The balcony he'd found was occupied, and he almost turned back before he realized who it was. Solas and Elissa. A strange combination, but not one he needed to hide from. He closed the balcony doors to the consternation of the guards flanking them, but at his pointed glare through the glass panes, they saluted and stood at attention once more.

"Commander," said Solas with some surprise. The elf studied him closely, from the aching balls of his fists to the tightness in his shoulders. His eyes glittered."Did you enjoy your dance with Ellana?"

Cullen growled. "Not now, Solas."

A flicker to his left had him spinning, looking for his sword, and he saw Cole crouched on the railing. The spirit's face twisted into a pattern of anger and blended pain, and Cullen realized it was a mirror of his own. "Falling, forgetting. She's as far from his hands as the sky from his eyes. Proud and perfect princes. Prizes to be won or lost, but who are the players?"

"Stop that," said Cullen.

Cole flinched, and Solas stepped forward with his hands raised. Elissa, Cullen noticed, was watching them all warily.

"Cole, I will handle this," said the mage.

"But he is hurting."

"Yes. But compassion need not come only from spirits," said Solas. "Are there no others who might appreciate your aid?"

Cole tilted his head to the side. "The dish broke. The lady will be unhappy. How far must I run this time?" he said in a faraway voice. He snapped back to the present. "There are others. Do not cry, Cullen Rutherford."

Before Cullen could react, the spirit dropped off the side of the balcony and disappeared. Elissa rushed to the railing and looked down, then shook her head. "My sword arm always itches around him. Blasted abominations."

"He's not an abomination. There is no possession. He is simply a spirit, Your Grace," said Solas. He sounded weary, like he was tracing well-trod ground.

"There's no such thing as simply a spirit. I was at Kinloch. Hawke's told me about that mage, Anders. Things that look simple generally aren't," she said. "Cullen knows that better than any of us."

Cullen's mind seized on the argument, something else to think about besides the dancers he'd left behind. "What happened at Kinloch was blood magic, monstrous possessions. Torture. Death. There was nothing simple about it. And Anders…" He trailed off. "I failed there. I should have done something sooner. Things could have perhaps been prevented. He was unstable."

"Something like murdering him? Simply for harboring a benign spirit, out of kindness?" asked Solas. A grimace crossed his face. "If that's the punishment for showing mercy to another creature, Thedas will soon stand empty."

"Mass slaughter is hardly benign," snapped Cullen. He rubbed a hand along his arm. "Possession will always twist into something foul. Anders was a monster, a dangerous man, and I failed to recognize it in time. But Cole isn't like that, Your Majesty. I understand your wariness, and I shared it, but it's not possession. He's good. Harmless."

"All things are harmless. Until they harm," she said, shrugging. "But it's not my choice to make. The Inquisition makes its own laws, now." Her smile came soft and deadly. "Isn't Ferelden lucky we're such good friends?"

Silence fell, and there was only their breathing. "What troubles you, Commander?" asked Solas, words blending into the gloom of the night.

And just like that, the pain was back. "How do you two stomach it?" he asked. They said nothing, and he continued in a rush of words that poured out like blood. "Lovers who are loved by more than yourself? Who have choices who aren't you?"

He turned to Elissa with a snarl. "Your husband is currently dancing with my sister, who worships him like he's the Maker Himself. She's not the only one, and he indulges them all. And you," he added, pointing at Solas. "Ellana is beloved beyond anyone in Thedas. Holy. Revered. How can you stand in her shadow and not tear yourself apart?"

The elf's mouth quirked in amusement. "I suppose I should be grateful you even allow me her shadow." He sighed. "I tried to warn my heart that you do not have the temperament for this."

"Who in Thedas would?"

"A predator. A creature of instinct instead of thought. A being that knows what is its to have, and what is not," he said. He looked sidelong at Elissa. "Someone who regrets their kills but never doubts that they were needed."

The Queen nodded, and Cullen stared at her. "You've killed rivals for Alistair?" he asked incredulously. He'd almost believe it of Solas, but no matter her hardness Elissa Cousland had never struck him as homicidal.

