Cassandra woke at dawn the next morning, tight as a bowstring, and she knew exactly what she'd dreamed of. She tried to find those snatches of Fade that were closed off from her, then flushed in shame as she realized what she was doing. She would get no more sleep, and she refused to yield to her baser desires once more, so she swung out of bed and dressed quickly, hoping to find something to distract her.

When she stepped out and saw Leliana's closed door, alongside the Divine's chambers, she suddenly remembered that she had now betrayed them, too.

Cassandra fled down the hall and into the office where they took care of the Divine's more earthly business. Her fingers sorted the morning's mail mechanically as she tried to determine what she would say to them. The actions that had seemed so obvious to her in the chaos and the hollow sounds of Cullen's pain were slipping away, twisting like a fish from a line. There was no excuse for what she'd done. She'd had Anders at her mercy, a man who was the most dangerous enemy of the Chantry she knew outside of the Imperium, and she'd let him leave with hardly a protest.

He'd healed Cullen. He'd been polite and offered trust. But surely she was wiser than all of that. Surely Cassandra, the Right Hand and Seeker, wasn't so easily touched.

She blinked slowly as she realized that she barely knew who Cassandra was anymore.

The mail lay abandoned as she fled once more, out of the Chantry and into the burgeoning light of a new day. The camp was a ghost town, and even the guards seemed disinclined to speak to her. The confused stablehands saddled and prepared her horse while she paced behind the building, praying she would be gone before anyone else woke. Anyone she knew. Anyone who might stop her from leaving.

The healers cabins were just visible through the slats of wood fence, and she watched one appear and disappear between them during her endless movement. When her horse was ready she mounted swiftly and rode out, not caring the direction. Just away.

The sun had marched over halfway across the sky, and Cassandra was still in the forests near Haven. Her horse grazed happily by a tree, pleased with this day trip, while his rider stood on a hill and tried desperately to put her mind back in order.

She'd made it only five miles before she stopped, pulled back as though by an invisible cord. Even if she'd meant to leave entirely, to run like Hawke and Anders - and she wasn't entirely sure she had - she couldn't take another step away. But neither could she go back, and so she was stuck watching the sun glint off of the distant mountain stream and cast the shadows of the pines across the face of the hills like brands. Summer still clung to them with fading fingers, but the sky was cold as it always was here, the piercing blue of a lyrium that she couldn't touch.

What should I do? she asked the Maker silently, but there was no answer. No touch of her heart, no wind stirring around her. And no wonder His surety was gone. She'd betrayed Him as well.

The Chantry bell chimed in the distance, just at the edge of hearing, and her shoulders tensed. She tried to shut her mind to it, but there was nothing that could keep its drone from her soul. One. Two. Three. Time was still moving forward, and she wasn't.

But in the wake of the bells she heard a light laugh, so light as to be unreal, but she recognized it immediately. It was the pleased sound her mother had made, the day she'd planned her equine wedding to a stablemaster with a beard like a cloud. You are so loved, the memory whispered teasingly, playfully.

Memory? Or something outside of her? Cassandra turned, trying to spot the spirit that had given her mother voice, not knowing if she would embrace it or kill it. Instead she saw a mounted Templar staring at her in obvious relief. "Ser," the woman called, "I found her."

A group of horses gathered quickly around the scout, quickly broken apart by Cullen's beautiful charger. He swung off before the animal could fully stop, and he was at her side before Cassandra could react. "Thank the Maker," he said. "We've been worried sick about you." He looked around at her happy horse and her unblemished scenery. "What are you doing?"

"I needed to think," she said.

He nodded. "I understand the need. But next time, please tell someone where you're going."

I didn't know, she thought, but she asked instead, "Should you be out riding?"

Cullen looked slightly embarrassed. "Perhaps not. The healer said nothing strenuous. But I wanted to be here in case there was anything wrong. Or something had happened to you." He didn't say it but she knew he was thinking about the fugitives they'd released into the night.

"And I was hoping to talk to you," he added, but when she raised an eyebrow he said nothing more. He turned back to his horse and rifled through a saddle bag. "First we have to get you sorted out. They said you didn't come to breakfast, and it's well past lunch, so I brought some food in case you needed it."

Hunger had been the last thing on her mind, but as he pulled out a loaf of bread she realized that she was starving. She took it when he held it out behind him absently. "I know that peaches are your favorite," he said, "but they didn't have any in the kitchens no matter how much I looked. So I brought apples instead. I hope they'll be okay."

And for some reason, a reason she was never able to explain to herself later, that was the thing that dropped the world out from underneath her. That Cullen should know her favorite fruit, and should look for it so diligently, when he had no cause to think he would ever find her again. That he hoped she liked what he brought her, as though she hadn't spent the day considering leaving him for good. Leaving them all. That he could be so matter-of-fact about her, a person even she could no longer trust.

