Cassandra turned away from the staring Hawke, who seemed content to let them leave. There was no time to ask Cullen how he'd known where to find her before they reached the Divine's audience room in the Chantry, which was just as well because she had no idea how to ask him. Any accusation would burn him, and any evasion would enrage her. The fact that all she wanted to do was push him into every corner they passed and kiss him until he forgot everything he knew didn't help matters.

Justinia was alone and seemed surprised to see them, but she rose gracefully and held out her hands in the standard blessing. Cullen took one knee and stared down, the posture of a man come before a Reverend Mother for confession rather than introduction. The Divine paused infinitesimally before saying, "Welcome, my son," and touching the golden waves of his hair.

"I'm not worthy of such an honor," he said to her shoes.

"Nonsense," she said sharply. "All those in my service are as my children. The Maker has blessed me in this way beyond measure, but I will always accept the blessing of more."

"As you desire, Most Holy."

"Justinia, please," she said. "Now, rise. It makes my bones ache to see petitioners kneel, no matter how young and fit they are. I sometimes suspect my Hands take up that position simply to annoy me."

Cullen stood without looking at Cassandra, and she couldn't have summoned a smile for all the gold in Thedas. Justinia's eyes narrowed, and she added, "I did not expect you here for some time. I hope you didn't shorten your reunion on my account."

Times like these were a glowing reminder that Justinia had mentored Leliana, and Cassandra had never regretted it more. Cullen seemed unaffected. "I prefer to begin the work, Mos- Justinia. And to arrive to the point of conversations quickly," he said. "Begging your pardon."

"A man after my own heart," said Justinia. Cassandra bowed and turned to leave, but the Divine stopped her. "I would prefer you stay. This will be a conversation that you need to hear, my daughter."

Cassandra winced. That was never a good sign, and given the roiling currents of her heart it would be even more disastrous than usual. But there was no way to refuse. Hands always obeyed.

They moved to the small table in the corner, used for casual meetings, and Justinia poured them all tea whether they wanted it or not. "Ser Rutherford. Please tell me what you offer the Chantry."

He sipped slowly and studied her. "To the Chantry I offer only my soul. To the Divine I offer my service and experience as a leader of armed forces, to whatever purpose they might be suited."

Justinia smiled.

"I also offer the services of twenty Templars and a few dozen civilians from Kirkwall who wish to serve your holy cause. They are unaware of the full nature of it, but they are all devout," he said. He paused. "And I offer Marian Hawke, who has sworn herself to my personal service."

Cassandra's cup rattled in her saucer as she dropped it from numb fingers, and some of the liquid sloshed over the side. Cullen's eyes flicked to her, inscrutably, and she wondered what he saw there. Her own mind was conjuring images of how that beautiful, formidable woman might serve him, and they were very, very personal services indeed. Would he enjoy having her back in his bed? Nothing would prevent it, now. Perhaps Hawke had finally understood the value of the man who'd longed for her so faithfully all those years ago.

Justinia's reaction was less noisy but no less surprised. "I'm led to understand that Marian Hawke would not be found."

"I was persuasive."

Cassandra's spirits sank a little more.

"I see. Well, I will enjoy meeting her as well. This is quite a bit you offer me, Ser Rutherford, and I'm pleased to accept your service and your fealty," said Justinia. She steepled her fingers lightly. "However, you realize that the position Cassandra discussed with you is a position in potential only? If I perform my duties as I should, it may not be necessary."

Cullen nodded. "Yes. I understood that when the Right Hand offered me the job. But she is persuasive as well," he said evenly, and Cassandra flushed. "Also, even if your peace is brokered, which I pray for nightly, you must have already gathered to you a group of loyal Templars who will need to be guided onto the healing path. The Seekers are useless for this. Their only tactic is to beat a horse after it has already gone astray, not point it where they would like it to travel."

The assertion wasn't wrong, by recent history, and yet to hear him speak so contemptuously of a piece of her was a shock greater than any he'd given her so far. The words sounded like a long-held belief, and so she must have always been part of something terrible to him. She stared at her hands and burned with greater shame.

"And you believe you can guide them correctly?" asked Justinia, shaking Cassandra out of her stupor. "At Kinloch you petitioned for the extermination of an entire Circle."