She laughed. "Only metaphorically." She perched herself on the railing and gave him her full, unnerving attention. "Your sister is nothing. Flattery flows off of Alistair like water. Cleansing, refreshing, but ultimately wasted. Certainly he enjoys admiration - who doesn't - but you must realize the congenial vacuity is a pose."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. He still remembered Alistair's tale of what the Sloth demon had shown him in the Circle. A happy family reunion and all the cheese he could stomach.

"Mostly a pose," she amended. "He prefers women who are intelligent. Dangerous. Difficult to anticipate." She tipped him a smile. "He would like your Cassandra quite a bit. Fortunately most women who fit that description also know better than to tangle with me. The ones who don't learn quickly why they should have."

Her face softened a little in the starlight. "And he loves me. And I him. No one will sever that," she said. She turned her head to the glass of the balcony doors where dancers whirled past. "But once I had to fight, really fight. During the Blight. It was unkind, but it was necessary. Leliana loved him deeply."

Cullen stared at her. "Leliana and Alistair?" He shook his head. Surely he'd misunderstood. "He's like her brother. She's told me so."

"Of course she did," said Elissa. "I won."

Fear ran down his spine at the dark triumph in her voice, as though the long, bony finger of death had touched him, just for a moment. Solas's face held the same vicious understanding as the Queen's. No, Cullen wasn't like them in the least.

"Cassandra makes her own choices," he said quietly.

"Then you must endure," said Solas. There was no sympathy in him.

"Why?" asked Cullen. He pounded his hand into his fist. "Why should I endure, for something so small as a single country?"

Solas glanced at Elissa. She dropped lightly off of the railing and brushed a hand over her silk gown. "I'll just go check on the party," she said. She paused on her way to the door and placed a hand on Cullen's shoulder. "You should consider a more aggressive approach, Commander. Don't allow yourself to fade away. Even now there are women in there waiting for me to fall. Hoping my Calling will come and leave Alistair to their tender mercies. They'll be disappointed."

Her eyes were dark pools framed in lines of pain. He frowned at her. "Why would you hear it first? Alistair joined before you." He didn't know much about Grey Wardens, but after Adamant he knew enough about how the Calling worked to know that it went in order of service.

Bitterness and anger. "I killed the archdemon. I bore children who were supposed to be impossible. My body wasn't built for so much blood," she said. "But the song doesn't frighten me. It's nothing compared to losing him. These women have no idea what I can endure."

She swept out gracefully and closed the door behind her. He turned back to Solas, slightly unsettled, but he didn't hesitate. "So tell me why."

Solas stared at him, unblinking. "Ellana is dying, Commander," he said. "She has only a few months remaining."

Cullen's stomach clenched in denial. "No," he said. "That's not true. She was sick, but now she's fine. She's dancing."

"Restorative magic, poured into her until she could take no more. Mine and her own. It should last long enough," he said. "This ball had another purpose besides the one you know. It will convince Thedas she remains strong. But the anchor she holds is power that wasn't meant to be carried by a mortal, and it is killing her. This will be her final trip from Skyhold unless I find what I need."

Cullen thought back over the dwindling lines of her, the energy she lacked, the thinness she couldn't disguise behind a beaming smile. Even as his mind rebelled, his heart believed and found focus. "What do you need? How can I help?"

"Something of my people's," said Solas. "I'd hoped to find it in the Wilds, but my efforts failed. The next place to look is Cumberland. In Nevarra."

He'd heard of that place recently, he knew, and then it clicked. "Grand Prince Dmitri."

"Precisely. What I need won't be uncovered by stealth or invasion. Not in time. The Mortalitasi are paranoid and quite adept at keeping their secrets. We need to be invited," said Solas.

"And Cassandra is your method of gaining an invitation."

"I do not pretend to understand the politics, but Leliana assured us Van Markham wouldn't be able to resist a potential alliance with her if it was presented. It seems she was correct." The elf crossed his arms. "As for how you can help, you can allow this to proceed. Cassandra is succeeding beyond all of our expectations. You have also aided, admittedly without knowing it. Continue to do so."

Cullen crossed to the banister and looked out over the fields. Campfires dotted the darkened horizon as the less grand guests celebrated in their own way. "Why didn't you simply tell me?" he asked. "Did you think I wouldn't help her, to save her life? Or do you trust me so little?"

"This is a dangerous secret. We hoped it would not be necessary for you to know. Leliana decided."

"And now?"

"Ellana has overruled her," said Solas. "She is still the Inquisitor, after all."

