A/N: based on a couple of comments, I thought I should make it clear — I'll playing slightly fast and loose with some of the scenes that are available in-game based on playthrough choices. What Killeen sees, occurs (although perhaps not always as she interprets it). What she believes, or suspects, or hears as rumour, may or may not be true.

Whether it was anything Killeen had said, or something the Inquisitor said, as far as Killeen could tell Cullen didn't return to taking lyrium. He did begin taking medicinal draughts prepared by the healers, which seemed to give him some relief from the headaches, although not from the nightmares. Killeen was careful to be cautious waking him from them, ready now when he flailed half-awake at the demons of his imagination.

Still, it was easier for him. He needed her less by his side, which meant she could do more elsewhere in Skyhold — back to their old routine, with Killeen her Commander's eyes and ears in places he didn't have time to oversee personally, making decisions and giving instructions that he would approve in retrospect.

And another familiarity — Fel, skipping along behind Killeen, standing grave and silent as Killeen checked counts of barrels and sacks, knocking on walls that Killeen suspected of structural flaws with a tiny fist, echoing Maker's balls in a piping voice when they discovered an entire colony of mice in the grain stores.

At first, Killeen sternly bade her return to class. Two days later, a flicker of movement caught her eye and she looked up to see Fel just darting back from the railing of the balcony above. Come down here right now, Killeen bellowed in the voice that made grown men in full armour lose control of their bowels, and marched the girl back to Adan's school herself.

But the next day she once again had a shadow, slipping between the columns of the basement behind her.

Maker give me strength. "I can see you, Fel."

A small figure slid out into view, poised to run. "Are you going to make me go back?"

"Will you stay if I do?"

Fel shook her head, and Killeen sighed. "Fine. Then you'll have to make yourself useful. The Inquisition has no room for passengers."

She found an old slate and chalk for Fel, handed them over with the admonition that if they were lost, Fel would be working off the cost until she was old enough to marry, and strode off, carefully making no allowance for Fel's shorter legs. If she gets tired and bored enough, school will look much more attractive.

They found mould in the basement library, and Killeen made Fel write mould on her slate until it was both legible and correctly spelled. The quartermaster reported that eight hundred bricks were needed to repair the ruined healer's quarters and Killeen made Fel run to the wagoneers and find out how many bricks could be hauled in one load and then work out how many loads eight hundred bricks would take. They listened to Bonny Sims' complaints about the hazards of the roads between Skyhold and Val Royeaux and an hour later Killeen made Fel repeat them all back to her verbatim.

She dismissed Fel a bare quarter hour before dinner with the warning that if she wasn't ready at Commander Cullen's door straight after breakfast the next morning, she needn't bother.

Somewhat to her surprise, Fel was there, shivering a little in the cold, slate under her arm and chalk clutched firmly in her fist.

Killeen eyed her. It was habit that she and Cullen would go over the tasks for the day ahead together over sweet rolls from the kitchen and tea brewed on Cullen's brazier — a small, quiet space she cherished, when Cullen, focused entirely on the work they shared, was hers and hers alone.

But, Maker, it's chill out here at this hour.

"Well, come on then," she said, and opened the door.

Cullen gave Killeen one look of surprise, so brief that she doubted anyone else would have seen it, and stretched out a leg to hook an extra stool toward the desk.

Fel was on her best behaviour, having absorbed somewhere the understanding that one spoke in the presence of superior officers only when directly addressed. She did no more than eye hungrily the rolls Killeen and Cullen split between them, and politely sipped the tea Cullen poured her. When the meeting ended and Killeen tested her on the work that lay before them, the girl repeated Cullen's instructions almost verbatim.

"All right," Killeen said. "You can come with me. Today."

It became a new habit. Killeen began appropriating enough sweet rolls for three, and goat's milk for Fel's tea. Cullen set three chairs at his desk as a matter of course, and directed some of his queries to Fel instead of Killeen — with a sideways glance to be sure the answer was correct. He was adept at discovering mathematical problems in the work of the Inquisition, setting Fel to solve them as he and Killeen pushed trickier questions back and forth between them, and it was he who persuaded the girl that a working knowledge of the Chant of Light was essential, even for a soldier.

That, Killeen could have done without. Testing Fel daily on the Chant meant, inevitably, refreshing her own faded and incomplete understanding, and many nights she found herself nodding over a copy as the candle burned down long after she would have preferred to be abed.

"… and creations, she shall know the peace of the Creator's benediction," she muttered.

"Maker."

Killeen turned instantly, letting the book drop, ready to stir Cullen from his nightmares, but his eyes were open and clear.

"The peace of the Maker's benediction," he said quietly, his voice rich and sweet in the quiet of the night. "The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next." He paused. "For she … go on, Kill."

Flushing, Killeen realised she had been staring at him, the candlelight gilding the curls of his hair and the fuzz along his cheek, the muscles of his shoulder and arm molding the thin linen of his shirt.

"For she who trusts in the Maker," she said hastily, "fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light."

"The Veil holds no uncertainty for her," Cullen continued softly. "And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."

"Cullen," Killeen said, her voice coming out lower and softer than she had intended. "Do you ever think …?"

Her voice trailed away, but he made no attempt to fill the silence, only looked at her with the flickering light of the candle limning the curve of his lips and the slope of his cheekbone.

Killeen lowered her eyes to her book. "Do you ever think about what happens to the moth who goes towards the flame?"

"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me," Cullen said, "I shall embrace the light." He paused. "Do you remember the rest?"

"I shall weather the storm," Killeen said. "I shall endure."

His voice was very soft. "What you have created, no one can tear asunder."

Killeen let her book drop. "Do you believe that? Really? In all this, do you think we'll endure?"

"I hope so. I have faith that it's so." He watched her. "Do you not believe?"

"I believe there's a Maker," Killeen said, "who's turned his back on us not once but twice. That doesn't make me hopeful. It makes me angry."

"We weren't worthy."

Killeen stood abruptly, book tumbling from her knees. "Andraste's tasselled tits to that. I might not be worthy but —" you — "I know plenty of people who are."

"Perhaps the Maker demands more than you," Cullen said with the hint of a smile.

"Then he's an arsehole," Killeen snapped.

Cullen raised himself on his elbows. "Kill," he said, shocked.

"Well he is," she said, taking a step toward him. "This whole fortress is full of people who are risking their lives to make a better world, who are working day and night on a few hours sleep just to keep other people safe, and the Maker thinks they aren't worthy? If some huge powerful mage turned up and said, oh, Sutherland isn't worthy, Nightingale isn't worthy, Master Dennet isn't worthy, you'd shove his words down his throat and follow it with your sword. How come the Maker gets special dispensation to be a gold-plated prick?"

"Theologians have been disputing that question for generations," Cullen said, and Killeen realised that she was standing by his bed, leaning down over him. "Kill …"

She wheeled away and blew out the candle. "Too much theology for one night," she said crisply. "We both have an early start."

If he said her name again, in the dark the candle left behind, it was so softly that Killeen could believe she hadn't heard it.