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Chapter Text

Mia,

I assume several rumours of the events that transpired during the summit will undoubtedly have spread to you before this letter even arrives.

What I can indeed confirm is, that the Inquisition has unanimously been disbanded. Everything else I know you are eager to hear I cannot put in good conscience into a simple letter. Most of what happened is of course highly confidential and sensitive information and I am not permitted to write about it. I am sure you understand.

Morgan sends her regards and cannot wait to finally meet her sister-in-law.

I will send another message once we have brought our affairs at Skyhold in order and we are ready to depart.

Cullen

P.S. I am glad I get the chance to see all of you again.

***

Mia,

I haven’t heard from you since your last letter before the summit. Should I be concerned?

I just wanted to let you know, we will leave Skyhold at dawn for good and make our journey back to Ferelden.

Cullen

***

“I assure you, Inquisitor, the fortress is in good hands. We will use it well for our purpose. And should its original owner or any of his spies ever try to set foot in here again, we know what to do.” Lady Seeker Cassandra gave the woman she was talking to a stern nod and a firm handshake, then pulled her in close for a tight embrace. “My friend, it has been an honour to serve by your side”, she whispered in her ear, her voice heavy with tears. “Take care of yourself, Morgan. The two of you deserve some quiet time away from all those dreadful things of these past years.” Reluctantly, Cassandra let go of her, a wistful smile softening her features.

Morgan brushed a few strands of her long, silvery-white hair back, which had been stuck to the wet streaks on her cheeks; a few singular hairs were beginning to return to their original ink-black colour, now that the draining magic of the anchor no longer physically strained her. “Thank you, Cassandra. All of this has been… a lot.” She gave the Seeker’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “You will be formidable as Divine Victoria’s right hand and I am sure she will put her new “honour guard” to good use.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She felt exhausted, both tired and anxious and yet somehow relieved. Morgan was forever grateful for the allies and friends she had made during these tumultuous times. It was something she had always struggled with and did not expect to find here of all places, when she first awoke with a glowing mark on her left hand and was being accused of having caused the explosion that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes and having killed countless innocents in the process.

“Come now, my friend. Let’s go to the main hall, the others want to say their goodbyes as well.” Cassandra turned away from their view on the battlements overlooking the valley in the Frostback Mountains; up until recently a regular city on its own made up of tent-districts stretching far into the distance and which not long ago where home to hundreds of Inquisition soldiers, who now had returned to their former lives or found a new purpose.

The two women passed through the now empty tower to their left, a sturdy wooden desk and a few empty bookshelves on the lower floor all that remained of Commander Cullen’s office. “I am sure this is not the last we will see of each other. I just hope the next time will be a more joyous occasion”, Morgan tried to brighten their mood.

“I hope so, too…” Cassandra cleared her throat, her voice uncharacteristically coy when she spoke next. “After all, I am still expecting an invitation for the official wedding celebration. But no rush!”, she hasted to add, a slight blush to her cheeks, when she realized how eager she sounded.

“No worries”, Morgan laughed, “once we have settled down in our new home, I will start planning. There will be a proper wedding – well, sans the getting wed part. And I might need someone to help choose fabrics and flowers and all those things. If your duties here keep you not to busy, do you think I could inquire your ideas on some these topics?”

Cassandra’s eyes grew wide. “Inquisitor- I mean, Morgan. Are you asking me what I think you are asking?”

“I understand that rebuilding the Seekers here in the guise of the Divine’s honour guard is a rather demanding task, so if you are not…”

“Are you mad? I would be honoured to… Although, won’t Sera be expecting to be your maid of honour?”

“I can assure you, she was perfectly content at the prospect of getting to throw flower petals and possibly cakes during the celebration. I still need to let Cullen know about that, though…” When they made their way across the stone bridge leading from the battlements to the castle-like structure of Skyhold’s main building, casual banter flowing back and forth between the two friends, and for the first time Morgan felt happily excited for the journey that laid ahead of them.

With each passing day more and more people had left the Inquisition and Morgan was still not used to how quiet the main hall had been recently, the cawing of the ravens kept in the rookery now eerily echoing through the whole structure. With its high, arched ceilings and the tall, stained-glass windows the fortresses’ main hall was reminiscent in architecture to the naves of the more opulent chantry buildings around Thedas, albeit rather bleak with its bare stone walls as opposed to the gold and mural adorned walls of those. The carpets and tapestries, which gave the main hall a warmer and more welcoming feel to it, were no longer embellished with the Inquisition’s insignia.