Cullen sighed. "Who knows?"

"You. Me. Ellana. The Nightingale. And Cassandra."

He turned back in surprise. "Not Josephine?"

"No, Commander," said Solas. His eyes flickered with the distant flames. "As I said, this is a dangerous secret."

He made sure to maintain his jealousy for the rest of the evening, not that it was difficult with Van Markham still flitting around Cassandra like an orange hummingbird. Cullen couldn't afford to be altered. But when he saw Ellana again, he couldn't resist pulling her away from the tangle of the crowd that followed her. Officially he was apologizing for abandoning his lady on the dance floor. Unofficially, he ran one finger lightly over her cheek, next to her tear-bright eyes, and breathed a prayer for her as he bowed.

She believed in the Creators, the Dalish gods, but Cullen begged the Maker to allow this one small lapse to be overlooked and find mercy.

Josephine located him near the end of the evening and crowed that the Nevarrans were already beginning negotiations with her. Leliana appeared after and murmured that Solas had secured an invitation to the country, in the name of magical research and exchange. His skills with the Veil were well-known enough, and the budding relationship with the Inquisition promising enough, that it had been very little effort at all to convince them to allow him entry.

But, she told him, we must maintain their favor until all parties are satisfied with the outcome. Her expression didn't change and her tone never altered, but Cullen understood. Cassandra was still bound to a mission.

Which was why he found himself laying in bed that night, looking up to the canopy that hung over him and trying not to picture the end of his lover's night. Would the prince walk her to her room? Surely not, the guards would never allow the incursion into the wing, but perhaps they would if she demanded it. She was intimidating. Would the man try to kiss her? Would she let him? If she did, would she do it for duty alone? Or perhaps there was a flame of want curling itself through her even now.

He was so caught up in his stomach-churning imaginations that he barely registered that someone had entered the room. He jumped when a voice said, "The head of the Inquisition's security should not be so easy to surprise." He snapped his head away from the ceiling and looked to the door.

Cassandra stared at him from the foot of his bed, and despite her teasing words there was no smile on her face. She'd changed into her usual evening clothes, a tunic and worn trousers, and Cullen briefly mourned the loss of the dress, even though he knew he couldn't have handled its temptations. "You shouldn't be here," he said.

"I know."

"If the pri - the Nevarran delegation finds out, they'll be offended at best. Aggressive at worst."

"Yes." Her face was stubborn and unmovable.

He ran a hand through his hair. "They told me what this was really about," he said. A flicker of concern ran across her face, and he acknowledged it. "We can't risk anything. She needs to live."

Cassandra didn't move towards him, but her hand reached out to touch the bedpost lightly. "All you say is true. I will leave, and we will both play our roles," she said. Her eyes were sad. "Now in true understanding. But first, will you dance with me?"

His breath caught in his throat. To dance with Cassandra. Even without the gowns and the gold buttons, it was all he'd craved. He looked down at himself at the reminder. "I'm hardly dressed for it."

She smiled then, very slightly. "I think we are both attired in the way we prefer the other," she said. He frowned at the wistful quality in her voice, but when she took a step back from the bed and held out her hands he joined her.

But he bypassed her outstretched fingers and folded her to him so tightly that true dancing was impossible. That was fine. He didn't know how to do it anyway, and this was no ball. There were no dresses and braids, no people to press against them, and no music to follow. He smiled sadly and began to hum an old Fereldan song they'd played at the country dances of his youth. It was ludicrous after an evening of such formality, but Cassandra didn't object.

He kept his hands still and steady around her - wandering would only lead to pain - and they said nothing as they turned slowly to the sound of his song. He wondered what she was thinking. He barely knew himself. The starlight didn't reach his room, and the sparkling midnight of Cassandra was gone. But the woman was here, and he'd wanted this so badly he'd barely been able to see anything else.

Eventually he reached the end of the tune, and he stepped away from her. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to know about her mind. He asked nothing at all, only bowed slightly and said, "Thank you for the dance, Princess."

She curtsied, as prettily as one could in trousers, and he forced a smile that turned genuine when she wobbled slightly as she straightened. They walked to his door slowly, trying to avoid what needed to be. "We can't do this again," he said as they reached it. "I can't be like this and continue." Close in the nights and distant in the day would kill him as easily as any blade.

