Chapter Forty-Two: Worst Kept Secret

Halamshiral. Peredura sat her horse, Fear trotting at her side, and watched the imposing spires of the Winter Palace grow as they rode closer and closer. "Is it just me," she hummed, "Or is the crowd getting thicker the closer we come to the palace?"

"It's not just you," Cullen, to her right but a half-pace behind answered, "And some of those we've already passed are coming up from behind."

"Relax," Josephine, who was riding to Peredura's left and across from Cullen, spoke clearly without breaking her smile, "They're curious. After all, it's not every day one gets the chance to catch a glimpse of The Inquisitor. And you are making quite the entrance. On purpose. So smile, and wave, and look impressive."

"The looking impressive part I can do without smiling," she groused. "I'll leave that up to the one hundred of my Honor Guard trotting behind us. Did we have to bring so many?"

The leather of Cullen's saddle creaked as he shifted, "I was hard pressed to limit the number to so few. Every last one of them wanted to ride with you, to stand with you and remind everyone here why you and the Inquisition are so important."

"That is why we are here," Josephine added, "To remind people of the good deeds the Inquisition has accomplished. That we are still necessary and relevant."

Are we, Peredura wondered to herself.

"We are facing dangerous waters at the moment," she continued, "There are those who would see us disbanded entirely. After all, there hasn't been a rift sighting, or even a rumor of one, for several months now."

Cullen was watching Peredura closely, and even though he rode at her right side, he was far enough back to catch it. The tic. The strange little act she did with her left arm, as if all the muscles were tensing at once, causing her to tuck her arm tight against her side. After a moment her shoulders would relax and she'd unclench her fist, spreading her fingers wide, and pressing her hand onto the top of her thigh. He hadn't yet asked her about it, supposing it had something to do with the Anchor obviously, yet considering there hadn't been an excuse to use it lately, what with no rifts to close, but perhaps he should inquire…

"Not to mention," Josephine continued speaking and distracted him from his train of thought, "The original reason the Inquisition was formed, the Mage-Templar war, has been settled. So there is the argument that the Inquisition is no longer warranted."

Cullen took a deep breath, "Well, yes, but…"

"Then there are those who understand something this large cannot be disbanded overnight. Instead of disarming us, they are seeking ways to hold sway over us. One interesting plot involves our dashing—and as yet very eligible—Commander. Several are plotting to fill his dance card with their marriageable daughters, hoping to gain influence over him through a young wife, and through him—the Inquisition. I've already started keeping a list."

Peredura again heard the leather of his saddle creaking, and without even turning her head could well imagine the scowl on his face.

"You can take that list and burn it!"

"No, actually, don't burn it," Peredura's voice grew a bit testy, "Give it to me. I'm very interested in learning just who has the nerve to have designs on Cullen."

Josephine smiled knowingly, but didn't comment. Cullen, however, leaned over in his saddle and whispered to her, "I don't think she's joking."

The smile faded. "The, ah, excuse me," she had to clear her throat before she could continue, "The Divine has been doing what she can for these past two years, but…"

"…but it's come to this," Peredura finished for her, "An Exalted Council. All to decide our fates for us. Fitting it should be here, where I once decided the fate of Orlais and who would rule it. Maker's Breath, but that was a long night."

"I remember that night, too," Cullen's hum was warm and pleasant on her ears. "It wasn't all bad."

"Are you referring to a clandestine waltz on a secluded balcony at the very end of the night?" Josephine teased them both. She was answered with silence and matching blushes. Thinking to let them off easy, she squashed her giggles and quietly advised, "We're close enough, now, I should think. Commander, are your troops ready?"

He didn't bother to look behind him and check. "I'm insulted you felt the need to ask. Give the word, Madam Inquisitor."

Peredura blew a heavy breath out between her lips. "I guess we have to. But I always sounded so silly during practice."

"There's just us to hear you out here," Josephine reminded her. "And think of how impressive it will look."

Cullen ignored her, leaned forward, and softly said, "On your mark, Inquisitor."

She squared her shoulders. "Right, okay, on my mark, just like we practiced." She didn't sound very confident, but they had rehearsed the maneuver plenty of times, even got it right on a couple, so really she shouldn't be so nervous. Yet there were one hundred ways this could go wrong… well, one hundred four, if she included herself, Josephine, Cullen, and Fear.

"Hup!"

Immediately she pulled her mare to a stop, the polished gold plates of ceremonial armor striking shafts of sunlight through the crowd. She could hear the hooves of over a hundred horses behind her also stop, one or two clip-clopping before their riders calmed their mounts and settled into position. Fear stopped as well, remaining on all fours and panting slightly, his posture trembling with anticipation.

At least the hound was enjoying himself.

"Hup!"

Cullen lifted his hand, signaling the men and women behind them.

"Hup!"

What an odd word, or, erm, sound. And why oh why was she the one who had to make it?

"Hup, hup, hup, hup!" Four times, four more times she had to make the sound, strong and steady, kind of like a heartbeat, measured, confident, sure.

