Chapter Two: First Kiss

There was a commotion in the trees not far from camp, the unmistakable sound of something large breaking through branches and undergrowth. Cullen lifted his gaze away from the training recruits, curious and ready to respond if there was danger. Though he couldn't see what was making the noise, he could ascertain that it was a person coming quickly through the trees, female judging by the unintelligible but very frightened cries. Damn, it definitely sounded like trouble, and he had decided not to wear his armor today.

He wasn't without his sword, however, and with his hand on the pommel he started for the place where he thought the person would emerge from the forest. Three soldiers fell into step behind him, and he noticed with a rueful glance that they were fully armored. "Spread out," he commanded without breaking his stride, "In case she isn't friendly, or there's more than one." Quickly the soldiers obeyed, and he felt a brief twinge of pride in his chest, seeing their efficient movements and knowing it was a product of the training he'd given them. Then he pushed emotion aside and waited for the newcomer.

It wasn't long before he saw her, running pell-mell through the forest, tripping over fallen branches hidden beneath snowbanks, careening off of one trunk to stumble into another. Her mouth was open, voicing a choking scream, her face streaked with grime and tears.

Blessed Andraste, it was the Herald. In full hysterics. He scanned the trees behind her, alert and ready to engage whatever was chasing her, but nothing emerged. Confused he glanced from her to the forest and back to her, but there was no sign of anything threatening her, whether bear or dragon or demon.

He took his hand off his sword and signaled the others to remain some distance back, just in case the danger was still coming or had decided to hide. Then he began striding towards her, having to adjust his course twice to accommodate her stumbling and wayward steps. They met not too far into the forest. Amazingly she ran right into him, smacking into his chest as if she hadn't seen him. He gripped her by her shoulders before she could fall, but she struggled to get away, sobbing her screams, her eyes wide and glazed.

Her hysterics were too strong, so she didn't recognize him, only able to register that something was keeping her from escaping—something she had to fight against. She screamed, cried, writhed between his hands, all to no avail. Cullen knew he had to calm her down, and quickly, or he'd never get it out of her in time what was chasing her.

He didn't think; he acted. One hand pulled back and swung around in an arc, landing a stinging slap against the side of her face. The force was enough to knock her from his grip and onto her backside into a knee-deep snowdrift. Cullen stared at her critically, gauging her reaction to his slap. She sat there, stunned, her breath shuddering but no longer screaming, her limbs limp and no longer struggling. She lifted her face to him, a rare occurrence indeed, and blinked those soft brown orbs at him. Her eyes were still wide, but no longer glazed and unseeing, focusing on his face.

"…Commander…?" she said in a very, very small voice.

Cullen didn't smile, but he did feel relief she had come to her senses. He leaned over her, grabbing her arm and almost yanking her to her feet. "Better?"

It took a moment for her to convince her legs to hold her up. She gripped his forearms, grateful for the support. Then she began to feel the injury on her butt cheek, and knew a bruise would be forming. Wondering how she'd gotten hurt, she looked behind her at the indentation she had made when she fell, seeing a partially decayed log that had been hidden beneath the snow. A tiny crease formed between her eyebrows, her mouth still sort of slack, though thankfully empty of cries. Looking back up at him, she hesitantly nodded.

"Good, then you can tell me what in the bloody Fade is chasing you."

"…chasing me…?" she repeated.

Cullen tried damn hard not to curse, thinking her wits were still scattered. "Do I have to slap you again?"

"No!" she answered quickly, feeling the sting on her cheek. "No, I, ah, there's nothing chasing me…" Her actions seemed to belie her words, as she continued to cling to his arms while she stared frightfully over her shoulder.

"Then what's the danger?"

"Danger?" she asked, looking back at him. Seeing his expression darken, and fearful of another slap, she swallowed and quickly tried to explain. "No, no danger, there were spiders, but they're in the cave, not chasing me, have you seen Sera?"

"There's no danger?" he stressed, wanting to make sure of that fact before he tackled the rest of the nonsense. When she nodded, he lifted his gaze away from her face, staring over the top of her head at the forest around them. "Then let's get back to camp, and you can tell me what had you so scared."

"Spiders," she gulped, "Lots of spiders."

"Spiders," he repeated, sounding like he didn't believe her. He kept one hand on her arm, steadying her as they trekked through the snow.

"Yes, ah, it was Sera. She said there was a cave nearby, and she had seen something inside it, something that glittered, like maybe gemstones. I thought it might be a good idea to look; gemstones would bring good coin for the Inquisition. Anyway, we went to the cave, and Sera brought a lamp, but it went out just before we entered the cave. She said there was already a lamp in there, all I had to do was go in and turn up the wick. So I did. Only when I looked around, I didn't see gemstones, I saw eyes. Loads of them. And fangs. And all those hairy legs…" her voice choked in her throat, her feet stumbled through a drift.

Cullen was there, holding her, keeping her on her feet and out of the snow. He stopped walking to give her a chance to find her equilibrium, and to clarify a point. "Maker's breath," he sighed, staring at her, "You're scared of spiders."

It wasn't so much a question as a statement, but again she lifted her face towards him and blinked those soft brown eyes. "Yes. Aren't you?"

"No." He didn't see her face very often, occasionally an eye would appear beneath her overgrown bangs, or the tip of her nose from around the edge of those long, straight locks. That she had grown comfortable enough around him to let him see her face was astonishing. Then again, she might simply be so distraught by the spiders—something she obviously greatly feared—that she hadn't realized the clear view she was giving him of her scars. He didn't stare, not like he had that first day, and instead made himself focus on her eyes. His hand reached up to brush those wayward bangs off her forehead.

The Herald flinched away. Quickly she dropped her face, the tips of her cheeks turning pink, her eyelids flickering as she grew flustered.

"No," he repeated, trying to put her back at ease. He had just gotten her calm; he didn't need her going into hysterics again. "Not everyone has the same fears, you know. There are other people who fear spiders, but I am not one of them."

