They rode back to the hold in silence. The morning was clear and bright, with no hint of the storm that had blown through the day before. It was unfair to demand the sky to darken to match his mood, with the residents of Skyhold desperate for signs of spring, but he glowered at the sun anyway. Only when they reached the bridge and the guards saluted in greeting did he try to inject lightness into his bearing. Stoicism was allowed in a leader. Sulking wasn't.

By unspoken agreement Cassandra swung from her horse and left it to the care of the stablehands while he tended to his own mount. He lingered longer than necessary, checking tack and speaking to Blackwall about inconsequential matters. When he judged enough time had passed, he headed back to his office, halted and interrupted only slightly more often than usual. By the time he made it to the door, she should have had enough time.

"Hello?" he called as he entered, and there was no answer. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not.

Only long years of discipline kept him focused on the essential tasks. He leaned out of the door again and signaled a messenger to inform the Inquisitor of his return, then moved to his desk to glance through the morning's reports. Nothing that mattered, but all things that needed to be seen by the Commander before Cullen could take over. He scribbled notes and signed orders with a focus that belied his scattered mind.

After he read through the last missive, a question of ration disputes between Orlesian and Marcher recruits, he sighed and looked to the ladder. It was time to measure the size of the void she'd left. The only aching, crabbed comfort was that it could be no bigger than the one in his heart.

Once in his room, he reconsidered. Against all logic, there seemed to be more things missing than had ever been present in the space. He lived a sparse life, on the whole, and so much of what he did have had been hers. Her clothing was packed away and gone along with the trunks they'd spent a back-breaking afternoon levering up together. He couldn't imagine how she'd gotten them down alone and made a note to check the office floor for damage. Weapons and gear were similarly missing, along with the pile of scrap leathers she worked patterns into on the rare nights they could relax into nothingness. Her collection of trinkets from Val Royeaux, Denerim and the merchants who flowed through Skyhold were nowhere to be seen. They were trifles, nothing of true value, but he could never help buying them for her whenever her eyes shined with unspoken want.

Most painfully of all, the pile of books from the bedside table was gone. They were mostly books of romance, ones they shared while they traveled and before they slept. None were as good as Varric's effort, Swords and Shields, which even Cullen had devoured with the eagerness he usually reserved for chess strategy, but they all had been inspiring, in their own way. Cassandra loved them for what they were. Cullen loved them for what they brought out in her. She had a way of grazing the pages with her fingers that was more intimate than anything he'd ever dreamed.

Then his heart dropped, and he rushed to the table to pull open the bottom drawer. When he saw it was empty, he breathed again. Odd, to worry that something would be there instead of missing, but he'd won her with a book of his own writing, a tale of their romance with petals pressed between the pages. If she'd left that to his care it would have hurt beyond measure. At least now he could pretend that, after the lords and princes had danced attendance on her, flirting and plying, she would return to her rooms and read only of him.

Sighing, he headed into the washroom to clean himself up. Her things gone there as well, of course. He frowned. All except one. A half-used bar of her soap remained on the shelf at eye height, and he studied it warily. The soap was the one place where his wife - former wife, he reminded himself in hard tones - was as particular as any noblewoman. It was fine and expensive and a luxury for a warrior. Vivienne had it sent from Val Royeaux specially, and Cassandra was the only one who used it in the entirety of Skyhold, as far as he knew. She had more of the stuff, of course, but why would she leave this one behind?

His hand reached out of its own volition, and he picked it up with fingers that shook. When he brought it to his nose and breathed in the familiar smell of her, he understood. This was his book of romance, his pressed flowers on the page. She was still here, even when she wasn't.

Cullen made sure to slip the soap into his pillowcase before he went back down into the world.

The next two weeks passed more easily than he ever would have thought possible. Cassandra's long familiarity with him, and him with her, let them dance around each other as gracefully as any Orlesian nobles at a ball. He breakfasted alone and adjusted his lunch so that she was always out of the mess well before he entered. She began to take dinner at a table that was out of the sightline of their usual place. He spent his nights in the tavern, a place she hated, though he kept his drinking almost non-existent. She sent a new representative to his briefings, one who knew almost as much about the Templar garrisons as she did.

And while he had trouble staying in his office, with its ladder and its bed and its couch that had seen her too many times, they managed to miss each other outside as well. Skyhold was enormous enough to hold a hundred couples who wanted to avoid each other. When she was training the new recruits he went outside the walls and worked with the Fereldans outside, acclimating them to the quirks of his own army. If she prayed in the Chantry, he walked the walls on inspection. On mornings when she worked the stables, he played chess with Dorian in the garden.