"Yes. I have not been fair to you," she said. "I've asked you to accept hurt while at the same time asking you to relieve my own. I'm sorry."

Her cheek was smooth and warm under his fingers. "Never apologize for needing me. I'm sorry, too." Sorry he wasn't strong enough to hide his pain. Sorry he wasn't important, wasn't romantic, was a man who could only dance in secret shadows now, instead of in the light as she deserved.

She turned away and put a hand on the doorknob, but paused when he touched her shoulder. "One thing," he whispered. "I have to know. Did he kiss you?"

"No," she said. She spun back to face him. "No, of course not."

Princes were probably too polite for that, no matter how charming they were. Which was why he wasn't one of them. "Good. Then there's one thing I can still do," he said. He summoned all of his memories of the stories, of the way the balls' goodnights were supposed to go, and cupped her face in his hands. She breathed in sharply, and he drew her into a kiss that was chaste and far too brief. It still set his entire body aflame.

He pulled back reluctantly and dropped his hands. "You're more beautiful than words. Sleep well."

She slipped out on silent feet, and he fell back into his bed heavily. But at least his imaginations were slightly less afraid.

In the morning his mind was clear, sharper than it had been in weeks. Whether it was the new knowledge of the mission or simply the result of a hard sleep brought on by wine he didn't know, but he did know what he needed to do. Cassandra needed to keep Nevarra happy. He needed to stay sane, which would never happen with them both inside the close walls of Skyhold. And he needed an occupation, something to keep him busy. There was only one solution.

He found Ellana padding along the hallway, already losing some of the bloom of the previous night. He hated the lines deepening on her face and the half-focus of her eyes, though the latter may have simply been the early hour. She liked mornings almost as little as he did.

Cullen pulled her onto a bench in an alcove and gave her a comforting hug, the one he hadn't been able to give in the sight of all of Thedas. She returned it easily and looked at him when he finally drew back. "Do you feel better?"

"No," he said. "But I will when we've solved this." He drummed his fingers on his knee. "Leliana told me about the invitation to Nevarra. Send me, too."

She raised her eyebrows so high he thought they would disappear into her hairline. "You want to travel with them?" she asked. "Into Nevarra?"

Not particularly. "Yes," he said. "I want to help. Solas will need someone to watch his back. And I have to do something."

"I suppose you could be part of the diplomatic contingent," she said. "Even as the Commander of our forces. Nevarra appreciates fighting skill." Ellana bit her lip. "Are you sure you can do it without starting a war?"

"I end wars. I don't start them," he said with more confidence than he felt. She didn't look reassured. He took her hand in his. "Let me. Please. I won't let this fail."

When she didn't answer, a faint smile rose to his lips. "Consider it a request for a very long patrol," he said.

"Very well," she replied after a long minute. She stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll talk to Josephine. Be ready to leave tomorrow, Commander."

Solas found him in the castle's inner practice yard later that morning, watching soldiers with half an eye while he wrote letters of instructions and notes for his captains with the rest of his attention. He didn't look up as the elf approached. "Not now, Solas. I assume we'll finalize our plans tonight, before we leave," said Cullen. He paused in the middle of a training schedule. "Are the Temple guardians joining you? Ellana implied you weren't traveling alone."

"It's a diplomatic exchange," said Solas. "There will be quite a few people in the party. The Nevarrans will send some of their own to Skyhold as well."

"Sounds more like a hostage exchange," said Cullen absently. Then the mage's words sunk in, and he paled and looked up. "Is Dmitri going with them?" Maker, he hadn't even considered that.

Solas looked puzzled. "No, he travels with us. He will be our host."

Almost as bad, but at least he wasn't leaving the man alone with his wife - former wife - for months. He smiled tightly and went back to his paperwork, then frowned when the elf's shadow didn't move. "Something on your mind?"

"I'm wondering why you volunteered for this, Commander."

"I needed occupation. To be of use," he said. He added more quietly, "And Cassandra needs distance from me."

"Ah," said Solas with a hint of embarrassment. "Ellana thought that you knew."

"Knew what?" he asked sharply.

"Cassandra was the one invited to Nevarra, by the Grand Prince. Personally," said Solas. He threw Cullen a glance that was as sympathetic as the man ever got. "We will be her retinue."