She nodded, and he could hear her swallow. Then in that small voice of hers she asked, "What do you fear?"

He couldn't answer. Like an old wound being picked open, a flood of memories bled into his thoughts. Too close confinement. Voices in his head. Death surrounding him. Temptation eating at his faith…

The Herald took his silence the wrong way, and started sputtering an apology. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to insult you. Of course you're not cowardly; someone like you isn't afraid of anything. You've faced mages and demons and bears and blights and, well, you've probably never-ever flinched, and, oh, I'll just, ah," her voice trailed away.

Cullen came back to himself. He wasn't insulted—blindsided, but not insulted. Still it wasn't something he could easily share, much less put into words. Before he had to try, however, there was a bright burst of color that streaked past, topped by a ragged mop of blonde hair. It was accompanied by a maddening giggle interspersed with semi-intelligible taunts. "Har-har-harry! Hairy! Hairy-legs! Harry's scared-y hairy-legs!"

The Herald saw her, too, and immediately forgot that she had stuck her foot in her mouth with Cullen, in favor of catching her prank-pulling friend. "Sera! Come back here! I'm gonna get you for that! You know I hate spiders!"

He barely managed to grab a handful of her coat before she could slip away. "Whoa. Calm down. You can't go chasing after that bratty elf, no matter how justified. It isn't seemly for a woman of your position."

"But I…" she tried to pry his fingers away, but they held her like a vice. "But she…" next she tried slipping out of her jacket, but he countered by slipping his arm around her, holding her fast. "Oh!" she stamped her foot, but luckily missed his.

The next moment she stopped trying to escape. She took several deep breaths to calm herself, not moving. Cullen waited a few extra moments, not sure if he could trust her, until she started speaking. "You're right, Commander. I sometimes forget that I'm the Herald, that I must consider how others view me, that they judge the Inquisition through my actions. And chasing after one of my companions would appear... unseemly. Thank you for stopping me from making a fool of myself."

"Er," he loosened his grip minimally, but when she didn't take the bait, he thought perhaps she was sincere. "You're welcome."

His hands fell away from her form. The next heartbeat she was off like an arrow, far faster than he had expected, her laughing voice trailing back to him over her shoulder, "But she's headed away from Haven! No one will see…" Another heartbeat, and she had disappeared into the forest after Sera.

"I swear," he mumbled to himself, "By all that's holy, if there's even the slightest mishap from this, I'll bend them over my knee and spank them both!"

"Why, Commander Cullen, kinky," Leliana's voice sounded drolly from just behind him. "I didn't know you were into threesomes."

"I didn't mean… not that… they were… ugh!" He gave up trying to explain himself under the force of her laughter. With a disgusted wave, he turned his back on the Herald and Sera and started back for camp.

"Relax, Commander," Leliana tried to stifle her laughter as she reassured him, "I have my scout trainees watching them. They won't get into any trouble."

"Won't get into any trouble?" he repeated, his voice rife with disbelief. "Do you know what just happened? What Sera did?"

"She tricked the Herald into entering a cave full of spiders. Yes, I know," Leliana admitted, very calmly in his opinion. "The scouts determined ahead of time that the spiders weren't poisonous, or they would never have allowed her to enter the cave. However, no one could have foreseen her fear of spiders. Or the hysterics that they caused. Once they realized she was scared out of her wits, one came and informed me while the others made sure she didn't break her neck racing through the forest. A few well-aimed stones and some strange animal calls, and they had her steered directly towards camp and, well," her eyes swept up and down his form suggestively, "Your protective arms."

"They're not… I wasn't… oh, Maker, this headache!" He put a gloved hand to his brow, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

Leliana refrained from laughing this time, but only because she saw how much pain he was feeling. Thinking it might be serious, she set aside her teasing and placed a concerned hand on his arm. "Commander, are you feeling well? Would you care for…"

"I'm fine," he interrupted her. With a determined set to his jaw, he pushed aside all discomfort and focused on the task at hand. "Your scouts are still following them?"

"They are," she confirmed as they walked into camp, willing to let the matter go but continuing to watch him discreetly. "If the girls get into too much trouble, my scouts will interfere and send them back to Haven."

"Ser!" a voice called out. Both turned to see one of her scout trainees running up to them, waving his arms. Cullen swept his hard hazel eyes in the direction the man was gesturing, and had to muse, "What are they up to now?"

The Herald wasn't a particularly fast runner, but she was determined. And Sera spent as much time laughing and shouting insults as she did running. It wasn't too long before the Herald caught up with her prank-prone playmate. With a cry of victory, and a squeal of delight from Sera, she tackled the elf, the two of them falling down on the side of a hill. Sera wasn't finished yet, however, and wrestled with the Herald, Sera giggling and the Herald protesting as they lost their balance and rolled over and over downhill.

When they came to a stop, the Herald was on top, a knee planted on either side of Sera's hips, her hands on the other's shoulders. "Ha! I win!"

"Only because I let you, dinnit I?" Sera taunted. Her full lips were pouting, a tiny crease forming between her eyes. The Herald saw the signs, knew she was getting mad, but she was mad, too.

"Why did you do it?"

"What? Let you win?"

"No," the Herald leaned in closer, her current frustration warring with her remembered fear. "The cave with the spiders. You know I'm scared of them, but you left me alone in the dark…"

"You had a lamp," Sera protested, but her words weren't even heard.

"… with all those, those, those THINGS, looking at me with all those EYES, and all those LEGS started moving…" She broke off suddenly, shuddering, looking like she wanted to sick up. Sera began scrambling to get out of the way, just in case, but the Herald leaned back and let her go. She sat there in the snow, one hand over her mouth, her eyes staring over the frozen lake.