Tears formed in her eyes before she was aware they were coming, too many to contain behind her crumbling self-control. Endless rivers cascaded down her cheeks, and in front of them all, Cassandra broke down sobbing for the first time since her parents died. Great wracking waves of pain shuddered through her and took her away from herself, high into the air where the world was lighter. She couldn't hear anything over the keening sounds tearing from her throat, but she felt Cullen catch her with a grunt before she could sink to the ground. The bread fell from her hand, and she mourned its loss.

The metal of his armor was cool and impersonal, but that was good. That was what she needed to hold on to, even as she fell apart. Her own pieces were scattered and lost, but there was this. Something real, in the world.

Cassandra tried to slow down, tried to breathe, and she gathered just enough silence to hear Cullen say, "Go back to Haven. Tell them that she's safe."

A terrified thought pressed around her, wet and dark, and she tried to speak. His golden head leaned down, so close to her mouth, and she whispered, "Bears."

"Scout the area for bears first," he said without any change in tone, and that consideration set her off once more.

A gauntleted hand ran down her back in even, soothing waves, but she was shaking too much to accept the comfort it offered. Tears for the world, and all the wrong she'd given it. Tears for the people she'd hurt, and the people she would hurt in the future. Tears for Justinia, and Leliana, and Cullen. Tears even for Hawke and Anders, the lost and broken souls she hadn't saved. Tears for Anthony, which she'd never shed, and tears for her parents, which she'd shed in the wrong way.

And most of all for herself. For little Cassandra Pentaghast, so wise and so foolish, who'd grown up in errors never corrected. Too hard to soften, and too soft to be hard. Believing that beauty was by definition short and fleeting, even while serving the eternal Maker. Knowing all of the truths except for the ones in her own heart. Tears for the Cassandra she was now, alone and cruel, with no heart to know.

The hand left her as she cried, the cool metal disappeared under her cheek, and she whimpered in fear. If that was the last real thing, gone, then where would she go? What would she be?

She began to fall back, stumbling into whatever emptiness waited for her, when the hand came back and gripped her waist tightly. "It's okay," said Cullen softly. "It's okay." And when he returned she was pressed against him once more. This time there was no armor but the hot furnace of his chest, and her tears fell more quietly into his warmth. She heard his heartbeat, strong and determined, and she wondered if he still had hers locked inside his chest, marching in counter-time to his own.

He pulled her in shuffling, sideways step, and when he tugged her down she realized they were leaning against tree. Cullen's arms folded her into his side, and she tentatively encircled his waist with her own arms. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Even that much speech was almost beyond her, but once she said it, she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." On and on she repeated it, and she listed her sins in her mind while she begged forgiveness from the world.

It was some time before she stopped, speaking with tears clogging her throat and stealing her breath, and through it all Cullen held her. When her breath and will ran out, he quoted, light as a butterfly's touch on her ears, "The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal, but know that the sun always rises."

Cassandra buried her face in his solid, unyielding chest and hugged him with all of the strength she possessed. He still smelled as she remembered, of spice and war, and she wept again to be so comforted by him. He rested his chin on her head and wrapped the Chants around her like a blanket as she drifted away on a sea of her own making.

She woke when the Chantry bells floated into her hearing once more. One. Two. Three. Four. An hour of her life gone to grief, and yet she felt strangely light. Hollow. The well within her was dry, and perhaps Cassandra could be found once more.

There was no laughter on the wind, this time, no spirit to speak in her mother's voice, but she could still hear the gentle thudding of Cullen's heart underneath her. She waited a long minute, enjoying the sensation, before stirring to let him know she was aware.

His grip tightened and stilled her, and he stroked her arm with his fingertips. Only when she struggled back to look at his face did he let her go. His eyes were serious and worried, but she saw a spark of humor in them as he said, "There were no bears."

"Fortunate," she said, and she coughed away the rust in her voice. "I usually attract them."

Cullen smiled and wiped the pad of his thumb across her dry cheek. "We should go back," he said. "Are you able to ride?"

A wave of panic rose within her, but it wasn't so strong as it had been. She still didn't know what she would tell the Divine, but it was clear she would have to tell her something. Leaving was no longer a choice.

He misinterpreted her fear. "You can ride behind me," he said. "We'll lead your horse back."

Cassandra looked at the charger doubtfully. "I would not ask him to carry so much. I can ride."

And she did, but less surely than she'd thought. Her mind was dizzy, prone to floating away, and she wondered if it was too little sleep or too much that made her so fogged. She wondered if it was fear. She wondered if it was Cullen's arms, Cullen's breath, Cullen's voice. His own mount as close as he could get it, watching and protecting her, even from herself. He gave her water, and he gave her strength.