A small group had gathered around the fireplace next to the main entrance, talking quietly amongst each other, packed bags and trunks at their feet hinting at their looming departure.

The tallest of them, a blond man, whose shoulder long curls were kept in a low, casual ponytail, turned to greet the newcomers with a warm, slightly crooked smile, accentuating the scar above his right upper lip. “There you are.” He stepped towards Morgan, wrapping her in his strong arms. The woman nestled against his burly, plush torso, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Inquisitor!” Josephine took a step away from Thom, who had his hand delicately placed on the small of her back. “We were eagerly awaiting your presence – some of us more than others”, she said with a wide grin, looking at the two of them.

Cullen got flustered, his cheeks turning red, still not letting go of Morgan. “I wasn’t… I mean, I was… Maker’s breath, Josephine!”, he laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, managing to find his composure after a few seconds. “How do you do that? We are married, for Andraste’s sake! Of course I am always happy to see her!”

“Don’t be cross with me, Commander”, she said in an appeasing tone. “I am just messing with you. One more for the road, so to speak.”

“We are both going to miss you terribly, Josie.” Morgan carefully unlocked herself from Cullen’s embrace and turned to her former ambassador. Her gaze fell on the floor, where next to hers and Cullen’s gear several trunks bearing the crest of the Montilyet family were stacked on top of each other. “I take it you and Thom will also be leaving soon for Antiva.”

Now it was Josephines turn to fluster, the blush only ever so slightly visible due to her darker taint, shooting a quick glance to the man in question. She cleared her throat. “Yes, Ser Rainier was so kind to offer chaperoning me on the lengthy journey up north and wants to assure safe travels to…”

“I could not let in good conscience make Lady Montilyet the passage on her own”, Thom Rainier gave the explanation nobody needed, his low voice calm as ever, the real reason apparent to anyone present. “I heard rumours of increased pirate activity between Antiva and the Rivaini peninsula. It would be far too dangerous…”

Morgan still had herself tugged firmly at Cullen’s side, when Thom was being interrupted by the door at the other end of the hall leading to the Undercroft forcefully being thrust open. A young, blonde elven woman thrashed towards them, followed, much more slowly, by a ginger dwarf with a smooth, rosy complexion.

“Not gone yet, good!” Sera stopped in her tracks once she reached their group, hardly taking the time to catch her breath before she continued. “Widdle did it! She did it! And I helped! Well, technically Bianca helped more then me, but it was my idea!”

As it turned out, prompted by Sera and as a parting gift for Morgan, Dagna had once more enlisted the help of Bianca Davri, an incredibly talented artificer in her own right – who had previously designed Morgans mechanical prothesis, which Dagna had then enhanced further using her runecraft – to create an additional application that functioned as a one-handed crossbow.

“We will visit you soon and I will teach you how to use it!” Sera proclaimed excitedly, when Morgan looked puzzled at the unusual device now at her disposal. Perfectly aiming a spell to avoid friendly fire in the heat of battle was not new to her, but she just had gotten used to the regular attachment on her left arm. She thanked Sera and Dagna nonetheless, the gesture still kind and thoughtful and leaving her with a warm feeling in her chest. Still, she would keep this tool hidden away in her backpack for now, once they had left. Cullen, sensing her uneasiness, took the small wooden crate the crossbow came in from her, putting it in one of his bags. Morgan shot him a grateful look.

It took several more rounds of hugs and farewells and promises to keep in touch for the group to finally make their way to the platform, where the cable lift connecting Skyhold with the valley below was already waiting for Cullen and Morgan.

“Your mounts and the rest of your luggage have already been brought down by the remaining staff”, Josephine explained. “Dennet is tending to the horses and has prepared everything for you to depart as soon as you arrive at the mountain pass.”

“One moment. Come here, boy!”, Cullen called out, followed by a loud whistle. As he had expected, the mabari showed up by the stables, his favourite place to lounge about, whenever he was not eagerly following Cullen around. The giant dog shot towards his master, nearly tripping over his own paws in excitement in the process.

A dozen more hugs for Morgan and Cullen and even more firm pets and scritches for the excitable war hound later, there was no point in delaying any further, when they wanted to make their descent before the night approached.   