Sera sat up, shifting around until she was beside the Herald, their shoulders touching. Her brow uncreased, her mercurial mood shifting back to teasing when she spoke. "Oh, you liked it and you know it. A good scare now and then, keeps the heart pumping, yeah? Makes you feel all tingly and alive." She tilted her head coyly, trying to see around the curtain of dark brown hair. "You feeling tingly, right?"

She bumped their shoulders together. The Herald tried to push back hard enough to knock her into the snow, but she deflected the force with a knowing little giggle. Feeling more than a little miffed, she did have to grudgingly admit, "There's some tingling, mostly the snow melting down my…"

She didn't get the chance to finish. Sera leaned over her, her movements quick like a viper, and stole a kiss.

She froze, and it wasn't from the snow that had found its way past her waistband and into her leggings. Her wide brown eyes stared at the elf, her breath suddenly stopped, her body turned to ice. Had Sera just…?

"What? Not tingly enough?"

Her lips moved, but no sound was made. She blinked, suddenly remembering she had to breathe in order to speak. She took a shaky gasp and managed to string together some words that started to sound coherent. "Tingly? I thought we were talking about being scared…"

"Well, yeah, there is that," Sera agreed, moving in front of her on her hands and knees, almost on her lap. "But there's also the good kind of tingly, you know, when you look at someone, or think about them, and it gets all tingly and wet and wanting to rub against something. Against someone. Right? Am I right? You feeling that kind of tingly?"

The Herald swallowed, watching warily as she crawled forwards. Involuntarily the Herald leaned away, dropping to her elbows, but Sera pursued, getting very close to her mouth again. "I have no idea what you just said."

Sera pouted again, the tiny crease returning to her brow. "You know. Tinnnnngggghhhhllllyyyyy," she drew out the word, as if saying it slower would give it a different meaning. "Dinnit you feel that, when I kissed you?"

"I…" she stopped as suddenly as she started. Her whole mind felt like it was packed in the snowbank with her body, cold and motionless, as unable to think as she was to move.

The crease deepened, Sera getting more mad. "What did you feel, when I kissed you? Can you tell me that?" She shoved herself back from the Herald. "Or can you at least tell me, do you like girls?"

"I…" the Herald didn't know what had just happened, but she knew things were going wrong, and she wanted desperately to fix them. "I like girls. I like you, Sera."

"But not that way." Sera made it to her feet, dusting the snow off her hands and knees.

"I don't know what way you mean," she countered, her voice almost pleading, her hand reaching out as if to stop Sera from leaving.

"What? Because of your neeshaw-thingy?"

"Amnesia," the Herald seized on the excuse, standing up and mentally smacking herself for not having thought of it sooner. "Yes, that's it. I don't remember. Sera, tell me what I'm supposed to feel, and…"

"Doesn't work like that, you ninny," Sera shook her head. "Either you feeeeeel, or… oh, never mind. Figure it out for yourself!" She spun on her heel and stomped away through the snow.

"Sera! Wait!" the Herald called after her, but Sera only flashed her a rude gesture over her shoulder without even turning around. The Herald started after her, jogging to catch up. Sera started running, however, seriously this time; and when she put her mind to it, there wasn't anyone who could keep up with her.

The Herald tried to keep up, the confusion and hurt and embarrassment overwhelming her. She wanted answers, and she thought Sera should be the one to give them, but Sera was getting away, racing out over the frozen lake. The Herald was scared of the solid water. She'd never seen ice form before, much less freeze an entire lake so solid that it could hold her weight. She hesitated at the shoreline a moment, watching the brightly clad elf slip away, before she found her courage and stepped out cautiously onto the slippery surface.

Voices started shouting behind her. Alarmed she turned to see several people dressed in the uniforms of Leliana's scouts. They were shouting and waving their arms, racing towards her, trying to get her attention. Then they got close enough she could make out what they were saying.

"Don't go onto the lake! The ice isn't solid enough!"

The Herald swallowed, turning away from them to see Sera. She was almost in the middle of the lake now, and unaware of the danger. Her only thought to save her friend, she left the scouts behind and started again over the icy surface, shouting and hoping her voice would reach Sera in time.

Cullen was running, too, from a different direction than the scouts, yet he knew he'd be too late.

"What in the Void does she think she's doing?!" shouted Leliana, racing with him but falling behind. One of the scouts had told them of Sera and the Herald getting too close to the lake, and how the ice wasn't deemed thick enough. Fearing the worst, always advisable where the Herald was involved, they had started for the lake only to find, by that time, Sera was far out over the ice. And, apparently, the Herald was trying to save her.

"Don't know!" he shouted, yanking off his mantle and unbuckling his sword as he kept moving. "Keep everyone else off the ice! And get a rope! A long one!" He reached the shore, pausing only long enough to finish stripping down to his tunic and leggings. Then he was off again, moving expertly over the treacherous surface as if he had skates for feet.

"Sera!" the Herald called out. "Seeeerrrrraaaa! The ice! The ice is thin! Come back!"

Sera never heard her, having pulled further and further ahead. She reached the far shore, jumped over a partially submerged log and transitioned to running in snow with hardly a fuss. A heartbeat later and she disappeared from view.

The Herald wasn't as graceful. She lost her footing and took a nosedive, sliding across the ice on her chest. She winced from the impact, but shoved her hands in front of her to protect her head until she came to a stop. Pushing herself onto her hands and knees, she finally noticed Cullen running towards her, and belatedly realized that now she was the one in danger. She stared around her at the ice, as if she could tell just by the look of it if the ice was safe. Then the worst happened. There was a loud sound, a cracking sound, something that the Herald could feel as well as hear. She lifted wide brown eyes back to Cullen.

Another crack sounded, like a short bark of thunder, making her heart race. "Come towards me!" Cullen called to her as he ran. "Very slowly! On your hands and knees!" At that moment, very slowly wasn't in her vocabulary. She started scrambling, trying to reach her hands and knees as quickly as possible, but the more she struggled, the more flustered she became, and the more she found herself unable to gain any sort of traction.