In the silence that followed her exclamations, their horses started forward once more. They weren't walking this time, nor trotting, nor sauntering, nor anything that could be considered a normal gait. The horses were prancing, a sort of staccato march, left front hooves lifted high off the ground before coming down with a crisp clack, the right hooves lifted high next. It was loud, and jarring, the horses' movements almost like hopping from hoof to hoof, but they were miraculously all in unison—Inquisitor, Advisor, Commander, and one hundred of her finest Honor Guard. Even Fear worked hard to mimic the step, or at least keep pace at her side.

They entered the grounds of the Winter Palace, Josephine smiling and Culled scowling, but Peredura managing to keep her face expressionless despite her inner turmoil. She could see several sides to the argument: the Inquisition had outlived its purpose; it had grown too powerful to simply dissolve into nothing; it was always useful to have an army at one's disposal—yet the Inquisition truly was her life—it was, quite honestly, all she ever knew. Without it, what would she be, what would she do?

Her hand, or rather the Mark on it, gave that aching spasm again, and she refused to think there might already be an answer in that pain.

Peredura did not speak. She didn't have to speak.

They were sitting at on oval table, Peredura at the foot of it, with Cullen and Josephine beside her. Around the table on her right sat the Orlesian representative and his staff, and across from him on her left sat the Ferelden delegation. The Orlesians' stance was politically motivated, their objective to gain control over the Inquisition forces. Josephine handled their volleys and arguments expertly, while Cullen strategically countered the Fereldan's stance of complete dismantlement. Yet with the Commander on her right, and the Advisor on her left, the two were forced to voice their arguments across the table right in front of her. It was uncomfortable at best, especially when tempers started to rise with the temperature of the summer day.

Her expression was perfectly neutral, yet when she lifted her eyes towards the woman sitting across from her at the head of the table, they were overflowing with long-suffering endurance.

"…must be held accountable," the Orlesian, Peredura already forgot his name, was beginning to repeat himself. "The Inquisition has absolutely no oversight whatsoever!"

"We answer to the Divine," Josephine lifted her hand, indicating the woman at the head of the table, "Divine Victoria herself. She called us to the Exalted Council. We came, without protest, without delay, without asking for any special considerations. The Divine calls; we answer. We are her army."

"Army is correct," the Ferelden ambassador spoke up. "That was quite a force you brought with you, Inquisitor. How many soldiers were there? Over a thousand? Did you leave any of your forces behind?"

"There were only one hundred of her Worship's Honor Guard…" Cullen countered, leaning forward enough so that Peredura could feel the heat of his body along her arm.

"There! That's the point I've been trying to make," the Orlesian interrupted him. "'Worship.' 'Divine.' Both very exalted titles for two very influential women. And you cannot deny that the two of you," his finger swept both the head and the foot of the table, "Are close companions, have been ever since the Herald stepped out of the Fade…"

"Surely you are not questioning the Divine's loyalties? Or her dedication to the Chantry?" Josephine backed him into a corner.

His mask did little to hide the redness spreading across his face. "Of course not. I was merely pointing out…"

"I believe we should table this discussion until tomorrow morning," the Divine interrupted them all. "It sounds to me that all our tempers are rising, no doubt due to the stifling summer weather outside. Let us adjourn for the day, breathe some fresh air, exercise our legs, those sort of things. We shall reconvene tomorrow morning, bright and early, with clearer—and calmer heads. Agreed?" She didn't wait for an answer, but rose to her feet and held a hand out for Peredura. "Walk with me."

Still Peredura did not speak. She did stand, however, and walk around the table behind the Orlesians to reach the Divine's side. As she did so, Cullen rose to follow behind her, but before he could take a step, the ambassador had moved to block his path. "A moment, if you would, Commander Cullen. May I call you Cullen? Rutherford sounds so formal."

"Ah," he cast a quick flicker at Peredura's back, "You just did, so, um, yes…"

"Excellent. You see, I'm in a bit of a pickle, and I'm hoping you can help me out of it. I've brought my wife along to this Council, and she… Oh, do you have a spouse, Commander Cullen?"

"Erm, no… I do not…" he shot another hopeful and desperate look at the Inquisitor.

"Fortunate, ahem, I mean, unfortunate for me, as you won't be able to empathize on how demanding a woman can sometimes become. But fortunate for you, as you do not have to suffer as I."

"Ah, thank you…?"

"As I was saying," he locked his arm with Cullen's and began leading him to the side, "My wife insisted on coming along on this trip. And she quickly grew bored, as I told her she would become, but now she has decided to occupy her time by planning a ball. It will be tomorrow night, and she's been pestering me to see to it that you are invited…"

Peredura could feel his eyes boring into the back of her skull, imploringly. When she risked a glance behind her, she confirmed the pleading expression on his face.

"He'll be fine," the Divine said softly, for her ears only. "Cullen is a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"Not according to Josephine," she answered just as softly. "Apparently, there are all sorts of mothers who have designs on marrying their daughters to Cullen. She's even made a list, but for some reason," she turned back to the Divine as they stepped through the threshold, leaving him to his fate, "She refuses to share this list with me."