When they reached the stables she dismounted gratefully, and Cullen led her through the town under his arm as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She tried not to notice the interested looks that followed them. To her surprise he led her to Justinia's audience chamber, then tucked her into a dark corner. "Wait here," he said quietly. "I'll be right back. I promise."

She nodded wearily and slumped against the wall as he vanished. The door to the chamber opened, and she realized vaguely that he hadn't even knocked. Shocked and offended noises came out into the hall, but she heard snatches of Cullen's Commander voice interspersed between them.

"Cassandra needs to see you," she heard, and she sidled deeper into the shadows. She did need to. That didn't mean she wanted to.

Eventually two expensively dressed Antivans bustled past her, muttering to themselves, but fortunately they didn't notice her. Cullen crept out behind them and gathered her to him once more, tugging her gently into the chamber.

Justinia stood in front of her throne, waiting, but when she saw Cassandra she immediately clucked like a mother hen and moved to a worn, shabby chair in the corner. She shooed a cat out of its depths and sat, then gestured for her to approach.

She did, on slow and timid feet, and when she reached the Divine she sank to her knees and laid her head on the woman's knee, as though she was a frightened child instead of the Right Hand. "I need to make my confession," she whispered, and though she'd felt so dry she might never cry again, another tear slipped out to pool on the holy woman's white robes. The splotch it left was lonely and sad, and Cassandra felt a strange kinship with it.

"I will hear it, my daughter," said Justinia. She looked over to Cullen, and Cassandra followed her eyes.

He was leaning over a low table, writing something on a folded page, and when he was done he straightened and touched it with a single finger. "I'll be in the training yard," he said.

"Leliana," said Cassandra. "Please."

"Of course."

He was gone before she could give her thanks, and she felt the lost opportunity. Another thing to confess.

Justinia stroked her hair and lulled her into peace until the bard opened the door and took in the scene in front of her. She made no comment, only closed the door and locked it behind her before crossing the room to kneel as well. She took Cassandra's hand in her own and said, "I was told you wished to speak to me."

"I'm so sorry," said Cassandra, and another tear joined its brother. "I've missed you. I deserve no forgiveness, but I ask it anyway."

Leliana sighed and squeezed her hand gently. "You're my sister, Cassandra. You will always have my forgiveness, even before my anger has a chance to form. I shouldn't have hidden it so cruelly. There is fault enough for us both."

"There is no fault for you," said Cassandra fiercely. "I was selfish and arrogant, and I spurned all your help. Your kindness. I mocked it. I -"

Leliana shushed her with a kiss on the forehead. "Peace. You are forgiven."

"Will you give your confession now?" asked Justinia above them, and Cassandra nodded slowly.

With her spiritual mother's hand running over her head and her heart's sister watching her with kind eyes, she began to speak.

It was a long time before she fell silent, for she had sinned for a long time. She told of the men she'd enjoyed, some with true understanding of her nature, but others without, and how she'd ignored them both. She spoke the true story of Cullen, and the wounds she'd given him through lies and deception. She kept his own secrets close to her heart, though from Justinia's expression, he'd already made his own confessions. She recounted the times she'd seen a truth and ignored it, or let a lie stand because it was easy. She trembled when she confessed again the selfish anger that had made her lash out at the friends she should have protected most, and her ingratitude for everything that everyone gave her. She was Hawke, taking all and giving nothing, and expecting it as her right.

She even confessed the unnecessary violence she'd employed against James, simply to assuage her own feelings. Leliana snorted lightly at that, muttering that she would have broken all of his fingers, and Cassandra found her first smile that day.

But Anders was harder, and Hawke, and when she confessed the choice she'd made about them, both women looked grave. She admitted that she'd been so quick to decide because she hadn't wanted them to disagree, as she knew they would. She admitted that she'd done it for a man who pleaded in a voice she would never be able to ignore. She admitted she was weak.

That was when she stopped speaking, and she dropped her eyes, waiting for their response. Justinia was not bound to absolve all sins, and even if she did she was certainly not bound to keep her at her side.

The silence stretched and stretched until she felt as though she would break. Eventually Justinia sighed. "You have done a difficult thing, Cassandra."

Cassandra looked up, and the Divine looked older than she ever had, but she wasn't condemning. Leliana was flushed with anger, but she nodded alongside the Most Holy.

"I don't understand," said Cassandra. "I should have imprisoned him. Executed him."

"By justice, perhaps," said Justinia. "Perhaps even by the Maker's law. But the needs of the world are often not so easily aligned with His."

"I would have killed him," said Leliana. "He desecrated everything I hold dear, and he wouldn't have lived to see nightfall. That would have been right. But also wrong." She clenched her fists. "Would I have killed Hawke, if she tried to stop me? Cullen, if he protested? A guard that wandered past, a citizen in the wrong place? Where would the killing have ended? It would have been no better. It might have been much worse."