To Cassandra's surprise, Cullen's back remained straight and his expression never wavered. "I did. I had been tortured for days, and I was not in my right mind. I desired retribution instead of justice, and saw all mages through the same lens of blood. This is no excuse for my actions, but it's also a period long in the past for me. Kirkwall showed me the cost of such unyielding anger. I've put it behind me, and can teach others to do the same. Under your guidance, of course."

"Very well."

And finally Cullen looked uncertain, as though the conversation had moved in a direction he hadn't planned on. "So easily?"

"My Right Hand trusts you implicitly, which is a blessing not easily bestowed, and my Left Hand distrusts you only slightly, which is even harder to win," she said. "Should I doubt my closest advisors? I see many uses for you in my organization, regardless of what shape it takes."

Cullen said, with effort, "Seeker Pentaghast's trust may no longer be so absolute."

"I trust Cullen," she said quietly, her first words in the silent room. She stared at Justinia, who looked like an elderly noblewoman with her teacup and dainty manners. "If he says a thing is true, there can be no doubting him."

"Nevertheless," Cullen said quickly, a tinge of red in his cheeks, "you don't strike me as a woman who allows her opinions to be formed by others. No matter how valued their counsel. I worry that I will not have your complete confidence, as I need."

Justinia set her cup down and smiled. "Very perceptive. And you're correct, though you overlook the possibility that I may know more about you than you are aware," she said. Cullen furrowed his brow, and she said with deceptive mildness, "For example, I know what you have turned the Circle at Kirkwall into."

He cut a suspicious look at Cassandra, who returned it blankly and honestly. He seemed to sense the truth of her confusion and looked at his hands. "Leliana."

"Leliana," said the Divine easily. "You are fortunate Cassandra has a deep-seated unease of mages. If she had learned, she would have confronted you directly long ago."

Cullen smiled slightly, a mere quirk of his mouth, and there was a hint of sadness in it. "Yes, she would have."

"May I please understand this conversation?" asked Cassandra with far more than a hint of annoyance.

Cullen shifted and looked away. "The Kirkwall Circle holds some mages and Tranquil, as I said. But that's not all who are housed in its wing. Refugees and asylum-seekers, mostly slaves from Tevinter trying to escape their masters, live and rest there before flowing out into the rest of Thedas or staying to work in the garrison." He gripped his cup tightly. "The mages who arrive and do not wish to remain are also set free. To the Marches, or to Ferelden."

"You release mages into Thedas? Outside of the Circles?" she asked. She'd begun to frown, wondering why he would be so ashamed that he was helping the desperate, but now she was furious. "They will kill people!"

"We keep track of them," he said defensively. "All of them. Only one has ever killed anyone, and it was a woman who was being robbed at swordpoint. She killed the man with her own magic, not by using blood, and she returned to Kirkwall immediately, and voluntarily, to face me. We housed her, counseled her, and released her when she felt ready. The rest are all living happily, if not always comfortably. And when we've needed their skills, for healing or any other magical working, they've always responded."

"What would Aedan Cousland say if he knew you were sending unchecked weapons into his lands?"

"He knows all about it. It was partially his idea. He contacted me after the events in Kirkwall to ask what might be done. This was it," said Cullen.

"That's madness," she said. "It's only a matter of time."

"It's only a matter of time for any of us, Seeker. We all carry danger. We all carry the capacity to hurt," he said. "When trust is extended, civility is often the response. And it's better than the alternative."

Cassandra pressed her lips together and stared at the table, feeling the old helplessness once more. It was better for the mages. It wasn't better for their victims, and it wasn't better for the hidden victims, the people who were left behind. She jumped when he touched her hand, light as a feather, and she wasn't prepared for the buried softness in his expression when she looked at him.

"Anthony should have lived," he said. "He never should have left Thedas that way. But he didn't die because we need more Circles. It may have been just the opposite."

Justinia said mildly, "You realize that is heresy. In front of the Maker's emissary in this world."

He took his hand away and leaned back. "There is nothing in the Chant about Templar garrisons, Most Holy. Believe me, I've looked extensively," he said. "The Maker's will be done."