"Hmm," the other woman nodded, wisely not adding her conjectures regarding Josephine's motives, "Probably for the best. Peredura," she steered them down the hallway towards her own quarters, "There is something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Oh?" She sounded genuinely curious. "What?"

The Divine paused a moment to turn and face her fully before asking, "Why me?"

Peredura tilted her head back as she stalled for time, making a noncommittal sort of, "…ahhh…" sound as she did so.

"I've always wondered," she continued as they resumed their course, "Why you chose me over Cassandra. The two of you were close, as close as sisters, and yet when Mother Giselle pressured you to pick one of us to become the next Divine…"

"Leliana," she stopped her words, though their steps continued, "It wasn't like that. It wasn't like that at all. I wanted nothing to do with choosing the next Divine!" Some of the old heat and frustration from that conversation two years ago resurfaced. "I had determined the fates of criminals, of farmers, of Mages and Templars, of whole nations. I was tired of that shit! I wanted no part of this business, but…" Peredura nipped at her lip.

"But what?" Leliana nodded her thanks to the servant, who had been standing and waiting just outside her chambers' doors, as he opened the portal for them.

Peredura took a heavy breath through her nostrils. "But I wasn't given a choice. I mean, I was given a choice, of course, either you or Cassandra, but I didn't have the option of abstaining. And in considering it closely," she tilted her head again, allowing Leliana to slip behind a screen and divest herself of her Divine attire, "Cassandra is devout. Highly devout. And she would have willingly taken up the mantle of Divine. But I don't think her heart would have been in it, not really." She occupied herself by examining a vase of roses. "Her deepest, truest, most honest desire is to restore the Seekers. If she had become the Divine, she would have thrown herself entirely into this position, and given up any hope or thoughts for the Seekers. Oh, sure, she would have handed down some decree, given some sort of direction, appointed someone to oversee the work, but… that's her… work, her… calling, as Cullen would put it. And I didn't want to see her divided. You, on the other hand, erm, no pun intended."

Leliana laughed, but otherwise passed over the slip of the tongue.

"I had the feeling would you be very adept at dividing your attention between your responsibilities as the Divine and," Peredura turned back around as Leliana stepped out from behind the screen, now garbed in more comfortable and less clerical clothing, "Your continuing responsibilities to the Inquisition. I serve at your pleasure, Divine, but I still need my Spymaster serving me."

Leliana smirked, set her hand on a cocked hip, and nodded. "Point taken. Unfortunately, I have nothing new to report. No news or sighting on Solas at all for these last two years. Oh, there have been rumors, but nothing that can be confirmed."

"Disappointing," she made a small face, "But not unexpected. I get the feeling that there's more to Solas that what meets the eye, but I suppose we can't do anything until he makes the first move. What about the other rogue mage I have you looking for?"

"Maximillius Nollatori," Leliana dutifully recited, "Swarthy, pock-marked, cold blue eyes, a penchant for taking advantage of slaves and spilling blood."

"Not to mention vanishing spells."

Now it was the Spymaster's turn to make a face. "Point. I haven't so much as gotten a whisper about him, not even from my contacts in Tevinter. Which means, it's very likely that he's dead."

"Dead? How? Why would you say that?"

She ticked the points off on her fingers, one by one, "Since Corypheus' defeat two years ago, there have been no further attempts on your life, or to abduct you. No one in Tevinter has heard of him returning there, either to his own estate or one of another Venatori. He has not been found in the Venatori we already have in custody. Simply put, he is no where. Either he got lost in the system, rounded up with the rest of Corypheus' followers and is safely though anonymously imprisoned, or he is dead. You have to admit," she put a hand on Peredura's arm, "Two years is a long time, too long of a time, to go without him trying another stunt. Even though it can't be proven, I feel it is safe to say, Maximillius Nollatori is dead."

Peredura let out a heavy sigh, "Not satisfying, not without proof at any rate, but I suppose you are right. Do you happen to have any good news, by chance?"

"As a matter of fact, the Spymaster in me does have some interesting news… well, gossip, really."

"Oooh, I'm all ears," Peredura leaned forward and took her hand, eager to banish the dark cloud from their conversation. "What is it?"

Her eyes twinkled as she answered, "Varric bought a ring."

"A… what? A ring?" At first, Peredura's face scrunched up, her nose wrinkling with confusion. The next moment, her eyes flew wide and she gave a little gasp. "Wait, do you mean like…"

"Exactly," she winked. "It seems our confirmed bachelor, the Viscount of Kirkwall, is finally settling down."

"I don't believe it!" She gave her head a shake. "To whom? When? Will we be invited to the wedding? Oh, there's so much to speculate on."

"I know, right?"

She took Leliana's hands, "Tell me everything."

"There's not much to tell," Leliana shrugged her shoulder. "Varric was spotted, speaking with a merchant friend of his, right here in the city, just this morning. It was all very quiet, very discreet, conducted off a side street away from the public eye. He handed over a small pouch, the merchant handed a smaller pouch back. Then, after the merchant left, Varric tipped out whatever had been in the bag, and my informant said she spotted the distinct sparkle of a modest, almost small considering his resources, but nevertheless golden band."