The Herald tried one last time to reach her feet, only managing to bang her chin against the chilly surface with a force that seemed to rattle her teeth. With a groan she carefully felt around the inside of her mouth with her tongue, relieved not to find any blood. Then she looked at the ice beneath her.

It was strange to see her reflection. She didn't often dwell on her appearance; there wasn't much she could do about it anyway. She looked now, however, and saw her own visage, her brown hair framing her face like a curtain, the uneven surface of the ice softening the scars. It was a vision she had never seen, a vision of what she might have looked like, if she had never been hurt so long ago. But then a scar appeared, not in her reflection but beneath it, in the ice, a long and jagged white streak of frozen lightening. And she could see: the ice really wasn't very thick on this part of the lake.

She looked up at Cullen, the expression on her face louder than any scream.

"…kaffas…"

The swear word fell softly from her lips, just before the ice parted and the freezing water claimed her.

Cullen didn't slow. He had seen the Herald fall, had heard and felt the ice beginning to crack. He kept his eyes trained on the Herald, watching her lips move though he couldn't make out what she said. When the ice gave way and she disappeared, he dropped his own curse from his lips and doubled his efforts. At a distance of ten yards, he felt the ice beneath him groan and shift. He dropped to his stomach, sliding the last couple of yards and into the water like a seal.

A person's body reacts a certain way when suddenly dunked into cold water face first. He felt it, the muscles in his throat seizing, tightening up to choke off his airways. It was actually a good thing, keeping him from gasping and swallowing a lungful of water. He prayed the same had happened to the Herald, as she hadn't returned to the surface. He turned around in the churning water, dark blues and greens with streaks of sunlight refracting through the shifting ice overhead, but couldn't find her. He wasn't going to have very long to look, not at this temperature, but he wasn't going to give up, either. He focused his gaze downward, thinking she might be sinking due to her clothing.

The Herald didn't know where she was, floating weightless, unable to move, to even breathe, her extremities numb. All around her were shifting shades of blues and greens, calm and comforting colors, ones that kept her from feeling panicked. She couldn't remember what had happened, or where she was, but neither could she make herself care.

Then a new shade appeared. Twin spots of teal, intense and powerful and calling to her like a beacon. She stared at them, trying to remember what they were, why they were there with her. The other hues began to change, the colors fading beneath penetrating stabs of white. Yet those two spots of teal held her attention, keeping her from drifting away into the void.

Cullen gasped as his head broke the surface, never having tasted air so sweet. His arm flexed, and a lolling head of brown bobbed up beside him. He didn't take the time to celebrate, however. He made sure the Herald's mouth and nose were facing upwards and out of the water. Next he looped one arm under both of hers, held her fast against his body, and began swimming awkwardly for the side of the hole.

If reaching the jagged edges of the broken ice had been difficult, lifting the two of them out of the frigid lake was nearly impossible. He struggled and strained against the extra weight, their bodies heavier with their saturated clothing, venting his frustration out in a grunt when the ice he was holding on to broke. He persevered, however, knowing he couldn't call for help as any more weight on the ice would be disastrous. Besides, he was too stubborn to admit defeat.

In a final effort, he managed to lift one leg up over the rim, and half pull—half roll himself out of the water. One of his hands still held on to the Herald's coat, his fingers numb and frozen but twisted securely into the closures. Again his arm flexed, muscles shaking with cold and exertion, his teeth bared in a silent cry of fury.

Then she was there beside him, lying half on top of him, her lips blue and her eyes open. He rolled them over until she was beneath him, her back to his front, one of his arms clenched around her middle. He paused to determine which direction was the closest route to the shoreline before he started to slowly crawl, the ice continuing to crack threateningly.

His arm around her middle squeezed, holding her fast to his side, pulling her with him. It also had the effect of pushing on her diaphragm. Her lungs gave way under the force, what little air left inside gushing out with a couple mouthfuls of lake water. Almost immediately afterwards she gasped, trying to refill her lungs, and promptly started coughing. Cullen took it as a good sign—as long as she was coughing, air was moving into her—and kept his focus on reaching dry land.

"Commander!" Leliana's voice called out to him. He lifted his head up just in time to see the end of the rope come sailing through the air towards them. He all but dropped the Herald so he could sit up and catch it, but luckily the ice beneath them held. There was a loop in the rope, and he wasted no time in slipping it under his arms and around his chest. He laid down and grabbed the Herald, holding her body on top of his, allowing her to use him like a sled as they were pulled across the ice.

The going was slow, but faster than he could have managed on his own. It started out rough, the men and women onshore pulling in spurts until they found their rhythm. He grimaced, only a thin and soggy tunic protecting him from the rutted ice scraping along his back, yet he could endure it. At this rate, it wouldn't be much longer before they were safely on shore. Then it would be off to his tent for a healing potion and all would be well.

He tucked his chin to look at the Herald. He could feel her breathing against him, her hands clutching at his tunic but too numb with cold to hold on. "Herald," he asked, hoping she was awake enough to answer. She didn't, not verbally, but she did jerkily move her head until she could see him. "It'll be all right now," he tried to reassure her, "We're almost to shore. Then I expect you'd want a nice hot bath. Would you like that?"

She didn't answer, but one soft brown eye peeking out from beneath dripping bangs blinked at him.

"I know I would. Then some dry clothes. And something hot to drink. Hot and strong." He kept talking, pausing now and then to try to get her to answer. She didn't say one word, but she did nod once. He wasn't discouraged, figuring she was as cold as he was though ten times more scared. So he kept on with their one-way conversation, holding her close with one arm while the other tried to rub some warmth and life back into her limbs.

"No, now that I'm thinking about it, something along the lines of a noir would go better with the venison."

"Planning your first date, Commander?" Leliana's voice floated from nearby.

