The watch had called the Inquisitor's return a few hours before. Ample time for her to have cleaned up and changed. Every other return to Skyhold, she'd stopped in to see Cullen by now. No surprise that she hadn't this time. The chill between them had been noticeable before she and Dorian had gone off to Redcliffe; Cassandra, Leliana and Varric had all tried to discuss the matter with him, but he'd brushed them off.

Thinking about it, he'd realised it was for the best. Trading children like prize bloody cattle – she took it for granted, even when it was herself being traded. Also, he remembered how uncomfortable he'd been the entire ball at Halamshiral, except when he finally got to have a good honest fight. Ulterior motives, convoluted etiquette rules, nobody saying what they actually meant. A title for himself he could turn down; but married to Aine, he'd have made himself irrevocably part of a world he loathed. The break-up itself, the ridiculous assumptions she'd made, had shown that a marriage between them would be fraught with difficulty. Maker's breath, she'd actually thought he'd be content to be her... bit on the side. The noble class really was a snake-pit.

Besides, she was right. She had a duty to make the best match she could. From the sound of it, her marriage could be the means of bringing some serious power to bear on the Inquisition's behalf. He'd swallowed his self-pity and asked Josephine about it; apparently the field had been narrowed to a Free Marcher prince who owned one of the finest fleets to grace the Waking Sea, some Orlesian with a silverite mine and a nice shiny army, and a distant relative of Queen Anora. They were all too old for her, but he supposed that was how arranged marriages worked.

It still hurt. He'd get over it.

The door banged open, then closed with equal force. What was it lately with women storming into his office, he wondered as he instinctively started to rise from his chair.

"Cassandra, what -"

"Be quiet, Cullen. Sit down." She stood over his desk with that look in her eye; the one that made the commander of the Inquisition's armies, who had faced down blood mages and demons, survived lyrium withdrawal and relentless torture – made him want to retreat to his quarters and crawl under the bed. He was sat back down again. When had that happened?

"You're really going to just sit there, aren't you?"

He rallied. "When you said, 'Sit down,' did you mean somewhere else?"

"Don't be facetious. I'm not letting you slink away this time. Are you honestly not even going to try to get her back?"

"No. She's right. I have nothing to offer."

"You two are madly in love with each other, and you call that nothing?"

"It's... a dalliance. It would be selfish to put that before the good of the Inquisition."

Cassandra drew herself up, eyes full of cold fire. "You say that to me, of all people?"

He stared at her in confusion, sensing thin ice beneath his feet.

"I'm royalty. If I were willing to marry myself off to some dolt, I'd get twice as much as Aine. At least." After allowing a few moments for that to sink in, she leaned down, palms on the desk. "Now, Cullen. Perhaps you'd like to look me in the eye and tell me how selfish it would be to press your suit?"

"It's... different..."

"How?"

"Well, I... don't think I want to."

"Strange. That's not the impression I got every time you set eyes on her, before she left."

He looked away. "I've had time to think."

"About what a whore she is?"

In sudden smoking rage, he met her gaze again. She didn't so much as blink.

"Don't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind, Cullen. What else do you call a woman who sells herself? Would you prefer courtesan? Tramp? Harlot?"

"Stop it!" He was on his feet now. The flames of it was, she was right. Exactly that had drifted across his thoughts, in the darkness of his chilly, empty bed.

Cassandra straightened up, a grim satisfaction etched across her features. "She was raised to be a whore, Cullen. Noble children expect that they'll be sold off for their family's wealth and influence – or given to the Chantry, of course. Marriage is a contract to them. If they're lucky, their spouses are also good companions. If not, they find companionship elsewhere."

Given to the Chantry... Suddenly he was remembering mess hall conversations. The noble brats who'd been given to the Templars had sometimes discussed their siblings' marriages. How the siblings had felt about them had been incidental, if mentioned at all. He'd never paid much attention at the time.

"She thought I'd be her... that I'd..."

"Oh, yes, that must have stung. You've never met her parents, have you? Or asked her about them? They're the first to profess their devotion to the Maker, and they've both got discreet lovers. It's just the way things are done, where she comes from."

"She should have realised..."

"And what exactly was stopping you asking her how she thought it was going to work?"

A question with the exquisite precision of a stiletto. He'd been in a fury over Aine's assumptions – and never examined his own. He knew the realisation was written all over his face.

"I'll tell you why I'm here, Cullen. I think she and the Inquisition will be best served by her having you at her side, not being stuck in some loveless sham with a man she might or might not even like. Also, I think something happened in Redcliffe that has caused her to question whether she's doing the right thing. She's been shut away in her quarters all afternoon.

"It's time for you to decide. If you truly think it's that bad, to throw it all away over a fleet or a miscommunication or whatever reason you come up with, stay here and do your paperwork. If you think you've got something worth saving, something worth, oh, talking to each other to fix, then go to her. Before she does her paperwork.

"That... is all I have to say."

Cullen stood staring vacantly at the door for some time after Cassandra closed it softly behind her.