"I wonder…" Peredura nipped her lip, remembering a very bitter—and in no way sweet—reunion she had witnessed between Varric and an old 'friend' back at Skyhold. If the torch he carried for that lost love was any indication… "Nope. Nothing. No idea whom he could be proposing to. But this is marvelous fun."

"I know, right?" Leliana giggled in response. "How about you?"

"M-m-me?" Her eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Leliana was hard pressed to keep the smirk off her face, even though she felt slightly guiltily for baiting and misleading her friend. "Do you have any juicy gossip to share? How about Abbets? He hasn't been mentioned in any of your letters for a month or so."

"Oh, ah, right," she prayed the heat she felt rising up her cheeks was not showing as bright red, "He's, um, well, retired from the Inquisition."

"What? Tell me about it as we head outside." Leliana started them out the door and back through the embossed wooden hallways, directing their steps towards the main doors. "I thought he was Cullen's lieutenant? How can he be retired?"

"Because he's in his sixth decade," Peredura answered, keeping pace with the conversation as well as with the other woman, "And because, well, he was ready for a change. Oh, he's still in our lives, I mean, Cullen's, I mean, ah…" she nipped her lip again, "Cullen gave Abbets and Fergus the task of finding a suitable piece of land,"

"Land? As in, to purchase? A place to live? Permanently? Surely, our dashing and adventure seeking Commander Cullen isn't looking to settle down and raise a family? Become a farmer or a tradesman?"

Peredura thought—or at least hoped—there was a teasing quality to her tone of voice. "No, Leliana, nothing like that," she shook her head, telling herself there was absolutely no reason why her cheeks should feel warm. "It's for his dream. The sanctuary for those who were formerly in the Templars. The tower he's been using at Skyhold is at capacity. And the place in Val Royeaux only accepts aging Templars, not those who have had to leave the Order for whatever reason. So, he needs more room, someplace permanent, where he can establish this sanatorium. It's his idea… vision… dream…"

"His… calling?" Leliana provided.

Peredura nodded, having tried to avoid using that term, but knowing it was the correct one. "Exactly. He truly feels called—by the Maker or whatever powers that be—to create a safe haven for those who wish to leave the Templars, or were demoted from the ranks, or for whatever reason are no longer using lyrium. Whether or not they have their minds intact, he feels they deserve some scrap of decency, at the very least to live out the rest of their lives in peace, if not in service of some sort. So, he sent Abbots and Fergus out to procure a suitable site for us…" she coughed, trying to hide her slip, and recovered, "Excuse me, for the sanatorium. And he's just heard they may have been successful already. He told me this morning that he got a letter from them, saying they would meet us here in Halamshiral, probably by the end of next week."

Leliana smirked, but whether it was from seeing through Peredura's clumsy attempt, or because she knew something, or because it was her habit, Peredura couldn't tell. Yet she wasn't allowed a lot of time to consider, as Leliana winked and leaned in closer, her voice oozing with girlish glee when she spoke. "I think Fergus is going to make better time than that in getting here. Do you know who all is attending this council, well, not directly attending, but at least showing interest in the outcome?"

She shrugged as they stepped outside, taking a moment to pause on the landing and allow her eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight, "Just about everyone who thinks they have a right, or at least an opportunity to profit from the fate of the Inquisition…"

"Such as Delonce." The satisfaction on Leliana's face was positively glowing.

Peredura waved it aside as they started down the steps. "Oh, I know where you're going with this. Yes, Fergus has had feelings for her for years now, but nothing has ever come of it. He's no longer a Templar and never wishes to return, but shortly after the Mage/Templar War was ended, she returned to the Order, one of the first to be allowed to return…"

"And found herself moving up the ranks very quickly. She currently serves the Knight-Vigilant himself, as a Special Attaché, no doubt due to her involvement with the Inquisition and her remaining relationships within your Honor Guard. He's sent her here, attending in an official capacity as his personal representative, to ensure the Templars are well represented and kept informed of any developments or conclusions made by the council."

"Ugh…" Peredura closed her eyes and moaned, "Yet another interested party."

"Still, it serves to give Delonce and Fergus an opportunity to meet up. Say, I wonder…" her voice trailed away as she tapped a finger to her lips.

She tried not to, she honestly did, but after a few moments, Peredura had to ask, "Wonder what?"

That smirk returned, and Peredura began to get the suspicion that Leliana knew more than she was letting on, "Maybe Varric wasn't getting the ring for himself, but for another. As I said, it was an overly modest ring for a man of his means. But not of someone, say, like Fergus? A soldier. A common and honest man. Someone not given to grand gestures or flashy displays of emotions. Someone more humble and practical."

Someone like Cullen, Peredura thought to herself, but wisely kept her lips closed.

"Well, Varric's down at the tavern now. Why don't we head over there and see if we can get him to let some sort of clue slip?"

"Why not?" Peredura shrugged. She gave one last glance over her shoulder to see if Cullen had managed to escape yet, then turned to join her friends.

"So what brings a woman like you to a place like this?"