"What?" he asked, lifting his head up to find they were only a few yards from shore. "Why, ah, no, no, not a date, why would you think, well, I suppose you might because, but I, she," he sputtered to a halt as Leliana and her scouts came out onto the ice to help them. He let them lift the Herald off of him, but he refused their assistance as he struggled to stand. He loosened the rope and let it fall to the ground, kicking it away from his feet before turning back to Leliana. "For the record, I was talking about warm things, trying to keep our minds off the cold."

Leliana had seen the scrapes and abrasions on his back as he had stood up. She suppressed the wince when he turned back towards her, knowing it looked worse than it was, would be easily taken care of by a healing potion, and probably didn't hurt very much thanks to the numbing cold. She handed him his cloak, guessing he was to proud to allow her to put it over his shoulders for him; she was right. "Well, let's get you inside and find some of those warm things for the two of you, shall we? I've already sent word to Mother Giselle, letting her know what's happened. She asked that both of you come straightaway to the Chantry."

"I can manage well enough at my tent," he tried to deflect the offer, but a shiver chose that moment to race through his body. Damn, but he was cold, and though his tent was closer, the Chantry would be far less drafty. Besides, his mantle was quickly getting soaked through, barley able to keep the gentle breeze from feeling like a frigid gale.

"That was an order, Commander. As Left Hand of the Divine, I technically outrank you."

"Yes, well," he decided to let her think she had won, "I shall, of course, obey your orders." He looked over to the Herald, needing to make sure she was still alive—after all he had done to save her. She was being propped up between two scouts, barely able to keep her feet, wrapped practically head-to-toe in several cloaks. As if she had felt his eyes on her, her soft brown eyes lifted to meet his cool hazel gaze.

Then he sneezed.

Some days, she couldn't believe her new life.

Some days, she would sit and smile bemusedly while thinking of all the powerful people who treated her as an equal, or run her fingers over her expensive and well-made new armor, or simply sit and stare at and smell the food they set before her. Such riches had always been unimagined before…

This evening became one of those times. She'd had a bath, a real bath—a large copper tub, steaming hot water, scented-oils-and-perfumed-soap bath. She smiled at the memories: at the aromatic steam she inhaled through her nostrils; at the large soft towels warming beside the fire; at the thick and warm clothing the servants had left for her. She rubbed her hand down her sleeve, amazed at how soft the wool felt, and shook her head.

This new life was like a dream.

She snuggled in a little more on the cushioned chair, the goblet warm in her hands, the fire dancing merrily in the hearth. It was getting easier, she realized, to forget her life before and live this new life. Even with the mark and the rifts and having to learn how to fight… Even with the danger, this life was preferable to her old life. Yet a little voice in the back of her head reminded her how easily it could all fall apart. Like this evening, when Mother Giselle had suggested that someone should remain to help her in her bath. That was something she could never allow, or they would see her scars, not just the ones on her face, but the other scars. If anyone ever saw them, they would know who—what she had been, and this new life would turn sour.

She'd been lucky so far, stupidly lucky. When she first woke up—finding herself in chains, her body weak with sickness and pain, Cassandra and Leliana questioning her and demanding answers—she had answered them truthfully. She didn't remember what had happened, how the explosion had occurred, how she'd gotten the mark, any of it. They took that to mean she couldn't remember anything about her past, that she had amnesia, and she did nothing to correct their misassumption. She didn't know them, had received threats of chains and trials and sentencing, and it was so much easier to remain silent and allow them to believe what they wished. Then things had changed. Cassandra had given her the opportunity to become part of the Inquisition and help them save Thedas, and she began to make friends: Solas, Varric, Josephine, The Iron Bull, Sera…

Sera, her foggy mind mused, what had happened between her and Sera? She took a healthy swallow of the warm drink, rich with spices. Sera was a distraction, a cherished break from the stress of being Andraste's Herald. She was someone who never judged her, someone who treated her as if she were a normal person and not a Herald or a Worship. That was priceless to her. And the fact that something happened this afternoon to change that, something that she couldn't understand, ate at her heart like a cancer.

She was so caught up in thinking about Sera, she automatically gave permission to whomever had just started knocking on her door.

Cullen thought he heard someone call out, "Come," from the other side of the door, but the voice was muffled and the word hard to make out. He opened the door only far enough to stick his head in and inquire, "Hello?"

The small room looked empty. Not disused, there were a few damp places on the floor where spilled bathwater had been hastily mopped up, and the fire had been in the hearth long enough to warm the entire room. Yet there didn't seem to be anyone inside. He cleared his throat and shifted around the edge of the door, making sure no one was standing behind it, before he asked, "Madam Herald?"

There was the creak of furniture, and a moment later he saw her, or rather her eye, peeking around the corner of one of two large chairs in front of the fire. "Commander Cullen. Come in. Please." That single brown eye studied him as he inclined his head, stepping the rest of the way into the room and closing the door. Suddenly this seemed like a bad idea. He had only wanted to check on her, to make sure she was recovering; she had nearly drowned, and he had nearly joined her. But standing in that room, the door firmly closed behind him, all alone with her, he felt… awkward.

"I, er, came by, to see if you, that is, how you were doing. Recovering, and the like."

The eye blinked at him. Then amazingly a bit more appeared, a bang-covered forehead and a sliver of a pink-tinged cheek, as she leaned a little further around her chair. "Oh, ah, very well, thanks to you. Um, please, sit down, enjoy the fire. Have you, ah, I mean, have some of this," she gestured to the pitcher on the table between the chairs, belatedly remembering her manners.

"Oh! Yes, quite, thank you," he stuttered, his feet heading for the chair opposite hers as if they had a will of their own. And, apparently, they did. "Er," he eloquently hunted around for a topic of conversation, "What's in the pitcher?"

"No idea," she sighed, turning away to stare at the fire. "But it's very heavily spiced, and very warm. I mean, it makes me feel very warm. Help yourself; there's more in there than I can drink."