“Ok, guys, remember”, Morgan said, looking at their smiling faces, her hand firmly intertwined with Cullen’s, “once I have stepped onto this platform, I am no longer to be addressed as Inquisitor or Herald of Andraste or any other title adjacent or related to that, understood?” The friends shared a last quiet laugh, nodding ceremoniously.

Josephine had to swallow and clear her throat, before she could speak again. “Maker be with you.”

And that was it. Tightly holding onto each other, the mabari cowering at their feet, Morgan and Cullen watched their friends, waving and shouting goodbyes, until they could not see them anymore.

Chapter Text

Be it by accident or meticulous planning, over the course of the last years about a handful of more convenient and accessible travel routes had been established, leading down to various points at the base of the Frostback Mountains. None of them, though, out of courtesy for what happened there, led directly through the ruins of Haven. Whomever wished to visit the sight, had to make a short detour.

Long before what remained of the stone walls and wooden barracks came into view behind a group of pine trees, they could see the monument, built to remember those who gave their lives defending Haven and the people living there. On a pedestal, overlooking the small mountain lake, stood three larger than life, faceless stone statues back-to-back in a defensive stance. To the left, a warrior with sword and shield, to the right a mage raising their staff and in the centre a commoner, wielding a pitchfork in a desperate attempt to keep the evil that befell them at bay. Towering over the three figures was Andraste’s likeness, a long scroll in hand, unfolding down to her feet. Written on it where the names of those lost during the attack. Those names where also carved in two of the three brass plaques lining the pedestal, the third depicting an Andrastian prayer for the fallen. Dozens of unlit candle stumps, burned down to varying degrees, where scattered in front of it. The scene was illuminated by a circle of enchanted braziers, flickering with heatless, everlasting flames.

They dismounted their horses and tethered them to a nearby tree stump. Morgan took Cullens hand, tightly holding onto it, while they slowly approached the monument, the dog following at their side quietly. It was getting late and night approached fast, the sun already sunken behind the mountain tops in the distance. The stars in the night sky reflected on the mirror like surface of the lake, only occasionally disrupted by tiny ripples caused by unknown forces.

“I, um…”, Cullen cleared his throat, looking up to the faceless heroes, “I would like to take a moment and pray for their souls.” He bent down on one knee.

Morgan nodded, kneeling beside him. “May I join you?” The crack in her voice was unmistakable.

“Why- Yes, of course, if you want to. But you don’t have to, you know. I know you are not a devout Andrastian.” A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth at the thought, that all over Thedas this woman who held no small amount of doubt towards their religion was still known as the Herald of Andraste – a title she refused to claim for herself from the moment it first came up.

“I am not, no. But most of these people were and I want to do them justice and… and I know how important is to you.”

Cullen took her hand and gave it soft kiss, a warm smile curled around his lips. “I would like that. And, in that case… would- would you mind lighting the candles for us?”

Morgan stood up and took a few steps towards the monument. She muttered an incantation, setting the candles aflame with a sharp flick of her wrist, before settling down again next to Cullen on the ground. He petted the mabari at his side, calming down his quiet whimpering, before he folded his hands in prayer. Morgan followed his example.

***

After they had paid their respects, Morgan and Cullen had gone halfway around the lake, the moon and stars and the soft shimmer of the braziers in the far distance their only sources of light now. They took shelter for the night in a small hut, from where the ruins of Haven were just about visible. Serving mostly as an outpost for Inquisition spies in the past, pilgrims and wanderers where also welcome to seek out the comforts of a roof over their heads on their travels traversing the mountains, especially during the colder months of the year. And even though the summer sun had warmed them up during the day, the nights were bound to be rather chilly even at this time of the year.

Now the two of them sat huddled up in front the lit fireplace, Morgen had slotted between Cullens spread thighs, resting her back comfortably against his chest. The dog was already fast asleep next to them, his snoring and the crackling of the burning logs the only sounds disrupting the otherwise quiet night. Between them was a modest spread of thick sliced bread, cheese and dried sausages, most of it already eaten, and lain out on a cotton cloth in lack of proper plates or bowls.

Cullen absentmindedly tore off a piece of bread and put it in his mouth, letting out a contented sigh. Morgan chuckled, grabbed his free arm and wrapped it around her middle. In response, he pulled her even closer, holding her tightly.

“It’s an eerie feeling”, he whispered after a while, his voice low and quiet, as if he was already half asleep, “knowing, that in the morning, there is nothing waiting for us but the sun and the road. No schedule to stick to, no call for duty, no expectations. It’s- It’s a bit unsettling, to be honest.”