"Krem!" Peredura smiled, slapping the man on the shoulder. "Good to see you and the other Chargers." She looked down at the eclectic group gathered around the table, tankards in hand, lifting them up in acknowledgement of her. She nodded her thanks and shifted her gaze to just past them. "Still protecting The Iron Bull's blindside, I see."

"I heard that," Iron Bull hailed from the bar nearby. He didn't bother to turn, as she was on the same side as his blind eye, but she did see the dark mop of hair pop around from behind his horns to get a look at her.

"Ah, Krem, excuse me. But it's good to see you're all in good health. Stitches," she gave a special nod to the Chargers' healer, someone she had a long history with, and got a kindly smile in answer. "Excuse me."

"Of course," Krem allowed her to quickly slip away.

"The Iron Bull," she smiled as she approached the two men at the bar, "And Magister Pavus. What a pleasant surprise to see you two here."

"Cut the crap, boss," Bull sipped at his mug, "You know us too well. Any excuse to meet up again…"

"Speak for yourself, ox-man," Dorian shoved at his back to get a clear look at her, "I'm here solely for the good company of our gracious hostess."

Peredura smiled, "Not likely. Besides, I'm not the hostess, Leliana, that is, Divine Victoria is the hostess." She took Dorian's offered hands and leaned over to kiss his cheek, "But I'll accept the compliment. On her behalf, of course."

"Of course," Iron Bull agreed, taking another sip. "We were just talking, catching up, looking around at who's all here. Pretty much everyone's made it, I see."

Peredura glanced around herself, taking note of all her friends, past and present: Sera planning her next prank; Varric showing off the riches of being a Viscount to anyone and everyone; Vivienne and Cassandra deep in serious conversation; Josephine and Thom reacquainting themselves at a corner table; even Cole was drifting around, as Peredura had been doing, touching on every conversation and mini-group of friends as if to reassure herself they were truly all there. "Yes, well, everyone we could expect to be here."

"You still miss him? Solas, I mean?"

She nodded in response to the Qunari's question, but didn't meet his eyes.

"You know, there's someone else missing. Two, actually, if you count that mammoth beast of yours…"

"Fear," she gently reminded Dorian.

"Yes, that cushion-destroying, boot-eating, slobber-producing monster. But wasn't there a certain soldier you rather fancied? At least you did, before I had to leave for Tevinter."

She could feel her cheeks burning again. "Yes, Cullen is here, too. Well," she nipped her lip. Dorian noted that she was no longer chewing it, as she had when he first met her, and that the occasional nip was more a habit than anything to do damage. "I know this will be a great imposition to you, both of you…"

"Here it comes," Iron Bull hummed.

"But, The Iron Bull, could I ask you to go check on Cullen? As we were leaving the council chambers, one of the delegates sort of cornered Cullen and starting talking to him about balls and dance cards and that sort of stuff. And we all know how Cullen feels about that. But I don't see him here, and I'm afraid he might still be…"

"Say no more, Boss," he answered her. The next moment he finished his ale in one swallow, spun off his stool to a standing position, and carefully inclined his head, mindful of braining Dorian by accident. "Consider the Commander already rescued. Besides, it'll be fun. Imagine the look on the delegate's face when a Qunari comes walking in, looking for the Commander." He ended with a slight chuckle. "Oh, I'll be right back, Vint," he leaned over to Dorian, "And we can pick up our conversation where we left off…"

Dorian swallowed, looking a bit flushed himself underneath his tanned skin. "I certainly expect you to, ox-man. I am in no way finished with you yet."

Another healthy chuckled rumbled out of Iron Bull's chest as he sauntered off.

"Sorry about that, Dorian," she took Bull's vacated stool, "I know the two of you must not have seen each other for some time, and knowing how you feel…"

"Best not to say that out loud, Peredura," he cut her off, "Even amongst friends. I have a reputation to protect, now."

She blinked at him. "What reputation? You're The Pariah of Tevinter. Have been since before you joined the Inquisition."

"Yes, but now I'm also a Magister," he lifted his chin, raising his glass in a mock salute, "More responsibility, you understand."

"Speaking of which," she shook her head as the bartender offered her a pint, "I would say congratulations on becoming Magister, but I know how the title is passed on, and…"

"Yes, well," Dorian set his own glass down, "Thank you, Peredura. I appreciate it. Father and I, well, we never really came to any understanding. Oh, he came around far enough to accept that I am the way I am, but not to accepting what I am." He shrugged, "More than I should have hoped for, I suppose. At least we were on cordial terms before he passed."

She knew she shouldn't have brought it up, but at least it was done and over with now.

"What about yourself? Anything new happening in your life?"

She groaned and set her face in her hands. "Not you, too?"

"Not me what?" he countered, at a loss as to how he caused her distress. He was fairly certain, from her letters and from the way she had just sent Bull off to find Cullen, that the two of them were still together, so he had no idea why she was so upset.

"Cassandra just finished grilling me," she admitted through her fingers. "She was very upset, concerned that I hadn't told her myself, saying that Varric told her that Cullen had proposed to me."

"Proposed what?"

She finally pulled her hands away to glare at him. "Seriously?"