Cassandra was still staring at him in confusion, but it seemed he was done speaking to her. Done even acknowledging her.

The Divine was also done, and she clapped her hands lightly. "And it shall always be. So, the future. For now, we proceed as though the future can be any shape. Ser Rutherford, you will train any fighters in the area in tactics against non-mage opponents, as a training exercise, and also get to know the other troops in the area. Cassandra, since you will no longer need to prepare to be Commander -"

Cullen made a surprised noise in his throat, and she looked away quickly.

"You will now be responsible for evaluating the fitness of Marian Hawke as a leader."

Her eyes widened in horror. "Justinia, I can't." Don't make me say why, she pleaded silently.

"You must. Do your best," she said. She stood, and they followed her. "Please show Ser Rutherford to his room."

Cassandra's insides twisted once more, entirely aware that he had no room. Or, more accurately, his room was her own. But she kept her face impassive as she said, "Of course, Most Holy. At once."

Fortunately she ran into Leliana in the middle of giving a tour to the Fereldan king, and she pawned Cullen off on them easily. Leliana gave her a strange look as Cassandra begged to be excused, but she didn't protest. She linked her arms in both of theirs in a flirtatious, very un-holy type of way, and sauntered off to show them the Chantry's collection of paintings.

Cassandra wasted no time in sprinting to her room and throwing everything of personal import into the empty chests in the corner. She couldn't move them, but she stacked and arranged them in such a way that they looked like long term storage. She kept out some of her own clothing and other effects to take with her in a satchel, which she hid in a small closet near the Chantry doors. By the time she was done, Leliana had finished her tour and walked back into entryway with a series of flourishes that the men were applauding with two different levels of enthusiasm.

She couldn't help but notice how Cullen's eyes strayed to the silver pin in Leliana's red hair, and how his hands clenched into fists that turned his knuckles white. Aedan touched his shoulder gently and whispered something with a smile, and Cullen didn't laugh but he did relax. Cassandra wondered what the King had said that was so calming.

"We'll show you to your rooms," said Leliana. "Your Majesty?" She called over her shoulder as they left, "Cassandra will take you, Cullen."

Their things had been brought to the entrance, and Cullen picked up his bags without much effort. He had even fewer personal effects than she did. Cassandra realized with an ache that he must have left quite a bit behind him.

Aedan was being quartered outside of the holy building, in the village, but Cassandra led Cullen down the side hall that only held a handful of rooms. Justinia's. Leliana's. A place for the two maids who served them exclusively. And her own.

But now it was his. She opened the door to the bare, clean room that was waiting for him. "These will be your quarters while we remain in Haven. The Temple of Sacred Ashes does not allow for extended guests, but they have given us what we need here."

Cullen looked around with wide eyes as he stepped inside. "These are far nicer than I would have expected in a Chantry," he said. "They're probably nicer than my quarters in the Gallows. It was a prison, after all."

She frowned, realizing she'd never actually seen his rooms there, but she couldn't argue that these were nice. Whenever Justinia made residence somewhere, their hosts always seemed to find extra decorations tucked in the corners. Cassandra had cleared most of hers out, leaving the room bare and functional, but what was there was high-quality. "I hope they'll be satisfactory," she said.

"Yes. I'm sure they'll be fine," he said, setting his items down on the floor by the small table. He stopped short, then turned to stare at her. "But -"

She waited for him to continue, but he only shook his head and gave her a puzzled look. "They'll be fine." He touched the smooth wood of the side table lightly with his fingers, and she had to look away as her body responded. Her heart may be lost and her soul dead, but there were parts of her that were very much alive and remembered him vividly. Her gaze fell on the bed, the place where she'd slept and dreamed about the way she would welcome him to Haven. Where she'd allowed herself to believe they could be happy, together. It seemed Hawke would have that joy now.

But when she looked back at him her breath caught in her throat. From the way he was staring at her mouth, he remembered her vividly, too. His lips parted slightly, and her breathing grew shallower the longer the silence stretched between them. Her clothing felt too tight, and she resisted the urge to tug at it with all of her willpower. "The bed should be comfortable," she said, inanely, then wanted to slap herself.