Morgan repositioned herself, so she could look him in the eyes. She angled her legs to the side, now using the arm he had wrapped around her as back support rather than his torso. She cupped his cheek with her hand, delicately tilting his gaze towards her. “I know what you mean. And if one of us ever feels at a loss, we will find a way through it. Together.” She placed a kiss on his forehead. “But for now, let’s try to enjoy the quiet while it lasts”, she said, before sealing their lips with another kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. And thank you.” Cullen could feel himself relax, not having realised how tense he was. Ready to finally give himself over to the sleep tugging at his consciousness, he laid down at his side, pulling Morgan with him – not willing yet, to let go of her.

***

The war hound could sense that something was different. His master had given him a bit more freedom then usual to roam around the path they where riding along, sniffing out anything interesting left and right and chasing the occasional rodent until it vanished into the thick brushes below the trees. He thanked his master with excited barking, wagging his tail in approval and dancing around the horses; exerting himself, until he fell into a slower pace by his side once more, looking up to him panting with his big, adoring brown eyes.

“Well, he is certainly having fun”, Morgan laughed, looking at the two of them. “Good thing horse master Dennet trained our mounts so well; they don’t seem bothered at all by his antics”, she added, carefully petting the dark brown coat of her Ferelden Forder just below its withers.

“He will need a lot more training”, Cullen frowned. “Whatever his former owner did with him, they certainly were not instilling the discipline into him that would be needed in a life-or-death situation and would be befitting of his breed.” Unknitting his eyebrows, he looked at the dog affectionately. “On the other hand, I hope I will never have put him in such a situation. Good boy!”, he praised the mabari, retrieving a dog treat from a pouch on his belt. Bending down, he offered the treat on his flat palm to the large dog. Nuzzling into his hand, the mabari took it, licking Cullen’s palm several times in the process, causing him to wipe his hand dry thoroughly on the woollen fabric of his maroon travel cloak.

They travelled in silence for a while, Cullen and Morgan trading tender glances from time to time and revelling in each other’s company.

Cullen felt the dog at his side getting restless again. He was about to give him permission to roam free, when a small creature jumped in front of them. The hairless animal looked as if someone had successfully interbred a pig and a hare, albeit with a much pointier snout. The nug sat on its hindlegs, watching them approach, its nose twitching in the air and then rushed off into the distance – followed by the barking, calf-sized dog.

“By the love of the Maker!”, Cullen cursed under his breath. Digging his heels into the eggshell coat at the flanks of his Free Marches Ranger, he chased after the mabari. “No, leave it!”, he called after the dog. “Come here, boy! Heel!”

Watching the little play unfold, Morgan couldn’t hide the smirk on her face, although hoping nothing serious would happen. She followed after them, making out the direction of Cullen’s shouting and the happy barking of the dog.

Once she had caught up with them, she saw that Cullen had dismounted his horse, disciplining the dog with a stern expression and an exasperated sigh. He got on his knees, so they could see each other eye to eye. “Don’t ever chase off like that again”, he told the dog, who sat in front of him, his head bent down, knowing he should have obeyed his master’s commands.

Morgan walked over and sat down beside them, crossing her legs and using her cloak to protect her rear from the wet grass. “Love”, she looked at Cullen, “I know it is not my place to suggest it but maybe giving him a proper name might help. You can’t keep calling him dog and boy forever.”

“He answered to it just fine up until now. I didn’t- I mean, I guess I avoided it to not get too attached to him”, Cullen admitted. “But look how well that went”, he laughed fondly, when the dog took the opportunity of his master’s head still being at his level and started licking his ear. “He is a mabari, after all. They are specially bred to follow their masters into battle and fight alongside them. Till the end.”

Morgan placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. “And I have no doubt that he wouldn’t, should the need arise. But I am certain, we will both do our best that it does not come to that."

“Well then, what should we call you, boy?”, Cullen asked the dog – who was now splayed out on his back, rolling around in the muddy splotches of the wet grass – in all sincerity, as if he could voice a suggestion.

“After what just happened, I think Mischief would be very fitting”, Morgan chuckled, petting the dogs exposed belly, who had stopped rolling around and was looking between his master and his wife, somehow sensing that they spoke about him.

“Please, Morgan!”, Cullen said indignantly. “Mabari are highly intelligent creatures, and no respectable war hound would answer to a ridiculous name like Mischief.”