Dorian laughed. "Oh, come on, you can't begrudge me a little bit of fun, especially after you usurped Bull for your own personal use. Besides, it shouldn't surprise you to learn that the two of you are the worst kept secret in Skyhold."

"We are?"

"Everyone knows about you and Cullen."

"Everyone?"

"All those accidental touches, and lingering glances, and heavy sighs, and whispered promises…"

"Enough! Please…!" she moaned, hiding her face in her hands once more. "We thought we were being so clever, so careful."

"I think the time in the broom closet kind of gave it away."

He looked down as she banged her head against the bar, moaning her embarrassment and suffering thoroughly. He felt a bit of satisfaction over her discomfort—she did send Bull off right when their little conversation was getting promising—but he supposed he should try to ease her distress… just a little bit. "Come on now, buck up. It's not like there was a betting pool of when he would propose."

"There's not… wait… is there one… did you just say…?" She lifted her face up, bewilderment now drowning out the embarrassment, and he was relieved she hadn't left a mark on her forehead from banging the bar top.

"Good new, Boss," Iron Bull returned early from his errand. He slapped her shoulder, toppling her halfway off the stool when he did so. "Turns out, Cullen's not that far away. Other side of the courtyard, walking the grounds with that hound of yours. Looks like he managed not to engage himself in any matters without you. Hey, did I say something wrong?"

Dorian winked at him, "Don't mention the worst kept secret in Skyhold."

"What? That she and the Commander are…"

"The Iron Bull, please," she vacated the stool and allowed him to resume his perch. "I've had enough embarrassment for one day. Thank you for finding Cullen. Will I be seeing you two at the banquet tonight?"

"Hmm, depends," he eyed Dorian suggestively, "Is there a ball afterwards?"

"Nope," she shook her head, "Just an informal affair, no dress code, only the inner circle of the Inquisition, come and go as you please, that sort of thing."

"Sounds… perfect," he lifted an eyebrow at Dorian.

"Quite," he agreed, "After all, I just arrived today, and am quite knackered from the journey. I'll have to turn in early tonight to get my beauty rest."

"Maker's Breath," she swore, "If Cullen and I are the worst kept secret, then you two come in a close second! Good day to you both!"

She ignored their chortling as she stalked out of the tavern.

The fresh air was, well, fresh, free of the closeness of flesh and the smoke of cigars and the stench of alcohol. There was even a small breeze, a slight ruffling that tugged at her bangs and kissed her cheeks. She smiled, taking a moment to enjoy the feel of the late afternoon sun on her back, before heading off to the other side of the courtyard.

It wasn't hard for her to find them, knowing so well how the Commander thinks. Cullen was with Fear, the two of them off in a corner of the courtyard, safely tucked out of the way of any passers-by or would-be matchmakers. He didn't notice her at first, deep in a serious conversation with Fear, which she overheard as she approached. "No, Orlais isn't for the likes of us, is it?"

Fear saw no good reason to answer as Cullen was scratching his tummy in just the right spot. He wasn't even disturbed when his hind leg twitched and kicked Cullen in the shin. More than once.

"All these meetings that last all day. Followed by the balls that last all night," he found a really good spot and endured Fear's back paw scraping against his boot. "It's a wonder anyone gets any sleep around here. And then the food! Bleh!" He pulled his hand away, and Fear curved his back far enough to cast a doleful look his way. "Not just the stuff they shove at me at the banquets. No, even the treats they serve you are disgusting. Full of sweetness and cream and softness and fat. And that's what we're getting, my friend, soft. And fat." He patted the stomach of the hound, which did seem a bit less firm than it had a week ago.

Fear gave a half of a growl, a mild warning, as if saying he was one to talk.

"Eh, maybe you're right. Me, too, it would seem," Cullen looked down at his own stomach and tried to pinch himself through his uniform. "Yup, definitely softening and fattening up, like a pig for the roast. What you and I need," he nodded his head in full seriousness at the Mabari, "Is a good, old fashioned, bare-fisted fight. Something to get the blood flowing. Something to work off a bit of steam, right?"

Fear barked again, in what must have been agreement, as in the next moment he twisted to his paws and bounded his entire mass into Cullen's midsection, all in one smooth maneuver. The Commander gave an "oof!" sound as the breath was knocked out of him.

The next moment, the two were completely engrossed in a tussle, playing and wrestling on the ground. Fear had his front paws on Cullen's shoulders, holding him to the ground, when Cullen managed to get his knees between them and heave Fear off. Then the man pounced on the hound, who rolled with the momentum, the two of them wrapping their limbs around each other as they tumbled over and over, right off the path and onto the grass. Fear was play-growling, and Cullen made a similar sound as he buried his face in the Mabari's shoulder.

Their path was suddenly blocked by something thick and hard, and due to the tinkling sound of water Cullen surmised they had rolled up against the fountain. As it was his back that had hit it, though thankfully not hard enough to hurt, he found he could use it for leverage to brace himself and push off with his legs, sending them rolling back towards the cobblestoned pathway.

And right against a pair of boots.

