Cullen was waiting for her when she came out of yet another round of Varric's storytelling. The dwarf was reaching the end of the tale, perhaps only a day or two left, and he'd gotten more candid in the telling. She suspected she might even get the unvarnished truth about Anders. Varric's hidden devoutness had given him a powerful grudge against the dead mage.

But Cullen distracted her from her musings. He was leaning against the wall, studying a thick sheaf of papers. It would be better for him to work , so she tried to shoo him back to his reading when he looked up. Instead he put them away and moved to her side as soon as the door clicked shut.

"Anything useful?" he asked. They fell into easy step as they walked back to the officer's wing, to her own room. Somehow talking to the dwarf always made her feel like she needed a nap.

"Perhaps. It's hard to know," she said, clenching her fist and releasing the tension as she breathed. "He sounds convincing when he speaks, and many things line up with public record of Kirkwall's recent history. But the parts that matter, the parts no one knows… who can tell? He may just be telling me what I want to hear."

Cullen nodded. "That's his specialty, I'm afraid."

"The worst of it is that I don't even know that what he tells me of Hawke's personality is real. He seems to consider her a bit of a charlatan. Or he wants me to consider her one," she said. She sighed. "I will have to think on it, but not now."

"Are you okay?" asked Cullen quietly, and she softened a little when she looked at his face. He was a good man, and he was becoming an even better friend. She'd come to rely on him over the last week of confusion and second-guessing. They'd had similar training, their faiths lived in the same places, and he was quiet and supportive no matter how late the hour or how exhausted he was. She tried not to take advantage of his selflessness, but she thanked the Maker for it anyway. Even over Leliana, Cullen was the person she could truly talk to about her thoughts around this endless, meandering interrogation.

All the more because he never suggested someone take the job of questioning out of her hands. They'd spent meals and conversations and even some evenings together, alone or with Leliana, talking about what she was learning and not learning, and he had never once seemed to think she was unequal to the task. No matter how it vexed her. It had the strange effect of relaxing her into acceptance of her frustrations, freeing her to express how fearful she was that she wasn't equal to what was needed. He never used it as opportunity to judge her.

But he did worry. "I'm fine, Cullen. Thank you for your concern," she said. He nodded, the bruises under his eyes dipping into a shaft of sunlight. She flushed at her lack of manners. "I should be asking if you are well."

"Kirkwall is still standing," he said, smiling. "And however I was before, I'm much better now that I'm here."

They walked in companionable silence until they reached her hall, and she suddenly said, "What do you think Hawke was like?"

His eyes widened. He said nothing.

Her fist tightened once more. "I know it is not a polite thing to ask. You've shied away from the topic, and I don't want to hurt you, but you knew her well. It might help me understand where to trust, with Varric."

"I'm not worried about politeness," he said. "You can ask me anything, Seeker. But I don't know if my answers will be any better than Varric's. They may be worse. I don't know that I knew Hawke at all. I just thought I did."

"But what do you think of her now?" she pressed. They'd reached her door, and she looked up at his eyes that suddenly seemed years away.

"I think she was afraid," he said after a long minute. He shook his head. "No. Not afraid. Uncomfortable. Wherever she went she was always the thing that drew your eye, the one person that could never be ignored, but it wasn't because she was special. Although I think she is special, in some ways. But she stood out because she didn't fit into the world. It was as though there was a part the rest of us had, some camouflage, that she was missing. It made her too visible for a quiet life. She could never do anything small. And that notoriety was its own kind of disguise. Everyone knew Hawke, but no one knew Marian. I think that's what destroyed Kirkwall, in the end. She'd pushed herself into a corner so tightly that she couldn't help but explode."

Cassandra didn't speak, letting him remember, studying his face as he stared at the wood above her head. "But for all that destruction I think she was a good person, underneath. Or she wanted to be. None of us is always good. She just didn't always see the chain that her actions would begin. And they always began something. I don't think she would have killed a spider under her boots, but she might have toppled a nation by giving a copper to a beggar. She was always kind to Anders. And he needed kindness. It was the good thing to do. The right thing to do. Until it wasn't."

