Cullen lay in the grass beside Katrina, an arm slung over his eyes as he steadied his breathing, sweat glistening on his skin in the early morning light. His lips twitched into a smile as he heard Katrina sigh. "You're getting better, you know."

"Still can't keep up with you," Katrina muttered.

He heard her shift beside him and lifted his arm enough to peek out at her. She'd sat up, her long pale hair having tumbled out of the bun she'd put it in earlier, and falling in crazy tangles down her back, sleek with sweat and dew.

She flipped one of her daggers into the air and caught it, her attention glued on the way the light glanced off its smooth edge.

"I think you could take on an Orlesian or two." Cullen sat up as well, shifting closer to her and nudging her with his elbow before he rested his chin on her shoulder. When she turned to him, eyes rolling slowly, he grinned. "Without having to trick them into jumping off a cliff."

Even as she playfully shoved him, she tossed her dagger into the grass near them. "You just want an excuse to pin me down."

Shifting closer to her, his lips brushed against her neck. "Do I need a reason for that?" He paused before adding, "I like it when you're nearby."

At that she elbowed him in the chest before burying her face in her hands. "Shut up!"

Her ears were red.

He didn't doubt that she regretted telling him she was embarrassed of how she'd told him she felt for him, thinking it a bit too… too awkward or simple or… something. Cullen wasn't really sure what the problem was, but he did enjoy the way she got so flustered when he brought it up. It usually ended with her curled up against him, hiding her smile against his shoulder as she tried—and failed—to stop blushing.

They'd arrived at Red Lion Hold a little over a month ago, though it hardly seemed it. The weather had warmed up far faster than usual, and the rumor was the Gods were taking mercy on the Lion's wayward guest.

Even so, Katrina still said the nights were cold.

Cullen didn't mind that at all. It usually meant she ended up, again, curled up beside him.

While he enjoyed her company a great deal, they hadn't gone much farther than actually sleeping together. Yes, hands wandered and lips locked on occasion, but Cullen couldn't help but think of what Morrigan had said about Katrina being exiled. A silly part of him hoped that if he could respect her culture, that they might yet find a way for her to be able to return to her family someday.

After all, she had yet to accept his offer to stay at his hold.

On more than one occasion, he'd thought she might, but each time, something had stopped her. Someone had interrupted the conversation—usually Jim, as he seemed to have the worst timing in the history of Thedas—or something would distract one of them and, in the instances that he was the guilty party, he would realize too late that the subject he prayed to be breached every day had been on the cusp.

And so they remained in a strange sort of limbo, with Cullen fighting the desire to ensnare his dear Lowlander in his world and also trying to keep just enough distance that she would be free to go her own path.

Even as he brushed back her hair, loving the way the sunlight danced across her skin as the leaves overhead played in the wind, a voice carried into the large grotto they'd taken to sparring in every morning—after all, Katrina needed to be able to defend herself better.

"Thane!"

With a sigh, Cullen straightened up. Looking over his shoulder, he frowned as Jim loped up, stopping a few feet short of them and ducking his head in a quick acknowledgment of rank.

"Grim just got back from a hunt early. Got knocked up pretty good. Says there's something going on up north."

Cullen bit back the urge to dismiss Jim if only to extend his time alone with Katrina, frown settling into place as he rose to his feet. He offered Katrina a hand up, though she was already on her feet, crouching a few yards away as she gathered their weapons, and brought Cullen his sword. Cullen took it, addressing Jim as he strapped it to his hip. "Did he say what the problem was?"

"I think it's another scuffle with the Spindle Web clan testing how far the Wolves' territory used to go," Jim offered. "He can tell you more, but—what little he said—he thinks we should send some sort of patrol to make it clear that we're not giving up anything."

"Does he?" Cullen murmured, making his way out of the grotto, Katrina and Jim walking on either side of him. As he reached the edge, he parted a few branches, allowing the other two passage before stepping out himself.

As they resumed their pace, Jim shrugged. "He's pretty bitter about it. Apparently he nearly caught a snoufleur. Big fat one."