"It looks like it," said Cullen in a low voice, a rumble that she knew all too well. Or she thought she did. It was foolish to think he might still want her, but she supposed she did have the same body as the woman he'd thought she was, and even without love he might still be aroused by it. And they were both adults, free to spend time with whomever they chose. But to her surprise, though she wanted to step closer, to slide her hands up his chest as he tasted her again, she also wanted nothing at all to do with it. Sex without emotion would be empty and wrong, with him, and would only make her want all the things she could never have again.

"Why did you hide your aid to the refugees from me?" she asked in the silence. "It was an honorable business. A worthy one."

"Thank you," he said quietly. "But the Seekers would never approve of it. Any of it, not just the mages. They, and the Templars, have lost their way, and Kirkwall suffered for it. I didn't want to put you in an awkward position." His eyes were heavy on her face. "And once you told me about your brother, I thought it might hurt you to know. No matter how good my intentions. You have reasons to distrust mages."

"No more than you," she answered without thinking, and he shrugged almost imperceptibly. "Will they be safe while you're here?"

"Yes. The men I left in charge were aware of the scope of what we do. And they'll report to me, unofficially, so that I can keep an eye on them," he said. He paused. "I appreciate your concern on their behalf. They've lived hard lives."

She frowned at the slight worry in his voice, and she said, "My allegiance is to Justinia, not the Seekers. She approved of you and your work. I am not certain I approve of all of it, but I understand your reasons. No one will know anything from me."

Cullen shifted his weight slightly. "Thank you."

He didn't ask her to leave, and she didn't want to go. She cast about for another topic as he ruffled his hair. "Hawke is very little like I pictured, except for her beauty. How did you find her?"

"I didn't," he said. "Varric did. I knew he would know where to look, if motivated."

"Did you hurt him?" Not that she would object. If it was mild, anyway.

Cullen shook his head. "No. Just verbal persuasion," he said. His face darkened, and any hint of desire or friendship faded. "I told him it was for you."

And it would always be like this, for them, now. Shifting over water that never stilled, each wave bringing a new emotion. She'd learned to navigate boats, but this kaleidoscope of feelings was beyond anything she could handle. She wet her lips uncertainly, searching for an answer that wasn't there.

"I'd like to unpack now," he said suddenly.

"Of course," she said, whirling around with battle speed. "Leliana will find you for dinner."

She slammed the door behind her in fear, and she practically ran through the halls until she got to her stored satchel. A trip to the Templar encampment and she had a tent, which she pitched around the back of the Chantry. She nestled between its hard stone and the wall, where no one would find her unless they knew where to look. Only she ever walked this place.

Cassandra crawled inside her new home and spread her requisitioned bedroll across the grass. As soon as her heart slowed to a normal rhythm, she gingerly removed a bundle of papers from her sack and untied them with trembling fingers. Until the bell rang for the evening meal, she read through that slanted, familiar handwriting and tried to remember what the cloak of his love had felt like around her.

The feeling was almost gone, and she placed the bundle under her pillow with a sigh. When she exited the tent and brushed herself off, she felt as light and insubstantial as a leaf on the wind.

Leliana cornered her when she tried to sneak her food out of the crowed local tavern without being seen. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," she muttered, trying to step around the bard. For a woman so small, she seemed to take up a disproportionate amount of space.

The red-haired woman snorted. "You haven't even kissed Cullen yet, not that I've seen, and when I went to your room to get you both, only he was there. And all of your things are gone! What do you think you're doing? The man's on fire for you and you're acting like he has the Blight."

Cassandra looked around instinctively, but fortunately Cullen was as far from her as he could be. Likely by design, considering his dining companions. Varric was telling some expansive story, and Cullen was pressed so close to a laughing Hawke that there was no doubt of their intimacy. "He knows," she said. Her hand tightened on the bowl she held.

"What, that you're being rude? I think we all know."

"No," she hissed. "About my past. My… affairs. That I take from men without giving, steal their hearts to leave them empty. He learned how little he knew me. We are now simply colleagues."

"You're ridiculous," said Leliana. "Firstly, you're not anything like that, no matter if you've left a few men pining, and second, do you think he cares as long as you care for him? He cares about your present. And your future. He loves you, as he told me at great length whenever you were away. And you love him. Did you tell him you love him?"