Fear noticed her first and gave a yelp of surprise and embarrassment. The Mabari scrambled to his feet and shook himself, trying to dislodge any dirt or grass that had gotten into his fur. Then he promptly sat on his haunches, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, his lips pulled back in a grin, as if daring her to scold him.

Cullen, however, remained on the ground. Not that he was winded or bruised or unable to stand—he had healed quite well from his broken back two years ago. Rather, he remained on the ground, partway on the path and partway on the grass, lounging at her feet, because he liked the view. She rose above him, soaring with only the sky as a backdrop, the golden rays of the sun low in the sky softening the edges of her shape, kissing her hair with reddened highlights. He stretched out on his side, his head in his hand, and simply drank in the sight of her.

Peredura wasn't sure what to make of the two before her. Both were equally unrepentant of their actions or the impression they could have given to anyone who happened to peek into this corner of the garden. But whereas Fear looked at her with unconditional love in his eyes, as if he'd already forgotten what transgression he might have committed, Cullen looked at her with a distinctly different look in his eyes, a new look, a… an almost… predatory look, one of anticipation and hope and confidence and assurance of the outcome.

Whatever the outcome may be…

Nevertheless, she ignored the impudence and attempted to act her role of Inquisitor. She shifted her stance, feet shoulder width apart, arms akimbo, chin raised so she glared down the length of her nose at them, and furrowed her brow with mock disappointment. "What a spectacle you two are making. My Mabari and my Commander, wrestling in the dirt like a couple of school boys. Look at the state your uniform is in," she leaned over slightly and shook a finger at his face, "Grass-stained elbows and dirt on your backside. And you," she turned next to Fear, the same finger wagging now at him in emphasis, "Your collar is all twisted around backwards." She tried to shake her head with dismay, but the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth betrayed any attempt at sternness. "Oh, bother, what am I going to do with you?"

He couldn't help himself. He simply could not help himself. After having to extradite himself from the clutches of the ambassador, and then coming outside to see the crowd gathered around the tavern, he only wanted a moment or two of solitude, to simply breathe open air and not feel stuffy and squelched and pinned to the spot and having to endure yet another social engagement. When he found Fear also meandering outdoors, the two of them began walking together without having to say a word. And the little tussle they had been engaged in was good for them both. But then she was there, appearing out of the very air, the laughter in her voice as delicate as the sunlight spilling out from behind her. And the words came out before he was consciously aware of them.

"Marry me."

Nope, he couldn't help himself one bit, damn it! He saw her expression change, her jaw go slack and her eyes widen and her lips twitching without breath. Suddenly he realized he had spoken out loud.

"Wait! No, I didn't mean to say that. Well, I did, I mean, I meant to say that, just not yet…"

"…cullen…"

He scrambled, hastily, trying to move somewhere—anywhere—but on his backside, and managed to reach his knees. He was flustered, flustered over himself, his slip, his haste to explain, his plans now dashed to bits. Maker's Breath, but his plans… That thought brought him to a sudden stillness. "There was supposed to be dessert… and music coming from the open balcony… then dinner… candlelight… all very romantic, Varric assured me…"

"…Cullen…"

"I had this whole plan…" he looked back up at her, becoming unfrozen, trying to explain himself, taking her hands in his to show his earnestness and honesty, "I was… to propose to you tonight… we'd skip the banquet… have a private dinner… and then dessert… and the ring would be in it… and you'd find it… and then…"

"Cullen…?"

He finally stopped the flood of words dribbling from his lips and took a moment to look up at her, gauging how the conversation—if one could call this a conversation—was going. Her skin was still a bit pale, and her eyes still a bit too doe-like, but her lips were moving and forming sounds, her breath growing stronger and steadier. Caught so off guard as she was, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Bollocks, but there was no way of fixing tonight's little scheme. And since he was kneeling there at her feet…

"Peredura," he was already holding her hands, and brought them to his lips, kissing the backs of them. Then he locked their gazes together and spoke softly, calmly, as gentle as the breeze ruffling his hair. "Pere, share the rest of your life with me, the two of us, together. Marry me."

"Yes," she answered even before she could take a breath. Then she gasped, sucking in the breath that was as precious to her as he was, and her whole body trembled. "Oh, Cullen!"

He watched the tears spring to her eyes, the redness flush her cheeks, and felt the shaking of her hands. "Pere? Are… are you upset?" He sprang to his feet, concerned and confused, as the salty drops escaped past her lashes and cascaded down her cheeks. "Did I say something wrong? Did you not mean it? Maker's Breath, I know, this was sudden, not the way I wanted to say it, but…"

"I'm happy, damn it," she slugged his chest, laughing through the tears, "That's why I'm crying."

"You're… happy," he tried to confirm, his hands now on her shoulders, holding her steady and keeping her close to him, "So… you're crying?"

She nodded, smiled, and sniffed.

He rolled his eyes heavenward, but there was no help for him there. "Thank the Maker I didn't have any bad news to deliver, or I might have set you off in a bout of hysterical laughter."

"Cullen!" she giggled and slugged him again, softer this time, more of a shove than a push. He chose to take it as a good sign and loosened his grip—just a bit.

"So, you will marry me?"