“Fine”, Morgan pouted playfully, not really offended. She had chosen that name deliberately; fully aware how silly it was and only wanting to see how he would react to it. “What do you suggest, Commander?”

“Well, not Mischief, that is for certain. I was thinking more along the lines of…” To their surprise, by the second mention of the word mischief by his master, the dog sat up straight, looking at the two of them expectantly.

Morgan’s eyes grew wide. “Oh no”, she whispered.

Cullen looked at the dog wagging his tail and apparently awaiting his command.

“I’m so sorry, love”, she laughed awkwardly. “I really didn’t mean to…”

“How, in the Maker’s name, did that happen?” Cullen looked puzzled at the dog. “So, you like Mischief, do you, boy?”, he addressed the dog, sounding grumpier than he had intended. In response, the dog put his giant front paws on Cullen’s shoulders, barking his approval, underlining it with the increased speed of his wagging tail.

Chapter Text

Redcliffe’s marketplace was bustling with shoppers strolling the various stalls and shops, merchants touting their wares and hagglers trying to outbid each other. The town located at the western shore of Lake Calenhad was thriving again, doing its position as the second largest settlement in the Kingdom of Ferelden justice.

A quick inquiry at the Gull and Lantern had them informed that the guest rooms at the tavern were already booked solid, which meant Morgan and Cullen would have to make do with one of the smaller inns at the outskirts of the town. Explaining that there was something he wanted to check there anyway, Cullen had suggested that they split up and he would catch up with her later.

Morgan enjoyed eying the goods on display in the booths, taking in the atmosphere and being just one of many customers who came to Redcliffe on this sunny market day to run their errands. She stopped at a merchant praising their exotic fruits and aromatic spices, apparently freshly imported from Antiva and Rivain. Deeply inhaling the foreign scents calming her mind, she started making a list in her head what kinds of dishes she would want to experiment with once she had access to a proper kitchen again.

Satisfied with her purchase of a, as it turned out, surprisingly expensive assortment of dried herbs, seeds and rhizomes, she went past walls of fine, colourful fabrics, several stalls and stores offering all kinds of bids and bobs and trinkets and browsed what the bookseller had on offer, before making halt at a bakery to study a board where they advertised their delicately decorated cakes in drawing. Wondering, if she would be able to replicate any of those intriguing looking pastries, she suddenly felt a sharp tug at her purse. Or rather at the leather strap on her belt, where her purse used to be.

“What in the-?” Morgan turned around, just in time to see a boy bump into Cullens broad, plush chest, uttering a surprised “oof”. The chatter of the people around them had allowed her husband to approach basically unnoticed despite his usual confident military stride.

“Young man”, Cullen plugged the boy from his chest, holding him at an arms length away with a firm grip, “I think you might have taken something that is not yours. I will ask you kindly now to return it to its rightful owner.”

“But I didn’t-“, the boy, probably not even off age yet, started, before noticing the giant dog next to the man who caught him. “I- Fine! Take it back!”

Looking the boy up and down, Cullen loosened his grip. “You know, you could always just ask. Whether you were hungry or in need of a new pair of shoes, neither my wife nor I would have turned you down.”

“Well, then you’d be the first ones here, Ser”, the boy mumbled, looking at his feet.

“Is the boy bothering you, Commander Cullen?” One of the guards patrolling the marketplace had come over to them. “I have been observing him for a while now. I suspect yours is not the first purse he tried to steal today.”

Morgan stepped in, exchanging a look with Cullen, before she said: “No, of course not. It… was just a simple misunderstanding.”

“Is that so?”

“I assure you, the young lad just took an unfortunate tumble. When he tripped, he took hold of me, accidentally ripping off my purse in the process.”

“It sure did look like that little scoundrel…”

“You heard what she said”, Cullen interrupted him. “We’ll handle it from here. Keep up the good work, Guardsman.”

“As you wish. Inquisitor.” With a sharp nod towards Morgan the guard bid them goodbye.

Cullen let go of the boy, who now had a fearful look on his face. “Shit, shit, shit… You are her…” He chewed his lower lip, his eyes nervously darting left and right. “I am in big trouble now, am I not?”

“Well, yes. I guess I am her”, Morgan said with a friendly smile, that slightly crinkled the corners of her plum-coloured, gold-speckled eyes, “but you are not in trouble. Not yet anyway. But we would like to ask you a few questions.”