"Snow...fl…" Katrina sounded out the word beside them, pausing to hop over a particularly muddy patch of ground. With everything heating up so quickly, mud season was in full swing. It was a miracle they'd found anywhere private to be able to train near the hold that still had solid ground, all things considered.

"Snoufleur," Jim said before Cullen could. Despite having started off on a rather poor note, Jim and Katrina seemed to have come to an understanding, and they got along well enough. "It's a beast. Tastes good, though even the biggest ones don't give as much meet as a stag."

Daring a glance up at Jim and Cullen before looking back at where she was walking, Katrina gave them a short nod. Her Avvar was coming along beautifully. Of course, she still had that enchanting accent, and Cullen had a feeling she'd be fluent in another month or so. She tried to use as little common as possible, reserving that for the translation of the books.

The books.

There was a sore topic. While Katrina and Morrigan had yet to find anything that would say that the Wolves or Lions had been drawn into the Lowlands' politics, they had identified almost twenty different Avvar clans that were being manipulated in some way or another.

Cullen had sent word to the nearer clans, warning them to be wary of any Lowlanders who might come through their territories, as well. Someone had told him to be careful who he contacted, that not all the clans were unaware of the Lowlanders' scheming. Some were even involved. Cullen, however, was sure that it was more important to make the innocent aware than to leave them to the monsters. If they accidentally tipped off an enemy and got them to show their true colors, then he'd deal with them.

Who was it who had told him that…?

Cole.

The name came to mind, though he had trouble placing a face to it. Cullen knew the boy was trustworthy, though. Somehow.

His augur, Galyan, had assured him as much, as well.

Cole was a guest to Galyan and Cassandra, though most of the hold didn't know of his existence. The boy preferred it that way. It made it easy for him to do his work. To help.

The hold seemed to be doing better. Perhaps it was because of Cole, or perhaps things were just going well on their own.

There had been a bit of an outcry when Cullen had arrived with Morrigan and Katrina, but then, they'd received word of the two coming over a week before they'd arrived, so Cullen had missed the worst of it.

That turned out to have been why Branson had gone to find him. He hadn't wanted to be the one everyone brought their complaints to.

It was fair enough, though Cassandra and Galyan had been the ones people had gone to instead, and neither had been particularly thrilled. They had handled it quite well though, by pointing out that if anyone wanted to go up against the thane, arena master, and augur, they were welcome to try.

While Morrigan's brash nature made it clear that she enjoyed being in the Lions' hold about as much as they enjoyed having her, there had only been one attack against her, and that had been within the first days of her arrival. Cullen had dealt with the matter personally, and since, even though he knew a great many people were displeased, they'd kept their grouses to themselves.

It helped that he'd made sure everyone understood why she was there. She was not there to be a prisoner, she was not his new bride—how that rumor had started was beyond him—and she was not there to spy.

Once the journals were translated, she would be gone.

People asked if that meant Katrina would leave as well. Some seemed hopeful for that, while others didn't mind her presence, as he'd assumed.

Rosalie was the only one who openly insisted he couldn't let Katrina leave, ever. Despite the initial language barrier—as Rosalie spoke almost no common—they'd somehow figured out how to communicate and had gotten into more than a bit of trouble, with Rosalie taking Katrina under her wing. Katrina didn't seem completely sure how to take their new friendship, but plodded along with it regardless.

Further, his sister had somehow even managed to warm Morrigan's frigid heart, a feat that seemed to even impress Morrigan herself.

As Katrina's boot slid in a patch of mud that was a bit deeper than she'd anticipated, Cullen darted over and caught her before she could fall. Before she could thank him, he swung her up and over his shoulder, grinning at Jim when he heard her scoff.

"Really?"

"This is faster." Cullen patted her legs.

She lightly thwacked the back of his head. "Enough of this coddling. Put me down."

"In a bit."

With a dramatic sigh, she let her legs drop against him so that she could slowly kick him. "You can't fool me, you know. I know the truth. You're too sweet to be a brute."