No, they hardly saw each other, only glimpses off the battlement or across the yard, with one painful, unexpected meeting outside the latrines. Their distance was nearly perfect. The only ways anyone would know the constant presence she was on his mind, the ghost who walked beside him every moment, were in the hollowness of his cheeks and the loosening of his clothing. Ellana noticed first, of course, and tried to get him to eat with unbecoming enthusiasm. He tried, for her. But, even knowing he was exhausted and needed the fuel, nothing appealed, and he too often pushed back a half-full plate under her disappointed gaze.

He knew it was hard for their friends to watch them fall apart as though they'd never been. Ellana, Leliana, Josephine and Dorian were the only ones who knew the full truth, the better to keep any secrets. Leliana believed fervently in the containment of information, no matter how trivial, though it was sometimes hard to tell who knew what with these people. None of them were idiots, and Iron Bull in particular was sensitive to the moods and currents that swirled around him. He said nothing to Cullen, only watched him impassively during his tavern nights, but Varric and Sera were more vocal in their displeasure.

One afternoon they cornered him as he was leaving for lunch, pushing him back into his office. To his relief, they weren't armed.

"Why aren't you fighting for her, Curly?" asked Varric after Cullen had been interrogated almost past endurance. The dwarf sounded more than a little annoyed.

"She doesn't want me to," said Cullen, leashing his temper. "She was very clear about her desire to marry well. For herself and the Inquisition."

Sera rolled her eyes. "Cass, with some asshole with hair like noodles that forgot to cook? Who smells like an alley cat dunked in perfume? No. She's not that messed up in the brain. Maybe she'd cut his head off a little, or knee him right in the noble privilege, but marry him?" She crossed her arms. "I don't buy it. She's testing you or some shite."

"Cassandra doesn't play games," said Cullen. "Or lie."

A look of doubt crossed her face. "I know…"

Varric shook his head. "Granted the Seeker isn't one for coquettish flirting and duels for her faovr, but she's also not an idiot. And this? This is idiotic," he said. He added in a bitter voice, "Trust me, I know about marrying where you're supposed to instead of where you want. It doesn't work out well."

"Who says she can't want this?" asked Cullen finally, after a quick internal struggle. "She deserves happiness."

They both groaned. "Come on," said Varric. "You know you're what makes her happy. Show her!"

Cullen leaned forward and stared him down. "What I know is what she believes. If an alliance with Nevarra is what she needs to be happy, I'll step aside. I'll do anything for her, Varric," he said. Truth weaving through the poses. "Even if it takes her away from me. Even if it seems foolish or worthless. It's not to her. I won't try to force her to change because it's what you think she should want."

The dwarf's face twisted into a grimace, but the strained sincerity in Cullen's voice must have convinced him because he moved to the door. "Yeah, I suppose," he said. "It's her life to screw up beyond all hope of recovery. But if you need to start drinking heavily, let me know. I'm an expert."

Sera followed him, muttering about doing a little target practice, and Cullen called after them, "Don't make this a war. You don't have to choose sides." He wet his lips and forced himself to continue. "She's still Cassandra. And she needs her friends."

The elf flipped him off as she left. "Fucking noble assholes and your screwed up priorities. Stupid always shows up in the end. Too much to expect you'd know what's actually important instead of just the stuff that looks it."

Varric lingered a moment longer with grave eyes. "She's not wrong," he said. They left Cullen sitting alone, holding tightly to his promise to serve.

Cullen's siblings were easier to handle. Alice shied away from the issue after a quick pat on the shoulder, Darren merely asked if he'd done anything to bring about the end, then challenged him to a relieved duel when Cullen assured him he hadn't, and Mia didn't mention it at all. Cullen was most surprised by the last. Mia had never been one to hold back her opinions, in person or in letters, and he could feel an incoming lecture like an arrow loosed from a bow. He stepped warily around her silence while they spoke about the usual, less earth-shattering things, such as her plans for the farm's future, her children's emerging aptitudes, and the various residents of Skyhold.

After several days of anticipation he was on the cusp of asking her if she was ill when the reason for the silence came. On a trip through the Chantry garden to speak with Mother Giselle, he heard his sister's low, earthy voice from a corner alcove and stopped instinctively. When he thought about it later, he wasn't quite sure what had made him pause, except perhaps the undercurrent of exasperated anger that he'd only ever heard directed at her siblings, her husband, and her children. That tone of voice was enough to stop any of them dead in their tracks.

"It's obvious you're the one driving this. He would come back to you in an instant if you asked him," said Mia. She was the chill of the frozen lake beneath them, and Cullen knew who she was talking to. "I know he would. But instead you're breaking his heart."

He reddened and pressed his face against the wall.

"Hearts mend," said Cassandra. "Your brother is a strong man. And a brave one. He will not break under something as slight as me."

"You don't believe that. I can see that you don't," his sister replied. "Why are you doing this?"

He heard Cassandra's familiar sigh, the way it rose and fell in her throat like a wave. "Because it is the easiest path to the future I desire," she said. Softer, then, so low he almost couldn't hear, "Nevarra matters."