Cassandra glared in reply, and Leliana's exasperation was obvious. "You idiot. Tell him. Right now. You love each other. That's all that matters."

"It is not all that matters. There is trust. There is understanding. There is partnership. There is -" She broke off and looked away. "It's better this way. I have responsibilities. I cannot afford distractions. And he will be happy with Hawke."

"Hawke?" asked Leliana incredulously, twisting around to find the fellow rogue in the crowd. Cassandra took the opportunity to slide past her and find a hidden space nearby, where she ate her meal in lonely silence.

After a long night of sleepless thinking, she greeted the morning with new clarity. She'd read many love stories in her time, and in all of them there were the women and men who were the distractions from the true pairing. Cullen and Hawke were that pair, a loving reunion found at last, and she had been the distraction. Knowing her proper role helped give her purpose once more, but there were still matters of the soul to be settled.

With luck she would solve them in their morning devotion with the Divine, where she could ask forgiveness of the Maker for her sins and failings, and joy for Cullen with true sincerity. She needed to find her center again, the Cassandra that might not be loved but was solid and sure. She didn't need a heart to serve.

But the prayers quickly turned into warfare, and she found no peace in them.

"Maker, help those who are blind to see the path in front of them and follow it in faith," said Leliana.

"And aid those who would seek to impose their will upon others to seek peace within themselves, first. Help us to remember that all people are free," said Cassandra.

"Save the fools from their folly, and lead them back into the light of Your presence."

"Let the only interferences in our lives be Yours."

Leliana's eyes flew open, and she glared across the low prayer bench. "Give the rest of us patience when our friends act as witless idiots."

Cassandra's voice dropped into her iciest tones. "Teach us how to accept the high-handed arrogance and judgment of our colleagues with equanimity."

"Enough," said Justinia in a quiet voice that cut between them like a blade. "Daughters, the sanctity of the Maker's presence is not the place to air personal grievances."

They both mumbled apologies and stood to leave with bowed heads. Justinia held up her hand. "This morning cannot be used for prayers, but I will not have you leave this room in such anger. Tell me what is causing your disharmony."

Leliana, unsurprisingly, spoke first. "Cassandra is breaking Cullen Rutherford's heart because she's afraid to show love to anyone beyond the physical."

"Leliana!" said Cassandra, flushing.

She looked at the Divine, who smiled kindly. "There's nothing wrong with any expression of love, my dear. The Maker blessed us with bodies, and unless we have sworn ours to Him in the footsteps of Andraste, there can be no sin." Her smile fell away. "But it should not be out of balance. Physical love alone is as dangerous as romantic love alone, or only the love of friends. All loves are important to a steady path."

"I understand, Divine, but Leliana exaggerates. His heart is not broken. He believed stronger feelings than he possessed, only because Leliana manipulated us both into a relationship that was more sham than truth to serve her own sense of power. But he has already begun the process of healing. Not all loves are meant to last," said Cassandra. There was a light pang deep within her, but she knew she spoke the truth.

"I did not manipulate you!" said Leliana heatedly. "I helped you both reach a conclusion you were already destined to find. If you wouldn't keep running from it, anyway."

"When the path is ended, there is no difference between intentions," said Cassandra.

Leliana turned to Justinia with pleading eyes. "It's sinful for her to waste someone's love like this. The Maker's gifts should not be so easily cast aside. Not everyone is afforded the opportunity to love so well."

The Divine frowned. "I do not believe that would qualify as a sin, Leliana. A poor decision, perhaps, but not all poor decisions are against the Maker's will," she said. "Perhaps it is time to let Cassandra forge her own path. Without outside help. There comes a time when help becomes harm, and it is difficult to discern that line when we are the ones straddling it."

Cassandra looked at Leliana triumphantly, but the expression faded when Justinia continued. "But Cassandra, take care that you see the world as it is, and not as you fear it to be. I have not received Cullen Rutherford's confession, nor have I spoken to him more than briefly outside of our meeting, but I would not describe him as a man who is healing. More man who is moving despite a pain that lingers."