Jim coughed at that, though Cullen simply set her down, grin in place. Once she was on the ground, she began running her fingers through her hair, trying to get the knots out so that she could put it back up. "Did Grim say if there were any signs of Orlesians?"

Shaking his head, Jim gave her a reassuring smile. "They haven't seemed to have figured out where you are, yet."

Cullen tousled her hair, and she gave up on putting it up for the moment. "Even if they do, we'll keep you safe."

She merely grunted at that. He knew she didn't want anyone getting hurt because of her—especially after what had happened at the Wolves' hold. He and Morrigan had both pointed out that the hold was likely a target well before she'd been taken there, but he could see the doubt in her eyes whenever the subject came up.

Even if she had been the cause, he'd given her his word that she'd be safe with him, and he'd be damned if he gave up on that just because he might actually have to keep his promise.

He walked her back to his home, stopping at the door as she opened it, pausing briefly to nod to him. "Thane."

He gave her an imitation of a Lowlander bow. "Katrina."

With that, she slipped inside to clean up and settle in for another day of reading.

When Cullen and Jim were a few yards down the path, heading to the augur's hut to see Grim, Jim's smile slipped. "The Spindle Web thinks the Orlesians may be planning on staking claim to the Wolves' territories themselves."

Cullen ran his tongue against the backs of his teeth as his earlier good mood died out. "How much does Grim know?"

"I thought it best you hear it from him."

…-…

Arching her back, Katrina closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, wondering just how long her vision was going to last at this rate. How did scholars do it?

There were so. Many. Words.

In the last month, she'd easily read more than she had in her entire life.

It was surprisingly exhausting. Perhaps it shouldn't have been, but Katrina felt like her training with Cullen should have been more tiresome, what with all the physical activity. Yet it wasn't. Instead, what drained her so completely was this horrid Orlesian mess.

It didn't help that her dreams tended to vault between missing her family horribly and watching Cullen's hold fall to the forward march of soldiers, their boots somehow echoing harshly across the grass in her dreams as though their heels struck down on steel instead of dirt.

Sometimes it felt like the more of this web she untangled, the less it could actually help. They had decided that the journals detailing events involving just Orlesian nobles were irrelevant to their search, and set aside any books that didn't deal with the Avvar.

Unfortunately, many of them still did. This noble's reach worried Katrina. How could the Avvar actually fight back against someone who had poisoned water reserves to get certain clans to move further into the mountains or had turned clans against one another by framing them for atrocities?

She and Morrigan had found at least three such occurrences, and both were of the mind that the Wolves' and Lions' problems fell into a similar category. They hadn't told Cullen yet because she wanted to have proof first. While Katrina simply didn't wish to mislead him, Morrigan didn't doubt that if she came up such a wild theory without evidence, she would be strung up, even if Cullen tried to stop his brethren.

Morrigan rarely left Cullen's home, instead holing up with the books. If it were up to her, she'd likely spend from sun up 'til sun down doing nothing but reading.

Fortunately, Cullen's younger sister, Rosalie, would have none of that. She'd been too little to remember much of the tragedy at the Caverns, and, while she missed her mother, she was more than willing to give Morrigan a chance—especially considering that Morrigan was so 'well' versed in Lowlander culture.

Katrina had heard quite a few stories that she'd nearly bitten her tongue off to keep from laughing about. However, Morrigan held her own knowledge in such high esteem. Katrina had once tried to correct her on her explanation of fans. Morrigan had declared they were designed so that one might gossip from across the room about another and be able to cover their mouths so that the person in question could not see.

When Katrina had pointed out that they were really great for keeping cool in warmer climates, Morrigan had sniffed indignantly and expressed that perhaps Katrina's people had adapted them differently.

Katrina left her to her illusions of grandeur. There were more important things to worry about, after all.

That, and whenever Morrigan got something really wrong, Katrina would just drag Rosalie or whoever to the side and explain how things actually worked. She was sure to give Morrigan's theories some sway, saying things like, "Perhaps in Orlais, but in the Free Marches…"

Rosalie had an entire trunk of odds and ends from the Lowlands. She'd made a ritual of coming to Morrigan and Katrina with a single treasure a night, asking for stories about what they were, if her thoughts on them were correct, and what significance they had in Lowland culture.