He filled the extra goblet and took an appreciative sniff. "Ah, mulled wine. Very good for warming both body and soul. You should finish your glass; it'll keep you from catching a chill."

"I'll try to," she vaguely promised. Truthfully, she was feeling a little too warm all of a sudden, and not all of it was from the fire. It was also getting harder to think, her thoughts fuzzy and flitting from subject to subject. Maybe she'd had enough to drink, now that she knew it was wine. She balanced the goblet carefully on the arm of her chair and cast about for a distraction. She turned her head slightly to look at him, peeking between her long brown locks, shiny and soft after being cleaned and freshly brushed.

Cullen sat straight in his chair, his back off of the cushions, his goblet held in one hand while the other picked at a piece of lint on his sleeve. She studied his profile, the hard angles of his cheekbones, the low eyebrows that made it seem he was always either serious or irritated, the shape of his lips and the slightest hint of a dimple on his chin. She had never noticed that dimple before, as he usually had at least a days' growth of stubble claiming his cheeks. He was freshly shaven now, however, his skin still slightly pink from the hot water and the razor, so the dimple could be seen.

His hair was different, too. The short blond strands weren't their normal thick waves but a tight curl—even going so far as to appear frizzy around his ears and at the back of his neck. It was… different, cute, endearing to see him like this, like she was being shown a side to him very few had ever seen. It made that warm feeling inside her grow even warmer.

"What are you staring at?"

"What?" she blinked. Suddenly she realized that he was looking at her, that he had caught her staring. Stalling for time, she took a sip of her wine before remembering she wasn't going to have any more. "Oh, um, your hair," she admitted. "It looks different."

She heard a long suffering sigh fall from his lips. Curious she peeked back at him, catching him in a familiar pose, his eyes closed and one hand pinching the bridge of his nose. Somehow she had known he would react that way to her comment.

"It's just, I, yes, all right, my hair is very curly. Especially right after it's been washed. I have something I usually put in it, to keep it under control, but that's back in my tent, and I didn't want to go all the way there and then come all the way back here just to check on you. I… I can't believe I'm discussing hair products with the Herald of Andraste." He said the last part to himself, as if she wasn't in the room or wasn't supposed to hear.

"Would you like to talk about something else?"

"Please." Though his reply was short, there was an almost desperate quality to his voice.

Her brain must have shut off completely; that was the only explanation as to why she said what she said next. "Do you like girls?"

To his credit, he didn't make a bolt for the door. "Do I… like… girls?"

"Er, yes," she took another sip, trying to think of how to explain it. "You know, girls, with that, um, kissing, and other stuff." She didn't look at him, couldn't, knowing the heat in her cheeks had to be bright enough to glow like a lantern.

"I…" he had to clear his throat, "That is… Maker, why are you asking me this?"

There was something else in his tone now, something guarded and alarmed, something that made her reconsider a few things. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to give offense, like when I asked you what you feared, implying you're not brave. I didn't mean to, I mean, it's all right, if you like boys rather than girls, I'm not going to judge, I was just wondering, because of what happened today, and I thought you might be able to help…"

"Stop," he declared, holding up his hand, palm outwards. Her words quickly faded away, hearing the tone of command in his voice and automatically following his order. When he was assured of her silence and her attention, he lowered his hand and sighed. "I can't follow you when you talk that fast. What do you mean to ask? Exactly."

"Exactly," she repeated, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment. Giving a little nod when she found the right words, she lifted her face and asked him, "Well, I want to know: how should it feel to kiss a girl?"

He blinked. "You want to know…" his voice trailed away, and again he had to clear his throat. Quickly he went back over all their interactions today, but couldn't find a cause for such a query. Yet she wasn't waiting for him, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she gave them thought.

"Yes, it was after you slapped me, um, I mean after the spiders. Anyway, I was chasing Sera, trying to get back at her, because I was mad she scared me so badly, and I caught up with her, and after I'd tackled her, she, um, she kissed me."

"She kissed you?" Maker, give me strength, he prayed, trying not to envision the scene as the Herald continued talking, explaining how Sera had kissed her and then talked about some mysterious tingly feeling. The vision was all to familiar, one of those images out of his nightmares, a lingering scar from his tormented past, from when the Kinloch Circle fell.

Two desire demons, taking on the forms of two young girls, putting visions in their minds…

"I'm sorry, Commander, I suppose shouldn't have brought it up. It's only, well, I don't know what I should feel. And Sera wouldn't tell me. I thought, maybe, you could tell me what I should be feeling, and then I could go to her and tell her that and she wouldn't be mad at me anymore and… stuff…" The Herald sighed, "But if you don't like girls, that's all right, I shouldn't have brought it up…"

"Wait, just… just wait a moment."

She stopped talking again, not because she heard the tone of command in his voice, but because she heard a much different tone. A pained tone. A desperate tone. From the sound of it, she expected to see him mortally wounded, blood flowing freely from a wound in his chest or something. But when she looked at him, she saw him sitting very still, his eyes staring at the fire, the only sign of his distress the whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped the goblet.

When he spoke, it came out in short bursts of words. "I don't think I'm the one to ask. Why don't you ask Seeker Cassandra? Or Leliana. Even Josephine."

"Oh," the word made a very small sound, flopping to the floor between them. She turned away once more, dropping her gaze to her own goblet, staring at the dark red liquid. "I could. I suppose I should have. It's just, well, it's been bothering me, and you were here, and it popped into my head, so I asked."

The room felt small, the air was stuffy and overly warm, but he denied the urge to pull at his collar, fighting for control over his fears. Physically Cullen sat on his chair, but mentally he was lost, battling in a war that had started over a decade ago. Though the desire demons were long gone, the memories remained, the visions, the temptations. Those things weren't physical, making them all the more difficult to defeat. And all the more harmful to his soul.