"I'm sure you're wrong," said Cassandra.

"She's not," said Leliana, arms crossed and foot tapping. "Stop being such a stubborn, frightened idiot and tell him how you feel. If you don't, I will. I swear it."

Cassandra's stomach clenched, and she snapped, "Just because you are in love with a married man, one who has a wife, and a child, and a life that will never include you, that does not give you the right to try to make my life into what you can't have. Aedan sleeps with you, but he will go back to the Queen, and whether I am with Cullen Rutherford or not that will never stop being true. Please cease your efforts to make me into your own impossible happy ending!"

A terrible silence fell, and Cassandra stood in the center of it, shaking. Justinia's expression filled with concern, and when she stepped forward to touch Leliana's arm, the bard's face crumpled into abject despair. Tears ran down her cheeks in a steady stream, and Cassandra clenched her fists against the pain she'd caused. "Leliana, I am sorry. I didn't mean it. Please. Aedan loves you very much," she began, but Leliana snarled and turned away.

Justinia nodded her head toward the door as she guided Leliana to a nearby couch. The red-haired woman leaned into her shoulder and sobbed unreservedly, and Cassandra stopped at the exit. "Forgive me," she whispered, but it was too quiet to be heard over the sounds of a broken heart.

The training yard was the only place left to her, and she headed for it with a single-minded determination that had the other residents of Haven scattering out of her way. Cullen was there, working with his future troops, but she stalked past him with barely a glance. She grabbed at the sword she always wore and found an empty dummy to destroy. A few other fighters tried to speak to her, but she didn't acknowledge them. She didn't even know what they wanted. To spar. To train together. To correct her form. Maybe to use the dummy. Whatever it was, she had no space to care.

As she pivoted and slashed, looking for openings in her unmoving opponent's guard, she pushed the confusion of her mind into a smaller and smaller box. It wasn't gone, but she could make it almost invisible. Put it with the other boxes, the ones deep in the well of her soul that were never, ever opened. Except with Cullen, when he'd gently forced her to see them, and that memory let some of the confusion out again. She focused. High guard. Low strike. Cullen was a memory, a past that would never be recovered. Step forward. Dance back. The Hands were only distractions in other people's stories.

By the time she'd finished she was dripping with sweat, a smelly, sopping mess. A small audience lined the fence, including Hawke with her disconcerting stare, but Cassandra lacked the energy to wonder what she was thinking. She was empty, completely and utterly spent, and before she was aware of the intention she'd begun to pray. Maker, forgive me all of my vain sins. Forgive the pain I've caused to others in the midst of my own. Help me to resist temptation in the future and rely only on You. Comfort Leliana, for she is Your most faithful servant, far beyond my meager efforts. And bring Cullen the happiness he deserves. Love him in the way I cannot. He is also Yours, and he deserves much better than he has been given.

Cassandra opened her eyes, feeling oddly peaceful, and Cullen was in front of her. His armor was scored, no longer gleaming, and he had the look of a man who'd been hard-worked in the ring. There was no expression on his face, but that was better than the anger or irritation she now feared. He held out a waterskin, and she accepted it gratefully. She took small swallows and set a deliberate pace, but by the time she was done it was nearly empty. "Thank you," she said.

He said nothing, only took the pouch again. His fingers brushed her own but neither of them reacted, and he nodded once before he walked back to his men. The sight of his back didn't hurt nearly so much as it had. The Maker was faithful.

She was about to find Hawke, to finally take up the mantle that Justinia had laid on her, when she heard the sound of a throat clearing behind her. She turned with a questioning look which quickly became puzzled. The man was about her age, shorter and handsome in a lean, hungry way, but his face was disconcertingly familiar. He wasn't in Templar armor, so it was unlikely she'd met him at a garrison, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen him somewhere before.

Then he smiled, and his eyes crinkled in a terrifying rush of memory that left her speechless. "Hey, Princess," he said. He extended a finger, steady and delicate, to brush the scar on her cheek. "I hope you remember me."

James, the fletcher's son. The boy who'd captured her and cut her, outside and in, and now he was back in her own story. She said nothing, too shocked to react, and he laughed lightly at her silence. "It's good to see you, too."