“I-“

“What’s your name, young man?”, Cullen asked.

“I’m… I am really sorry, but I cannot… You can’t… I- I need to go!“ Tucking in his head, he darted off and vanished in the crowd.

Cullen only half-heartedly tried to stop him, he was more concerned with tightly holding onto Mischief’s collar to make sure the dog would not follow the boy and cause a commotion between the highly frequented market stalls.

“Should we go after him?” Morgan asked, reattaching her purse to her belt, this time making sure it was properly covered by her cloak. “That guardsman might still be around here somewhere.”

“I’ve got a feeling he will be back.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He dropped this.” Cullen bend down with a soft grunt, picking up a rather shabby looking rag doll. “And unless it’s stolen too, it must hold a certain sentimental value to him.”

***

“You’ve held all kinds of impressive titles far longer than I have”, Morgan said, picking at the roasted bread in her hand, brimming with molten cheese and roasted vegetables. “Be honest, I am never getting rid of them, am I?”

After strolling through the market together for some time, they had stopped at a booth which sold hand sized breads stuffed with a variety of delicacies. Now they sat on one of the piers, dangling their feet above the surface of the lake, Mischief not far from them, playfully chasing after a few seagulls.

“I am afraid so, love”, Cullen laughed softly, wrapping his arm around her. “But give them some time. Although, I am sure that even in a decade’s time you’ll still be known as Lady Inquisitor Morgan Trevelyan in certain circles.”

“Probably... It might sound incredibly dull, but truth be told, I would be perfectly happy just being Morgan Rutherford for a change…” She trailed off, focusing absentmindedly on a point in the far distance somewhere in the middle of Lake Calenhad.

“That, uhm… Hm.” Cullen could feel the heat rise in his rounded cheeks and a warm, tingling sensation spread throughout his whole body, which he knew had nothing to do with the hot spices used in the seasoning of his cheesy bread. In an attempt to buy himself some more time for an adequate response, he stuffed the last, rather large piece of bread into his mouth whole. Just as he had swallowed, they heard footsteps behind them on the wooden planks. The hollow thuds slowed down more and more the nearer they drew, before they came to a halt.

When Cullen and Morgan turned around, they could see the young man from earlier. A little girl held tightly onto him. She peaked around his legs, watching them with huge eyes.

“Uhm, hello”, he greeted them, his gaze fixed on his feet, nervously tracing the tiny gaps between the planks. “I think I might have dropped something when I, uhm, tripped earlier.”

“So, this is yours?” Cullen retrieved the rag doll from his bag. “You really should take better care of your things, young man.”

“She’s mine”, the little girl piped from behind the boy’s legs. “I only gave him Rosie as a good luck charm. But then he lost her. I got really sad. Is my brother going to prison now? He said you seemed like nice people. Please don’t’ take him from me!”

“Don’t worry, little one.” Morgan took the doll from Cullen and handed it over to the girl, whose eyes glistened with tears and the outburst had caused her to develop a hiccup. “We have no plans for taking your brother away from you. Would you like to tell me your name?” The girl shook her head. “That’s ok. But maybe you would like something to eat?” Looking to her brother for permission, she hesitantly nodded.

“Here, take this”, Cullen handed them a loaf of bread, a few smoked sausages and half a dozen apples.

“That really isn’t necessary,” the boy muttered bashfully, “I can take care of the two of us.”

“I am sure you can. Just let a pair of strangers cross off their good deed for the day, alright?”

“You should say thank you”, the little girl whispered, nudging her brother in the side. The boy mumbled a barely audible “Thank you”.

“You always tell me to thank people who are nice to us. And these people are really nice.” She hesitated for a moment, studying Morgans face. “And you have really pretty eyes”, she adds with a shy smile.

“Thank you. And you have a very brave big brother.”

“I know.” The girl looked up to him with big adoring eyes. Then she spotted Mischief, who was splashing through the shallow water at the lake shore, enjoying the drops raining down on his back. “Oh, he told me you have a dog! Is that him? Can I pet him?”

Morgan nodded and led the girl to the mabari, who greeted them panting, wagging his tale expectantly. “Let’s find out if he us up to it.” And of course he was, Mischief rarely did not rejoice at the prospects of human affection.

Cullen and the boy watched them from the pier. The girl approached the dog slowly, a tiny hand stretched out in front of her. She giggled, when Mischief allowed her to pet his side and then shook himself, spraying them with the cool lake water still caught in his fur.