"Cullen matters," said Mia in a voice that brooked no argument. "He may not have a name that invokes dynasties, or a bloodline that destines him for a throne, but he matters all the more for that."

There was a long silence, and Cullen's traitor heart started to rise. Mia had done it. Cassandra was persuaded to rebel. His older sister had fixed it, just as she'd done with his split lips and ripped trousers so often when he was small. She was the indomitable force of the Rutherfords. And she needed no army to wield her power.

Then Cassandra spoke again. "He does matter. But the world is not always so simple as we would like," she said. "It's not a story."

There was a rustling noise, and Cullen drew back. "I should have let him stay at the farm, with us, after you left," said Mia. "I never should have let him chase you. If you would do this now, you didn't deserve him then." The universe held its breath along with him. "You should have been alone."

He shrank against the wall as Mia swept past, so angry that she never even saw him. Cullen waited until she was gone from sight, then abandoned his plans to find Mother Giselle and sought out Varric. He was in his usual place in the Great Hall, and to Cullen's relief Bull was with him as well.

Cullen wasted no time with pleasantries. "Cassandra is on a bench in the garden. She needs one of you. Or both."

They both cocked their heads, but only Bull showed concern. "And she told you that why?" asked Varric.

"She didn't," he said. "I just know. Please." He knew his voice was rough. She was hurting, and he couldn't stop it. But even when that hurt was ripping his world into nightmares, a rift in the Veil of his soul, he still had to try.

Bull nodded without argument and stood, unfolding his limbs in his complicated way. Varric sighed. "I don't get you at all, Curly. But for you, I'll do it."

"It's for her," said Cullen. It took all of the willpower he had to keep himself from following them when they left.

In between the pain of his new life, there was the ball. The subject was all anyone talked about when the work was over. Sometimes even before that. The Inquisition was holding a party, and everyone was invited.

Alistair and Elissa had agreed to host it in their newly finished palace at Lothering. Not only was Skyhold hardly suited for fine entertainment, much less comfortable travel, it was still more military fortress than living quarters despite Josephine's best efforts. And even she understood the risk of inviting so many potential enemies into such a vital place at once.

Cullen was surprised they'd chosen Ferelden over Orlais, though, and said as much in one of the advisory meetings. Josephine gave him a harried look and spoke quickly. "In Orlais, the Empress will never allow another to outshine her, even the Inquisition. Too, the Game is most potent there, most difficult to navigate. Cassandra is not a great player - not a player at all. It will be better for us all if we do not introduce too many variables. In addition, the Grey Wardens will appreciate the Fereldan monarchs more, given their historical ties, but Lothering is a sight that will remind them, and the world, that even the Wardens have failed and we have not. Plus - "

He held up his hands in surrender. "Please. I should never have doubted you," he said with a smile. "And I'm certainly not complaining about my homeland being selected for the honor." No, he wasn't going to complain. Part of him was convinced there were ladies, and more than a few gentlemen, still waiting for him with hands clasped to their chests at the gate of the Winter Palace.

The women turned back to more tedious, technical details, and he grabbed a random page from the table and began to read. Invitations had gone out even before he'd known the first thing about this plan, and some guests were already traveling to the Southern Palace, as the royals called it. Strange, for a farming village in the middle of nowhere to have such a monstrosity, but Elissa had claimed it would dispel some of the superstition about the area, as well as provide an influx of funds to those who still struggled to regain their footing after the Blight's destruction. Cullen supposed she was right, which was why she was the monarch.

Besides, Leliana was very persuasive.

Their words drifted over him as he familiarized himself with the security arrangements, both theirs and the dozens of dignitaries. Some, like Alistair's and Celene's, were shared freely, though of course he would check into them anyway. Others, like the Divine's, were extensions of his own designs. And the last group, the enemies, magisters and Nevarrans and even the wary elves… well, those had been for Leliana to discover what she could. Which was a considerable amount. He was drowning in details.

But there weren't enough details about Nevarran delegation itself for his liking. They'd been given names, but Cassandra knew little about them personally, and information was proving difficult to obtain. Supposedly. Cullen thought that the Nightingale was far too sanguine about their ignorance for that to be true.

His attention was caught by a mention of attire. "Are we all wearing the same red uniforms as in Orlais?" he asked.

Ellana snorted. "Creators no," she said.

Leliana and Josephine nodded vigorous agreement. He frowned. "I liked them. Are you telling me I have to come up with something new?" He racked his brain for even a glimmer of fashion sense and came up empty. Maybe Dorian could help.

"Oh, you're wearing it again," said Leliana. "You're the only one with the shoulders for it. Don't worry your pretty head about your clothing, Commander. But the rest of us don't have to dress for assassinations this time."