A weary smile rose to his lips. "When I make an error in judgment, it just causes a headache and paperwork. She was too powerful, and she didn't have that luxury," he said. He sighed. "I spent so much time with her, for awhile, and I left every morning wondering who she truly was."

"You must love her very much," said Cassandra, trying to keep her voice steady.

That brought him back, and he looked down, suddenly present again. "No. No, I don't love her," he said. He stepped closer. "I don't want to talk about Hawke anymore."

Maker give her strength, he was close enough to kiss. Her heart sped up before the Maker had time to intervene. "Very well," she said. "Thank you for your insights."

Cullen laughed gently. "You're welcome."

He searched her face, and his gaze felt like warm fingers on her overheated skin. She reacted without thought, tilting her head back and parting her lips, knowing the pattern of this dance even while she knew it wasn't for her. He breathed in sharply and whispered, "Anything you need."

She closed her eyes just as his lips touched hers, and she felt it down to the balls of her feet.

Impossible that a man with a body so hard could have lips so soft. Impossible that a man with such a gentle spirit could be so forceful in his kisses. He didn't lay a hand on her, bracing his palms on the door to keep himself away, but his mouth left no doubt as to what he wanted from her. And oh did she want to give it to him. She opened her mouth to his tongue, and he swept it greedily inside before pulling away, nipping at her lower lip, then diving in again to claim her once more.

Every sensation, every place in the world narrowed to one point, the point where they touched. He took everything she gave him, without question, never hesitating to deepen when she offered or shallow when she countered with her own aggression. She was giddy and high, floating above herself like a feather, waiting, ready to fall. Here, in this place, with this man, there would be a love to carry her away once more.

And then there was another thought, light as air over skin. Leliana.

She was pressed against the door too firmly to move, so she wound her fingers into his hair and tugged at him gently to draw him away.

Instead of following the motion, he gasped into her mouth. He snarled, and another wave of pleasure rocked her as he took her mouth with indomitable power. He was covering her with his greater height, pressing around her with his strength. She was moaning and completely his and he'd barely even touched her yet.

"Cullen," she tried to say, but there was no space for the words in between them. They were so close, and she was losing herself. Soon there would be nothing left of Cassandra, just this snarled ball of need that he was tangling in her under the pressure of his talented, demanding mouth.

Her hand searched for the door latch, whether to escape or drag him inside with her she didn't know, but that small movement, that gesture, was enough to push him away. He looked down at her, pupils blown wide in a blend of lust and horror, and his voice shook when he spoke. "Oh Maker, I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, I wasn't thinking. Not really," he said desperately, but before he could finish he was already moving his lips to her temple, tasting the skin there delicately. His arms were trembling over her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just couldn't… did I scare you?"

"No," she said, trying to slow her heart to its normal rate. "It was very enjoyable. I wasn't afraid. But -"

"I know," he interrupted quietly, cheek still resting against her hair. He kissed the top of her head softly, as though he couldn't bear to stop. "It's fraternization. It's not right."

She chuckled below him, and that finally made him pull back and stare at her. "There is nothing forbidden between Seekers and Templars, Cullen. It isn't encouraged, perhaps, but as I told you we are not here to evaluate you. And these days mostly I'm a Seeker in name alone."

"What then?"

Cassandra screwed up her courage. "Leliana."

He bit his lip ruefully. "Yes, I think she's already aware of my… attraction to you. She's very perceptive," he said. "Not that I imagine it took that much skill to read."

"No," she said firmly. "You and Leliana."

A look of utter disbelief crossed his face. "Me? And Leliana? Did she tell you that I… that we… Maker's breath, I would never!"

"But I've seen you looking at her!"

He hummed low in his throat. "I don't know what I was looking at, but it definitely wasn't Leliana."

His eyes were heated and molten once more on her, and she shivered under his stare. His long, light lashes fluttered above her as he blinked slowly. Once. Twice, and then his eyes were more than just heated. They were the eyes of a man who knew he'd won.