While the Avvar in general seemed to care little for personal effects, Rosalie's stash was a beast all its own. Cullen and Branson took to coming by around the time of Rosalie's visits, as well. While Cullen wore his curiosity openly, with mild amusement at his sister's childish nature in regards to learning the different odds and ends they'd accumulated through trades and the like, Branson always tried to feign indifference. Even so, Katrina had caught the fascination sparkling in his eyes once or twice.

Cole showed up to those gatherings too, on occasion. He always sat away from the others, listening quietly, curled up and unobtrusive. The first time she'd seen him, he'd seemed genuinely surprised.

Her first encounter with him was still horribly vague, but she remembered him now. There were times where he could disappear, but her memories didn't fade anymore.

She counted it as a small triumph, though it was a private one. He seemed to do his work best when no one noticed, after all. He mended things, sometimes something as simple as a shirt that left the owner beaming that it needn't be tossed out, sometimes as complicated as a lover's quarrel, whispering things into their ears until they finally came around to each other's views.

Mostly, though, she was certain that he kept people from thinking too harshly of Morrigan.

He kept the peace.

She'd asked him if, because of his investment in Morrigan's wellbeing, he was one of the Wolves' Gods, and he'd simply tilted his head and replied with a question of his own. "What makes you think I belong to any clan?"

Katrina liked the thought of creatures like Cole, wandering the world, easing worries and mending so much of what was wrong in the world.

According to the Chantry, Cole would likely be a demon. A monster made flesh that wandered the world, exhibiting inhuman abilities that—despite their uses—damned his very existence.

Katrina was pretty sure that the Chantry was wrong about a great many things at this point. It was a bit frightening to think that the Maker might not be real, especially when it was supposedly a lack of faith that kept him from returning, but more and more, she liked the thought of the Avvar Gods.

Gods that listened, that interacted with their people…

It was a comfort the Chantry denied its followers, instead lading them with guilt for the sins of being born. Everyone had a vice, and it had always seemed to Katrina that spending all of one's time hating oneself for such things was such a waste of energy.

The Avvar certainly didn't seem so caught up on finding each other's faults.

Perhaps, if she could find Amelia, she could bring her back here. This might be a better place for her than the family who had abandoned her when she needed them the most.

Granted, Amelia wasn't quite as good with languages as Katrina, but she could teach her.

Even as Katrina mused how she would even go about finding her dear sister, Rosalie settled onto the floor beside her. She was holding a stamp of some noble family's crest. Morrigan had just finished explaining how incredibly important crests were—something that was actually fairly accurate, for once—and Rosalie had come to Katrina to see if there was anything more than could be added.

When Katrina simply nodded to Morrigan and said that she'd pretty much covered it, Rosalie flipped the little stamp around in her hand slowly, thin fingers brushing against it as though it were a most precious gem. When she spoke, however, her intonation did nothing to reveal her enthusiasm. She was a bit of an odd sort, her voice normally a monotone. Cullen claimed that she was very fond of Katrina, and she supposed she did see a glimmer of something in her eyes when Rosalie looked at her. While she couldn't quite identify it, she figured it wasn't malicious.

Katrina worked well enough with that.

"So then, what? Do nobles just carry these around in their pockets to show when they need it?"

"Ah, no." Katrina shook her head. She reached out her hand, and inspected the crest when Rosalie relinquished it to her. It wasn't one she was familiar with, though that was hardly a surprise. While Cullen and Branson sat to one side of the room at the table, in chairs, Morrigan preferred to sit on the floor near the fire pit when Rosalie drew them away from their reading—regardless of whether it was in use. Katrina and Rosalie typically sprawled out across the floor of the main room in Cullen's home, like they were now.

Taking the crest, Katrina held it up, rocking a little on her side so that she was closer to Rosalie. "With crests, you get it sewn into clothes, etched into weapons and saddles, to mark belongings and, well, you as belonging to that family. This is for letters."

