Diana quickly settled into her own comforting rhythm at the sanctuary. She woke early, before the sun, and would immediately stop by the kitchen to grab an apple or a piece of good, thick bread. From there she walked to a nearby tall hill and would watch the sun rise over the gentle slopes of Highever. Some days Roger joined her; some days he didn't.

Usually the man that managed the correspondence - Finbar, an old ex-templar with an eyepatch- was awake by the time she walked back to the sanctuary. Once or twice a week he'd have a letter for her. Diana found herself writing letters often; she wrote many to Rosalie and Alec, but also to those who had been in the Inquisition.

One day Finbar grunted with effort as he handed her a letter and a big bottle of white wine.

Dear Diana, lovely Diana, missed Diana,

You sound as if you are beginning to flourish! Of course, you would flourish just as well (if not better) in Antiva and we do have considerably better fashion (and weather) than Ferelden, but… to each their own.

I will come to visit the sanctuary when I am less busy with managing House Montilyet, but only if you promise to come to Antiva someday. There is so much I'd love to show you!

There's also a lot of wine. I have included a bottle of my favorite. Please toast to good health and good friendships… and to good wine, of course.

Love, love, love,

Josephine

Diana shared the bottle of wine at dinner that night. Divided among around twenty residents, it didn't go very far, but it paired well with the flaky grilled fish Leo had cooked over a big fire outside.

John's evaluation of Leo's cooking had been spot-on. Everything the teenager made was delicious. He had a knack for plants, too; he had an herb garden growing along one of the outdoor walls of the dining hall and he also oversaw their small vegetable garden.

The regular food schedule was changing Diana's body and slowly the thin concave spaces began to fill in. She was gaining strength, too; a few times a week she would train with John or Sandrine in the sparring ring. Her muscles ached after those sessions and often the trio walked around with bruises from training swords.

Cullen was busy, but he always made time for the residents - and also for Diana. They went on walks often, mostly through the hills or to their pond. They talked about the sanctuary a lot, but also spoke of the Inquisition often.

"I miss it," Diana realized one day as they hiked out in the hot sun. "Not the part where we all nearly died everyday or the part where people got hurt or the part where the world seemed like it was going to end, but… I miss feeling like I have something I'm supposed to do, at least."

"You miss the purpose," Cullen suggested.

"Exactly."

"You have purpose here, too."

"But here it's different. It's so open," Diana said, struggling to articulate how it was different. "If I say I'll help Sandrine water the garden and I end up not doing it, no one is going to die."

"The plants might."

She smiled, shaking her head. Cullen offered her a drink of water from the waterskin he had brought and she took it, taking a long gulp. Not only was it hot in Highever, but it was also humid thanks to their close proximity to the coast.

"I miss the people," Cullen said, surprising her. Out of her advisors, he had seemed the least friendly with everyone else. Not that he had been standoffish; he had just been very focused and driven. "I don't miss the lack of sleep."

Whether he meant missing sleep because of nightmares or because of the immense pressure they had all felt during the Inquisition, she didn't ask.

"How are you sleeping?" he asked, trying to make his voice casual.

She shrugged. "I have less nightmares. And when I do have them, Roger usually wakes me up before they get too terrible." The mabari slept in her bed most nights and when she cried out in her sleep, he would wake her with urgent licks to her face or hands.

"Would you tell me what you dream about?"

She hesitated. She dreamed about Solas and her arm. She dreamed about the terrifying, red lyrium filled future she had seen at Redcliffe. Dreamed about people dying, about failing, dreamed about all of her secret fears and worst insecurities. "No," she said finally, shrugging. She tried to give him a carefree smile; it came across as a grimace. "They're getting better. I don't want to worry you."

"I worry about you anyway," Cullen said, forehead creasing with thought.

Diana shrugged, not responding. She didn't know why Cullen had taken such an interest in her general well being. Maybe he saw some of himself in her; a survivor who had seen too much. Maybe he felt obligated to, since she had been the Inquisitor.

She didn't mind. Diana felt better when she was around him, but beneath the soothing enjoyment of his company, guilt bloomed. What if she was just subconsciously using him to feel better - a bandage on a wound? Did she actually enjoy his company or did she only seek him out because she felt better around him?

Suddenly, she was profoundly frightened that she might be taking advantage of him.