“My wife is right, you know”, Cullen said quietly, without looking at the young man at his side. “You are very brave. And I am not going to lecture you or ask questions you might not be willing to answer. Just know that we are staying at The Chicken and the Nug for the night. It’s the inn just outside the town, if you take the road leading to Honnleath. Should anything come up, you can find us there. Just try to stay out of trouble.”

***

“The Chicken and the Nug?” Morgan studied the sign depicting a chick and a nuglet cheerfully chasing each other around a giant daisy. The tavern had a cozy, cottage-like feeling to it. The vibrant wildflowers and apple trees beckoned any passers-by to come and take a closer look and made for a warm and welcoming atmosphere.

“It was the only tavern left where I could find a decent room for the night”, Cullen explained, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “We might still be able to find something else…”

“Don’t you dare! I think it’s adorable.” She looked at him lovingly, cupping his rounded jaw in her hand, tenderly tracing her thumb over his stubble and tilting his head towards her. “You are adorable.”

“Certainly, that is what any warrior would like to hear”, he quipped. In truth, he would proudly let her call him just about any term of endearment, if it meant he got to see that kind of sparkle in her eyes he is seeing at that very moment. It’s not that her affection was conditional, because even after being with her for nearly three years, her eyes still lit up every time she looked at him. It was reassuring to know that she loved him as purely and unconditionally, as he did love her; their love for each other was the most cherished constant of his life.

He followed Morgan inside. The tavern was buzzing with patrons talking, clanking their mugs together and singing along to the melody of the minstrel performing old Fereldan folk songs. The young, freckled, redhead nodded towards them in greeting when they entered, while she continued playing her lute.

The innkeeper, a kind, elderly dwarven woman by the name of Helga ran the tavern all by herself. When Cullen informed her that two children might come by here later and started to describe them, she interrupted him abruptly. “I think I know them. Titus and his sister Ellie, I believe those are their names. The little girl wanted to know if we actually had chicks and nuglets and if she could see them. They seemed a bit lost, to be honest, and I offered them to stay the night. But the boy refused, saying he did not want to be a bother. Then they left. I feared he might end up getting into trouble sooner rather than later. I will let you know if I see them.”

Cullen and Morgan thanked her and made their way up to their room for the night. Lying down on the double bed, Morgan cuddling up against her husband’s strong, well-padded frame and with Mischief curled up at their feet, they listened to the music playing down in the taproom.

No one came to see them.

Chapter Text

South Reach was a charming, picturesque town within the Arling of the same name in the southeastern part of Ferelden; the prosperous settlement had seemingly been unaffected by the fifth blight, despite its relative proximity to Denerim compared to other villages which had experienced heavy losses due to the attacking darkspawn. And the events following the explosion of the Temple of Sacred Ashes were something the people here had only heard about.

The citizens of South Reach went busily about their everyday life, the children were playing in the streets without a care in the world and the stores were buzzing with customers. Every single outer windowsill of the well-maintained half-timbered residential houses and shops was decorated with jardinières filled with vibrant flowers infusing the fresh, clean air with their floral scents.

Not in any hurry to arrive at their destination within any given time and with a playful mabari at their side dictating their travel pace most of the time, Cullen and Morgan had enjoyed their overall near a month-long journey since their departure from the fortress in the mountains. Relishing the fact, that they finally could spend some long overdue time together as just the two of them without their usual entourage made of soldiers and scouts. The passage of time throughout their journey was mostly noticeable through the start of harvest season and the increasing number of farmers bringing their crops in and the progressively emptier fields the further east they travelled.

After following the directions of some helpful locals, Cullen and Morgan now stood in front of a tailor shop on South Reach’s main street. Elegant brass letters along the storefront read Sewnique Creations by Mia Rutherford and a large display window next to the entrance showcased two dressmaker’s mannequins, each adorned with a set of extravagant evening wear.

“Looks like your sister is doing quite well”, Morgan said, studying the dresses on display.

“She always had a considerable amount of talent with a sewing needle”, Cullen nodded. “Though, back when we were all still living in Honnleath, she usually used it to play pranks on us. Like, sewing together our shirt sleeves. And I remember that one time when she made garlands out of our socks and hung them up around house. Mother wasn’t all too pleased about that. I hated when she did something like that; I couldn’t stand my things being misplaced or messed with”, he said, smiling fondly at the childhood memory.