"Yes, Cullen Stanton Rutherford," her voice was husky with her emotions, her eyes still twinkling with tears, her cheeks bright, her pulse racing in the hollow of her throat. "Yes, I will marry you."

"Good. Tonight."

"Tonight?"

He had spoken on impulse, but as his thoughts raced, no doubt carried along by adrenaline, first from the play-fighting with Fear, then the flustered proposal, then the elation over her acceptance—"Yes, tonight. Why wait any longer? There's a small alcove in the back gardens. And Mother Giselle is here; I'm sure she'd be willing to perform the ceremony. We can get married, right now, and turn tonight's Inner Circle Reunion Banquet into our Wedding Feast."

"Um, perhaps we should try to keep this quiet…" she nipped at her lip. "Someone is bound to notice the Inquisitor getting married to her Commander in the middle of an Exalted Council." Inwardly she groaned over the strain of Orlesian politics—The Game. She could already hear the delegates in uproar over the hastiness of their wedding…

"Which is why we won't keep it secret," his gentle persuasion chased away her doubt. "If we act as if this was our intention from the beginning, then we won't appear to be doing anything unseemly. Only… private. Personal. Tasteful." He added the last with a bit of a serious nod.

She laughed. She simply had to, "That sounds… logical. But we'll need a little bit of time."

"Oh," immediately his expression changed, from ready and able to disappointed. "How long?"

"An hour or so, perhaps? You'll need to change out of that uniform, it's filthy. And, pardon me, but I really don't wish to be married in a uniform myself. I have a dress… I brought one just in case I didn't want to wear my formal uniform to a ball…"

He watched her cheeks deepen in color, a rather fetching reaction, and nodded, "I think I could manage to wait that long."

"Oh, and witnesses. We'll need them to make this official. I would want Cassandra to stand with me."

Cullen nodded and scratched at the back of his head, thinking fast, "I don't have many friends, much less a close friend that I would consider a confidant, someone to stand as my second." He stopped and dropped his hand, straightening his shoulders, a sure sign he had made a decision. "But Varric came with me from Kirkwall. He's been with us through the worst of it. Besides, he'd never forgive us if he wasn't invited, especially after helping me plan the dinner proposal…"

"Which we sort of skipped," she impishly added.

"…and he purchased the rings for me…"

"Ooo, I can't wait until Leliana finds out about that." Her eyes were twinkling with some mirthful secret he didn't have the energy or brainpower to comprehend. His eyes were wide, almost fearful, as the realization hit him.

"The ring!"

She wasn't sure how to respond to him, as he seemed greatly alarmed but rooted to the spot, almost frozen with… indecision? "Cullen, what is it? What's wrong? You're starting to scare me."

Fear barked, softly, and nudged the back of Cullen's leg.

That broke him out of his shock. "Maker's Breath!" he slapped himself on the forehead. "The ring! Your ring. I took the liberty and got rings for both of us, and I have mine right here," he tapped the breast pocket of his jacket, "But I gave your ring to the chef, in the kitchens, to bake into the dessert…" His eyes snapped back into focus and his stance shifted, readying himself for action. "I've got to go get that ring, before it ends up in some sort of sticky batter. I should go right now, but…"

"Right," she agreed, nodding her head, "There's quite a bit to do, if we want to get married while it's still daylight, so we'll divide and conquer. You go rescue the ring, and I'll gather up Cassandra and Varric—I know exactly where to find them."

He nodded in quickly agreement. "After the ring, I'll speak with Mother Giselle, then head to my chambers to change. Have Varric meet me there."

"I'll change as well, and meet you in the back gardens with Cassandra in tow."

He paused to look at her, take a breath, and smile, "We're really doing this?"

She smiled back, "We are."

Again, his impulse control was shot. He moved up to her and claimed her mouth for a kiss, his arms wrapping around her, molding her to his front, fitting them in close.

She allowed him a moment, then pulled her lips free, turned her face away, and laughed. "But only if you rescue that ring!"

He looked at her, and that shit-eating, cocky grin she loved so much stained his lips. "I am at your command, Madam Inquisitor."

"Oh!" she stomped her foot in irritation, a mostly affected act, and laughed again as he trotted off to rescue the ring.

Her ring.

After watching until he disappeared from sight around a corner, she turned away to head back to the tavern, feeling a little lightheaded, a little scared, a little excited, a little bewildered—

A little of everything!

The back gardens were private, secluded, away from the hustle of the crowded Winter Palace. There was a small arbor, set off to the side in the outer wall of the grounds, just as Cullen described. Vines grew over the white painted trellises, a rich and glossy green. To either side were two planters, filled to overflowing with blooming flowers. In the center of the alcove was an opening, large enough to allow the rays of the setting sun to adorn the small party of five.

Well, six, if you count the Mabari.

They were all quiet, not so much somber or solemn, but peacefully happy and content in the moment.

The Mother spoke quietly yet firmly of bonds and commitment.

The man spoke clearly and confidently of his vows and dedication.

The woman spoke deliberately and in Elven of her love and devotion.

The two onlookers silently witnessed, awestruck.

The Mabari waited until the end and gave a single bark.