Cassandra looked at their still-linked fingers. "You would have ended it where it was needed. You see the lines that cannot be crossed."

Leliana laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I do not see them. I make them, and then change the world so that they were there all along. This is useful but not always right."

"Your actions anger me, as do the mage's, as a leader of the holy women and men who were sacrificed needlessly," said Justinia. "But anger is no more useful than love for guiding a decision. Perhaps it is less. And in the meantime you have bought us a time of much-needed quiet, and the potential gratitude of one whose voice carries influence with those we need to bring to peace. His death would have served only ghosts. The living needed your choice."

Cassandra blinked slowly. "You're not dismissing me?"

"No," said Justinia with a small smile. "Not when you've shown yourself to be more than equal to the task of Inquisitor."

"I can't," said Cassandra automatically, and Leliana rolled her eyes.

"You can. We've been discussing it quite a bit. Hawke was a mess, and if she somehow got you to like her while she flirted with Cullen at the same time, she was too dangerous to lead a revolution. Even without her mage sympathies," said the bard. "You will do well."

Cassandra stared at her. "My heart is governed by a self that is not my own. That is surely no less dangerous."

"It is when you rule over his as well," said Leliana, standing gracefully. "He asked me to make sure I gave this to you before I left." She'd picked up the paper on the table and held it out like a lure, dangling high above Cassandra's head.

"What is it?"

"Parchment," said Leliana smugly.

When Cassandra stood to grab at it, the bard danced back easily, and they spent several minutes in chase before Cassandra finally caught hold of the prize. But she didn't look at it right away, instead stepping closer to see her friend's face. Leliana was still angry at the lost opportunity, about Anders' still-beating heart. That was clear, but she was also doing this to show that the anger was the least part of their bond.

"You are a good friend," said Cassandra. "Better than I deserve."

"I know," said Leliana with a smile. "You would all be lost without me."

"You should speak to Aedan." Cassandra was pushing her luck, she knew, but there would never be a better time. "He would welcome your conversation."

Leliana looked away and bit her lip. "Perhaps. But it would do no good."

"It would."

"It would not. I cannot be his mistress forever. We are trying to save the world, remember?" said Leliana with forced cheer.

Cassandra smiled. "I can save the world and you at the same time."

Leliana stuck out her tongue, but she laughed more genuinely as she danced out of the room. Justinia followed her slowly, and when the door was closed Cassandra looked at the terrifying parchment in her hand.

She frowned. It was her own writing. She opened its folds and read:

Cullen,

We are on the road to Haven, and it is long and treacherous. I did not think it so when we made the first journey, but that is because I did not know what it was to know you and to feel your absence. It is difficult to be alone, here. Your notes have been a great comfort, and I write you this in the hopes that it can do the same in turn. I hope it will keep me as strongly in your mind as you are in mine. I fear I may already be fading, lost in the moments of your day that will have no mention of me. When I wake in the night, I sometimes believe you will not come at all. I do not know that I could bear it.

Please hurry. But be careful, as well. Walk in the steps of the Maker, and let Him guide you to me safely. I pray for this each night, and I pray it once more over these pages in holy petition. May His will be done.

Leliana has taken to impressions of those we've left behind in Kirkwall, and her Varric is particularly accurate…

The letter went on, but the words blurred as the tears formed again. She remembered writing this at the foot of the mountains and sending it behind her, a loosed arrow that was her answer to his own kindnesses. And her way of keeping herself present for him, if she could. Every word has poured out of her unbidden, and it hurt to recall how achingly lost she'd felt without him.

She'd thought it wouldn't reach him before he left. Obviously she'd been wrong, and he had received it. She wondered what he'd felt about it then, before he'd learned of her treacherous life. Had it made him happy?

Why would he return it to her now? Was this the end he'd spoken of in his sleepy haze?

She flipped it over absently, blinking away the film from her eyes, and she paused when she saw the post markings on it. Kirkwall, yes, but also the markings of the Haven mail carriers. The city proper, not the other mountain villages. But perhaps they had been made from her own mailing.

Cassandra peered at them more closely. No. They were fresh. Only made recently.

She sat with a thump in Justinia's vacated chair, barely hearing the annoyed hiss of the approaching cat. Cats were less important than understanding. She thought deeply, trying not to rush ahead as she always did. The letter hadn't reached him in Kirkwall. It had arrived there too late and been returned, now, to this place. A preservation of her fears, delivered to him weeks after they mattered. Still too late, and now an embarrassing memory of her own foolishness.

Then Cassandra looked at the letter once more. Her heart skipped a beat at a new addition to the bottom of the page, written in familiar, slanting script.

You will never fade. You carry my heart with you, always.

I love you, too.