A smile crept across his face when she bit her lip, desperately trying to keep herself at bay. He leaned down once more to graze her cheek with his lips, tracing a slow line to her neck. "You smell delicious," he breathed, and she felt him smile when she made a noise in her throat. "What is it?"

"Soap," she said, voice high and thin. "From Nevarra."

"I always knew I liked Nevarra."

Cullen's rough baritone tingling over the shell of her ear was impossible to withstand, but she hadn't gotten her answers yet.

"Stop that," she said in more normal tones, and he complied, but he didn't move away. "You said Leliana was like Hawke. And you loved Hawke."

"Cassandra..." His voice was a plea, and the use of her name a weapon that slammed hard against her defenses.

She pressed her lips together mulishly, even though he couldn't see it. She would be sure of this ground. "I must know."

Cullen leaned back again with effort, fully separated but not releasing her from the prison of his arms. Only the tips of his fingers propped him up as he looked down at her. "I never loved Hawke. Even when I thought I was the only one in her bed, she made it clear that the bed was as far as we would extend. She didn't have it in her to offer more. I accepted it. I thought I might change her mind, at the beginning, but I never did. By the end I cared for her, but it was never love," he said. The lines on his face drew into regret.

His eyes were still warm even in their sadness, capturing her inside their concern. "Leliana is beautiful, and when I met her during the Blight, if I'd been less… troubled, and she less busy, I may have attempted something foolish. But it's been ten years. She's a very different woman than I remember. She's still beautiful but somehow never really there. And the parts of her that are Hawke are the parts that I couldn't abide."

"I don't understand."

He shook his head slightly. "The way her life is centered around the pivot of herself. And her inconstancy of personality. She changes from minute to minute, and she charms too easily for it to be real. I would never trust the ground under my feet, were we together, and I'm not one who enjoys the doubt of the chase."

"So you chose me in her place. As a substitute, because Leliana is too unstable."

"No!" he said quickly. He hissed out a breath. "Maker save me, I didn't choose at all. There was no choice. Cassandra, you're unbearably lovely. I saw only you, from the beginning. At dinner, that first night, there we were dining and pretending that our lives are some sort of party and you sat in your practical attire, fully yourself. Calm. Confident. Completely unburdened by anyone's expectations."

He laughed and ducked his head when she snorted. "You are the most… yourself person I've ever met. It's hard to explain," he said. "I felt so clumsy, trying to impress you with my manners, and then it turned out you were royalty. Whatever manners I've picked up along the way likely aren't even fit for your servants. I was certain I'd embarrassed myself beyond all recovery that evening. And, of course, you were here to take my job, and I didn't want you to think I was trying to bed you to save it."

She raised an eyebrow and he flushed. "A small part of me simply wanted you to get it over with so that I could beg you to see me as a man. If you ever could."

It was her turn to smile. "Oh, I certainly could," she said in a low voice. She reached out to rub her thumb along his jaw, and he closed his eyes as she stroked.

"Then I still had my job, and you were so kind about it. Not falsely kind, but genuinely caring and understanding. And honest about the cost of my failures. I've never been reprimanded so comfortingly, not since my mother. Though you are certainly not my mother, thank the Maker," he said.

She laughed, and he watched her once more.

"But I didn't know how to proceed. You're still a Seeker. And you didn't seem to hold any interest in even friendly intimacy with me," he said, smiling ruefully. "You wouldn't even allow me your name."

"If you kiss me like that again, you can call me any name you please."

He grinned, but there were still shadows in his eyes. "Are you sure? I'm not pushing too quickly?"

"Never. I have wanted you since we met," she whispered, and he moved a hand to the curve of her hip with a quickness that thrilled her. His fingers curled around her waist, holding her in place. Not that she'd been planning to go anywhere. She tried to gather her thoughts. "Cullen, what do you want of me? Do you want the bed? Or more?"