Yet he heard her, that small sound she made, like the mewl of a kitten locked outside on a stormy night. He turned towards her just as she turned away, his brows scrunched slightly, his mouth open with his silent pants. He saw her confusion and disappointment, her own mental and emotional struggles. Yes, she probably should have asked someone else, but she had asked him for help. And she was no desire demon. She was—really—just a girl, an innocent child. Her amnesia left her without a past, without the maturity she otherwise would have by now, without the ability to deal with her feelings for Sera.

"I, ah," he paused to clear his throat again. "Well, first of all, I'd like to point out that I do have fears." She looked up at him, one soft brown eye blinking through a light veil of hair. No, she was no desire demon sent to reopen old wounds, she was just a girl who trusted him enough to confide something very personal and confusing. He faced his own fears, his words describing his current actions as he continued. "Not of spiders, certainly. My fears are a little harder to put into words. But being brave doesn't mean you are without fear. Being brave means doing what you must, despite being afraid. Being brave means facing your fears, not running from them."

"You mean," she trembled, "I should have stayed in that cave, faced those spiders?"

"Well, not necessarily, not unless you had to. If, say, there was a rift inside that cave, then yes, you'd have to face those spiders, because you have to close that rift, and the only way to that rift is through those spiders, through facing your fear. Understand?"

She nodded, hesitantly at first, then a smile brightened her eyes, still partially hidden behind her hair. "At least I'd have someone with me. I mean, if there was a rift in that cave, then I wouldn't be going in there alone. There'd be Cassandra or Solas or someone. Right?"

Small steps, he told himself. She hadn't quite grasped the idea, but the analogy wasn't very accurate. He allowed her this victory, however, thinking she'd understand fully, some day if not today. He smiled back, "Right."

She relaxed. Just a bit, a small gesture, her fingers reaching up to pull her hair a little off her face, not too far, not even behind one ear, but far enough to show a softly rounded cheek.

And the jagged scar beneath it. He'd seen the scar before, seen other scars like it, and knew how it had happened. An explosion, a piece of shrapnel thrown through the air, slicing into skin and muscle before flying away, the edges of the wound burned from the heated metal, the flap of flesh pulling back to hang away from the rest of her face…

He held her gaze, keeping his smile gentle, hoping he was encouraging her. He understood why she kept her face hidden, why she would wish to avoid the stares and comments, but there were plenty of people here with scars—even Cassandra was scarred. She shouldn't feel so self-conscious about it.

"What was the other thing?"

"What?" he asked, coming out of his musings.

"You said there were a couple of things; first, that you had fears. I was only wondering what was second."

"Oh, right," he shifted in his chair, but belatedly remembered that the healing potion was still working on his back, the movement almost making him wince. "It's, well, about kissing girls. And by the way, just for the record, I do like girls, I just don't, ah, kiss them, very often."

"Is it a templar thing?" she asked, "You know, like taking vows, or not being able to marry." She was definitely warming up to him, which conversely made him want to pull away. He had to force himself to stand his ground.

"No, there's nothing specifically against templars marrying, but there are—considerations—that need to be taken into account. Ah," he gave a heavy sigh, "We're getting off topic here. The second thing I was going to tell you, is this: your feelings are your own."

Something in what he said shocked her. Or perhaps it was confusion again. She had an expression on her face, as if she couldn't quite believe what he was saying to be true. "But," briefly she bit at her lip, struggling to find the words, "But how will I know what to feel, how I should react, if someone doesn't tell me…"

"You feel it. From inside you. No one can tell you what to feel because your feelings come from within you, not without." He paused, but it didn't look like she quite understood him, yet. Praying for strength and perseverance, he forged onward. "All right. When Sera kissed you, what did you do?"

"Nothing," she gave a little shake of her head, "I didn't know what to do. I'd never, I mean, that had never happened to me before."

One honey-colored eyebrow briefly flickered, as if it wanted to lift, possibly with humor. "I hardly think a few months count as your whole life."

She realized—yet again—that she had forgotten she was supposed to be suffering amnesia. He kept talking, however, so obviously he hadn't noticed.

"But I understand. I want you to think very hard, very carefully. Remember exactly what happened, try to picture it like it's happening again. And ask yourself: what are you feeling?" He ignored the shaking in his hands, the irritating tickle of memory in the back of his thoughts, and kept his focus on the Herald. He would be strong. For her.

She tried. She closed her eyes and thought about it, about Sera sitting beside her, the sensation of snow melting down the small of her back, the splatter of freckles across Sera's cheeks, the warmth of Sera's lips against hers, how large and soft they were…

"…no…" she said, very softly. Her eyes flew wide open suddenly, startling herself as much as she did Cullen, both of them jerking back a little bit. It was a small word, not even worth half a breath, but a word she very rarely used. It held a meaning in this case that she'd hardly ever been allowed to feel before. But today she had felt it. She saw that now.

Someone wanted her to do something, and she didn't want to do it.

And it was all right to feel that way.

Tears stung her eyes, sweeping over her so quickly and completely that several slipped out before she could duck her head and turn away. Thankfully, either Cullen didn't notice, or he was too polite to comment. She brought a hand to her face, her hair falling forwards again, her bottom lip stuck fast between her teeth. She sat like that for quite some time, so long that Cullen began to wonder if she was awake, aside from the fact that she wasn't leaning against anything.

The fire cracked loudly in the hearth, a log snapping in half beneath the force of the flames. Neither of them jumped at the sound, Cullen too trained and the Herald too lost within herself. After a few more moments, he decided there wasn't much else he could do for her; it certainly seemed as if she had figured matters out for herself. He set his finished goblet on the table and cleared his throat.

"Well, I should be going. I stopped by only to see how you were doing, make sure you weren't suffering from your, er, swim." She didn't respond, remaining so still he wondered if she had even heard him. He stood, the chair creaking as his weight was lifted, and gave her a short bow, not that she could see it through her hair. "Good night, Madam Herald."