"We hope," said Ellana, chuckling. She leaned forward. "Are the dresses still due to arrive tomorrow?"

"Yes. The merchants have all been very obliging. We even managed to secure Dorian's very particular request," said Josephine. She shook her head. "I suppose he does know the Imperium's tastes best."

"And Cassandra's gown?" asked Ellana.

Cullen looked hurriedly back down at his papers. The Prince of Starkhaven brings twenty guards. Important, that. He really needed to memorize it.

The ladies didn't notice. "Yes," said Josephine. "Fortunately we already had good measurements from when we were - " She broke off, then, and he felt her eyes flicker towards him before she moved on to something else.

He could finish the sentence all the same. From when they were planning a wedding for him, one he wasn't supposed to know about and would never have.

Cassandra's wedding dress. What would that have been like? His mouth watered. They'd been married in road clothes, as clean as they could make them but hard-used and worn. It had been exactly what they'd wanted in the moment, their normal life made more perfect. He had no regrets. But, as little as he'd been looking forward to an event where he'd be laid out for display like a particularly well-trained pet, he had to admit he'd been anticipating her suffering the same fate

He loved Cassandra in everything she owned, and even more out of it. But he craved the sight of her soft and sweet in a gown just for him. One he could remove in the privacy of their room at the end of the night, slowly and carefully, and let her feel exactly how soft he wasn't…

He ripped his mind away from profitless, pointless imaginations. Her gowns were for others now. Though, Maker willing, she would remove them alone.

The rest had continued talking while his mind wandered, and he interrupted them again. "When do we leave for Lothering?"

Ellana arched her eyebrow at him. "Two days. Will we be ready, Commander?" she asked. The words were heavy with unspoken meaning.

"Yes, Inquisitor. We'll be fine."

They set out from Skyhold in a ragged, broken, and ultimately confused line. Servants and soldiers and journeymen hostlers all buzzed around in a pattern that was no pattern at all. Cullen shouted, bullied, and wrangled as best he could. It wasn't enough. Even the march from the ruins of Haven had been more organized than this, but of course they'd been smaller then. Less an Inquisition and more a pilgrimage.

Still, once they made it out of the passes, things calmed considerably. The caravan could glide instead of jerking along in fits and starts and his guards were able to take up more traditional patrols. While it was unlikely they would suffer a full-scale attack on this journey, there were enough important people in the party to make him nervous. They would be a tempting target.

Ellana had given the choice of going or staying to many, and a surprising number had opted out. Dagna said she was looking forward to the peace of an empty keep, most of the Chantry sisters had refused outright, and some of the less sociable Chargers remained as a ruthless guard for the castle. Other soldiers were commanded to stay as well, including most of the new Fereldan company and a few of his captains who Cullen knew hated social engagements almost as much as he did. Skyhold was still well-populated with the Inquisition's best.

But not their very best. Some people hadn't had a choice in attendance, including him and all of the inner circle. Vivienne would join them in Lothering, and Solas was still in the wind, but the rest were all there. Cole was nervous, Bull was eager, and Sera was highly annoyed. When Ellana had tried to sell her on returning as a somebody to her homeland, the elf had laughed in her face. Only when he pointed out that Alice was coming, and that she would return to Honnleath with the rest of his family after everything was settled, did Sera relent. She may not always have much use for him, but in his younger sister she'd found a perfect friend to aid her destruction. Ellana liked a prank, especially at her friends' expenses, but the Inquisitor had to have limits. Sera didn't work well with limits.

And Mia, Alice and Darren were with them too, the last in a professional capacity but with enough leeway for family time when it could be granted. Cullen might be overwhelmed by them, and he might not fit in their unit now despite their always-present bonds, but they were family. So were Brandon and the children, also traveling along. Cullen hadn't been able to refuse Mia's pleas. Who knew when they would be together again? Another twenty years, perhaps. Maybe never.

He pushed the thought away. The world was gloomy enough without borrowing more trouble. Cullen hit the midpoint of the caravan on his patrol and saw a crowd of worried soldiers waiting for them. He folded his arms and waited right back. They shifted and muttered until one of them was shoved forward as a spokeswoman.

"Commander, the troops scheduled to come on duty next shift have reported a loss of… well, a loss of all of their breeches," said the luckless corporal. She gave Cullen a hesitant look. "They'll go on with the ones they're wearing, but the men are worried that it's enemy sabotage, ser."

Cullen rolled his eyes as giggles exploded from somewhere to his left. "Thank you for the report, Corporal. Tell the troops not to be alarmed. In this case I think it's friendly fire. And temporary," he added, raising his voice. "If I'm right, they'll be returned in fifteen minutes."

"Thirty!" called a voice from behind the nearest wagon. He saw a flash of yellow-clad legs running off into the distance, skipping every few steps, and sighed. This was going to be a long trip.