"Letters," Rosalie echoed, brow pinching together, showcasing more emotion than most of her actions did. Of her siblings, she had the darkest hair, a honey brown. It fell straight around her face, somehow always managing to cover one eye. "Like, writing."

"Yes." Katrina nodded. "See, you write your letter, fold it up…" She paused, glancing around and getting up to gather a piece of paper. She pretended to write on it and then folded it into thirds. "Once it's like this, you need to keep it closed, yes?"

Rosalie's blink seemed at least a little excited. She was hard to read at times.

Katrina could hear Cullen laugh faintly and glanced over at him before resuming her lecture. He was handsome as ever, his expression gentle as he watched her. "You get wax, melt it down so that it's this globby circle. When it dries, it keeps the envelope closed, and when you get the letter, so long as that wax is intact, you know no one else has read the letter meant for you."

Another enthusiastic blink.

"While the wax is drying, you press this crest into the wax, and it leaves an impression. That way the person getting the letter knows that the letter is important, family business."

She handed the crest back to Rosalie. As she looked it over, Rosalie lightly pressed the stamp into her palm. "Does your family have a crest, then?"

"I think it's getting late," Cullen interrupted, on his feet and over to them in an instant.

Every time questions wound around to Katrina's family, he seemed to get a bit agitated or defensive on her behalf. It was sweet, in a way, but more than a little puzzling.

He'd convinced Branson and Morrigan to keep Katrina's private life just that, but she still couldn't see that it was something they couldn't tell Rosalie. She seemed like a good sort, if not a little grim. In fact, the only reason Katrina hadn't told Rosalie herself was because Cullen seemed so strongly against including her. Perhaps she simply wasn't good at keeping a secret.

Or perhaps it was shameful in Avvar culture to be kicked out as she had been? Did he fear people would think less of her if they knew her own blood had given up on her?

"Why don't you want Katrina to talk about her family?" Rosalie asked, refusing to get up even as Cullen offered them both a hand. When Cullen told her that they had work to do in the morning, she rolled her eyes. "You said you didn't steal her, so she's a guest. That means she's still bound to her family, doesn't it?"

While Katrina still thought it was odd that they would steal their wives, she supposed it wasn't too much stranger than her culture, where parents basically sold their children off for political gain. Not to mention the Avvar had to have permission to even try to take a bride—or husband, in such cases as Dorian's.

The part about feeding failures to the hold-beast was a little extreme, but then, the Avvar didn't do anything halfway, did they?

Katrina had seen Asmund, the Lions' hold-beast once. She'd been presented to him along with Morrigan. That the creature hadn't eaten their faces off apparently meant they had its blessing to stay.

She thought they ought to do that sort of thing in the Lowlands more. Sic the family pet on all visitors and banish them from the home if the wee beastie didn't approve.

Rosalie was arguing with Cullen, though her voice remained flat as ever. Katrina hadn't really followed the escalation, but she tuned back just in time to hear, "It's not my fault you're stupid. I don't know why you didn't steal her to begin with. It's so obvious that you want to claim her."

Katrina clucked her tongue before Cullen could respond. "Rosie, there's no need for that. It's not like he could have stolen me, anyway."

Dear Maker.

The looks they all gave her.

Morrigan seemed greatly amused, while Branson was genuinely offended. Rosalie…her expression didn't change much, but Katrina could bet most anything that she was likely offended, too.

Cullen…he just looked hurt, though he quickly tried to hide it with a frown.

Hopping to her feet, Katrina brushed off her leathers as she walked over to where the two siblings stood—Rosalie had gotten up to argue with her brother at some point. "What I mean is, who would he have even stolen me from? I'm a Free Marcher. Orlesians have no claim over me." She paused before adding with a shrug, "And the Shadow Wolves certainly didn't."

Her clarification didn't seem to help much.

Silence lingered for a few agonizingly long seconds before Cullen finally took in a breath and repeated, "It's getting late."

This time, no one argued.