He smartly turned and stepped away. He got as far as putting his hand on the doorknob when he heard her speak. "Commander…?"

Damn, he thought to himself, he had almost made it. Squaring his shoulders he turned back towards her. She was hidden behind the back of the chair, possibly still in her earlier pose. Yet when she spoke, her voice was clearer than before. "Will I lose Sera as a friend? I mean, because I don't feel the same way about her, as she feels about me."

He should have walked out of there faster. "I doubt it," he tried to reassure her. "Er, Sera strikes me as the type who, ah, likes to try a lot of different things. She was probably trying you on, like a suit of armor, to see if the two of you would fit. Together." It was a terrible analogy, but he couldn't think of anything better on such short notice.

Apparently it worked. He heard a soft sound, barely loud enough to reach his ears over the crackling of the fireplace, but it was a laugh. "Yes, she would do that."

"You really like her, don't you?" Despite himself, he was curious—and tired, and distracted with a headache, and the question had slipped out before he could think. He couldn't take the words back now, could only stand there and wait for the answer.

"Yes," the Herald sighed, "Not the way she wants, but…" There was a creak, and a wedge of her face appeared around the side of the chair. "You know, she's the only one who doesn't call me 'Herald' or 'Madam' or 'Your Worship.' Even The Iron Bull calls me 'Boss.' But Sera," she paused to bite her lip, "Sera calls me by other names. She teases me. She treats me like a person, an equal, just an ordinary girl." She rubbed the still hidden side of her face against the chair, as if she was scratching an itch. "It's hard, being this Herald everyone calls me. I don't know somedays if I'm doing it right. And other days, I forget the real me, I get so caught up in trying to be this 'Herald' person. But Sera's constant. She never bows to me, or gives me more credit than I deserve. She even punches me sometimes. I need that—I need someone—to remind me that I'm just a person underneath it all. Does that make any sense?"

Cullen gave it some serious thought. Here was this girl: who sat before him curled up in a chair, who had no idea who she was or where she came from, who suddenly woke up one day to find herself the most important woman in all of Thedas… "I think I can concede the point, that you find something useful and worthwhile in Sera. For that reason, I'll attempt to tolerate her mischief."

"Thank you."

"But please," and here his voice sounded like he was honestly begging, "Please don't follow her over any more half-frozen lakes, or anything else dangerous, for that matter. The Inquisition can afford to lose her; we can't afford to lose you."

He was serious, she realized. Sera was expendable; she was not. She couldn't answer him, however, nor did he wait for an answer, turning and reaching for the doorknob again.

"Commander."

He hesitated, but again he forced himself to face her. "Yes, Madam Herald."

She blinked at the change in his tone. Swallowing, she said very quietly, "Thank you. For saving my life. That's twice now you've risked your neck to save mine."

He glanced off to the side a moment before he could answer. "As I said, you are the most important person to the Inquisition, whether you're comfortable with that fact or not. Good night, Herald."

This time he had the door yanked open before she could return his well-wishes.

"Oh!" There was a surprised squeak from out in the hall. The Herald craned her neck, trying to see past Cullen's thick frame, but from the voice she knew who was standing there. "Didn't expect to find you here. Thought you'd be wanting to warm up a bit. Or were you, eh? Eh?"

"Sera," he said the name as an exasperated sigh, "What do you want?"

"Just got back to Haven when I heard what happened. Came by to see if my friend was all right, after the day she's had. Looks like you already took care of her."

He stared at her hard, one of his best glares, but she didn't flinch. "I honestly don't know what she sees in you," he muttered, stepping out of the room and stomping down the hall, his boots clicking loudly on the stone floor.

Sera giggled. "Always fun, that one. Already wound up so tight, all it takes is a little twist," she made the gesture with her hands, "And he's ready to raise the white flag. Or did he raise something else?"

"Sera!" the Herald scolded, feeling her cheeks burning, hoping it was due to the wine. "We were talking. That's all and you know it!"

She made a knowing little humming sound, closing the door as she entered. "Sure, and that wasn't fancy-shmancy wine I smelled on his breath." She saw the Herald's cheeks grow even redder, heard her flustered sputtering, and decided her friend could handle one more barb. "Don't mind me. Just jealous that I didn't think to try that first."

"Sera…" her voice was strangled.

The quirky little elf tilted her head, her eyes calculating. "Hang on. You're really flustered by this. By him. Aren't you?"

It was useless, but she denied it. "Commander Cullen saved my life today. I feel gratitude towards him. That's all."

"Pfft, whatever," Sera raised her hands in surrender, coming closer to the Herald's chair. "So, ah, about today, you and me, we're good, right? Nothing weird or anything, hanging between us?"

The Herald smiled. "No, Sera, no hard feelings. I do like you, but as a friend, nothing more."

"That's fine," Sera readily agreed, helping herself to the chair and wrinkling her nose at the pitcher. "I was curious, you know, because I think you'd be a pretty handful, well, two of them." She cupped her hands in front of her own chest, making another rude gesture. It got the Herald to laugh, and blush again. "But I understand. You prefer the cock to the hen. No worries."

"Good," the Herald sighed, for the first time that evening feeling like things might work out fairly well.

"Didn't think you'd go for a Mabari lapdog…"

"Seeeerrrrraaaa!"

A/N: I wasn't sure how much of a close friend Sera was going to be for the Herald. I wanted Sera in the story, but was fairly sure I wouldn't be able to do her accent, so I figured it'd be better not to use her than to screw her up. But as I was writing this, I saw her potential grow. She is after all a very important character. She keeps the Herald grounded, normal, and (if you'll excuse the term) human (or elven/dwarven/qunarian/whatever). Every Caesar needs someone to whisper in their ear: "Remember, thou art mortal…" So, Sera's in (yay); and I hope you can forgive me when I screw up her lines :'D