the children took notice of them and quieted down, watching them come up as though they thought they would be told to go home. Cullen felt a pang of guilt as he tried not to look quite so serious.

Sera said something to one of the kids that he didn't catch, for Finley jogged up to meet them, stopping in front of them. The architect gave a swift bow in greeting, and they finished their tour—so to speak—of the grounds. As Cassandra suggested they head back, Finley looped her arms around Cullen's.

"What's wrong?"

"This is a lot to think about," he started. He didn't doubt that he'd be arguing with her later about where they could get their resources from—Maker but she could be a pain when she felt they were deforesting too much of a particular area—but then he stopped when he realized she wasn't buying it. Rolling his eyes, he pretended to inspect the camp that stretched out before them. "Children are afraid of me."

She wound her hand down to lace her fingers with his, their palms pressed together. He wished he wasn't wearing gloves. "You should have Sera help with that."

"Oh?"

With a nod, she spun them so that they were walking back toward where the little ones had resumed their play, now that the adults were heading off. Sera was cackling gleefully as a few of them tried to take her on, dodging their attacks and rolling through the snow so that she ended up with more on her than if she'd just let them win.

"When I was younger, children used to always run from me," Finley stated, stopping just short of the warzone.

"To be fair, you lived in a place renowned for witches," Cullen offered. While he didn't believe in them, he knew that the rumors were always there, and he didn't doubt a child stumbling across someone with eyes like Finley's would immediately think back to such myths and feel as though they'd come to life in front of them.

Sniffing delicately, Finley straightened up a little. "If you think me a witch, I would think you'd be more careful with calling me such."

"You think?"

"I might turn you into a tree frog."

At that, he laughed. "A tree frog? I think I'd be very cold as a tree frog. Unless I get to keep my armor."

Finley's eyes widened. "I could make you little armor and carry you on my shoulder." She let go of him to cover her mouth, eyes sparkling. "You could wear a little fur mantle. Commander Croakerford."

Cullen couldn't help but smile at that. "I think you're having a bit too much fun with this idea." When she bit her lip, he gave her a warning look that quickly gave way into another smile. "If I wake up a frog, I'll be very unhappy."

Even as she started to reply, trying not to laugh, a snowball caught Cullen in the ear, light, fluffy, cold snow littering his hair and sliding down the collar of his armor. With an abrupt laugh, Finley covered her mouth, taking a few steps back.

The mini warzone had gone deathly quiet.

"Told you I could hit him," Sera shouted, a bit louder than she needed to. Small gazes turned from one to the other and back.

Even as he tried to think of what to say, another snowball hit him in the chest. Looking back, he saw Finley had another ball of snow in hand, and she was already putting more space between them. Bending down, he picked up a handful of snow himself, pretended he was going to throw it at Finley and then turned and caught Sera off guard in the last second.

In no time, the air was filled with snow and laughter.