Her heart hammered in her chest as she waited for his reply. She would give him only the bed, if that was his need. There would be joy there, too. But the next weeks would be sheer pleasure in the grips of a true affair. A meeting of the souls, not just the bodies.

It seemed to take an eternity for him to consider, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he finally spoke. "I'm afraid to tell you how many things I want of you," he said quietly.

The aching terror in his voice was enough to be sure. She tumbled into the waiting ecstasy of love with a joyful heart and knew the next weeks would be glorious for them both.

Which didn't mean the kissing had to stop now. She pulled him down by his shirt collar and pressed her lips to his once more. This time she was in the lead, driving the pace, and he submitted to her with a low moan. When she wandered away from his mouth to plant kisses down his neck, he sighed happily. "This can't be real," he said. He laughed. "I can't believe you thought I wanted Leliana."

Cassandra shoved him, hard, without relinquishing her hold on him, and he pinned her against the door with his hips. His grip tightened on her waist, hard enough to leave the impression of his fingers on her skin, and without warning or word he stole back control. He pushed himself against her body, nipping and biting and sucking along her own neck until she was as painfully aroused as he was. His free hand kneaded the muscles of her shoulder in an endless, possessive wave.

No, there was nothing gentle about him when he wanted. She would make sure to keep him that way.

But not yet. She drew his mouth back to hers with firm pressure on his chin, and he backed away slowly from that demanding edge. They spent more time in shared kisses, giving and taking, pushing and pulling. Just existing. Them alone, falling together.

"Excuse me, ser," said a voice behind Cullen.

Cassandra jerked away, but Cullen only lifted his head a few inches. She expected him to be the color of a sunset, but he was perfectly composed. "Yes, Knight-Corporal?"

How did he know? She peered around him to see Lorel, their original guide, standing to very correct attention. "Pardon the interruption, ser, but the Seneschal is waiting to speak to you in your office. He said it was a matter of great consequence that couldn't be delayed."

Cullen's gaze never left her face, roving over it as though he was memorizing every spot and scar. "He says that about everything," he said loudly. "Believing him only encourages it."

"Yes ser. So I left him there for a while. But it's been an hour now, ser."

He sighed, and Cassandra nodded reluctantly at the question in his eyes. "Very well." He didn't push away, though, instead lowering himself to kiss her softly. "Will you be at the mess for dinner?"

She nodded again, too overwhelmed to speak.

"Good," he said. He grinned that wide, beautiful grin, and this time she reveled in the butterflies that danced under its power. "Wear your most practical clothing."

"Yes ser," she said in a deliberately low voice, and he groaned and kissed her again. This one wasn't nearly so gentle or chaste.

When he pulled away he was breathing hard, but he still didn't leave. "Cassandra, forgive me. You have to know something. Hawke and Leliana are both storms. They pass through and go without anyone remembering anything but the noise and the power. But you. I knew from the minute we first spoke that any man who was lucky enough to be what you want - " He broke off and gathered himself. "Any man like that would have something real to hold on to."

She murmured agreement as he brushed his lips against her forehead.

"He would have something deep." A kiss to her eyebrow.

"He would have something true." A kiss to her cheek.

"He would never have to compete for your love." A kiss to her lips once more.

"He might even be lucky enough to have something that lasted forever."

And then he pushed away, turning quickly and striding down the hall without looking back. Knight-Coporal Lorel trailed discreetly, but offered Cassandra a thumbs up and a grin before they disappeared around the corner.

Cassandra barely saw her.

Forever?

She slipped into her room and leaned back against the solid wood door in terror. Forever wasn't in the plan. It never had been. He was a garrison commander, dedicated to his work, used to women coming and going, never resting too long or wanting too much. That was the way this always went with the Templars. They were bred and trained to be transitory. They saw this moment, this dawn, and eternity only at the Maker's side.

They weren't supposed to be permanent, here in the world.

But her lips were still swollen from his kisses, her hip still felt the hungry pressure of his fingers, and other parts of her were crying out for the release she would have to seek alone. How could she step away now? And how would she avoid harming them both, if she didn't?