“I guess some things never change”, Morgan chuckled knowingly but cut herself short when she saw the expression in Cullen’s face change. “I’m sorry. How do you feel?”

“I- I am not sure. Maker, it has been, what? Fifteen, sixteen years since I last saw them? With everything that’s happened in the meantime, it’s- quite overwhelming, really.”

“Should we come back later? Walk around some more, before we go see them?”

“No, there is no point in delaying any further. I just wish… What if they think less of me? What if-?”

“Love”, Morgan took one of Cullen’s hands into each of her own. They had talked about this extensively in the past couple of weeks. “You showed me Mia’s letters, Cullen. Did I miss anything in them that would indicate that your concerns are valid? I got the impression that she was just happy to know you are still alive.”

“Well, no… I guess not.”

“You told me yourself; she was the one tracking you down persistently, unwilling to give up on you. And Cullen, whatever you need off me, I am here for you”, Morgan whispered, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, her soft gaze lingering on his furrowed brow. She pulled him into a tender kiss, feeling a tingle spreading down her spine, this kind of public display of affection still new and exciting to her, after they had to maintain professional appearances for so long.

“By Andraste’s tits, get a room you two! Thinking of it, I might actually have a spare one.” The door to the tailor shop had been thrust open and the woman who had called for them beckoned them closer with a broad smile. “But keep that dog close, I can’t afford having his hair all over my fabrics.”

“Morgan”, Cullen let out and exasperated sigh, “meet my eldest sister – Mia.”

***

Mia Rutherford was a short, delicate person who carried herself with grace and confidence, all the while always wearing a warm smile on her face. While she shared her brother’s blond curls, which she had styled into an elegant updo, her eyes however were of an earthy green, rather than his amber-hued browns. 

She ushered them inside, locked the door and turned a sign informing potential walk-ins that the shop was currently closed. They followed her up a staircase in the back of the store which led them to the living quarters above her workspace.

Before they had the time to take in the small, tidy living room they were standing in, Mia had turned around and wrapped her brother into a surprisingly tight embrace, leaving him short of breath. Caught off guard, Cullen subconsciously tried sucking in his plush stomach; an urge he hadn’t felt in quite some time now and as if his overall noticeably fuller frame, while just as strong as ever, hadn’t already betrayed the physical changes he had went through in the last years.

He sheepishly cleared his throat and let go of the breath he was holding in. A wide grin spread across his face, when he reciprocated her fraternal affections and lifted her off the ground with ease.

“No, Cullen! Let me down, you oaf!”, she laughed. “You know how much I hate it when you pick me up!”

“Dear sister, I know for a fact that you actually do not mind it at all!”, he responds with a wicked smile.

“Fine! Just wait until I am big and strong enough to pick you up and carry you around!”

“I’ve already been waiting more than thirty years for you to make good on that threat. And I’ll happily wait another thirty.”

Morgan watched the two bickering siblings with a wistful glint in her eye. She had only seen Cullen being this light-heartedly and cocky with others besides herself on a handful of very rare occasions, and it warmed her heart to see him like this.

“It’s good to have you back, little brother,” Mia said, once she was on solid ground again. Her voice trembled with a mix of relief and joy, and Morgan saw tears glistening in the corners of her eyes as she let go off him, looking him up and down as if still trying to comprehend that Cullen was actually here. “And you are obviously Morgan”, she addressed the woman next to him with a wide smile. Morgan had braced herself for a formal handshake and was pleasantly surprised, when she as well was pulled into a cordial hug instead. “He looks so happy”, Mia whispered in her ear. “Thank you.”

Morgan didn’t know how respond to that but instead nodded and looked lovingly towards her husband.

“I still can’t believe you are both here”, Mia rejoiced. “And I’ve heard so much about you. Well, not so much through Cullen, as through what people in the streets have been saying about you, mind you. Most of it rumours, I am sure. Like for example”, she cocked an eyebrow towards her brother, “that you got married in the midst of the Exalted Council. I mean, that can not be true, can it? Who would neglect to mention something like that in the no less than two letters he wrote afterwards, brushing over it with just the notion of, and I quote, “Morgan cannot wait to finally meet her sister-in-law”.”

Cullens cheeks flushed a deep red, as he let out an awkward laugh. “Would you believe me when I told you that I simply wanted to tell you something like that in person?”

“Hardly, since it was barely a secret!”, she scolded him playfully. “But, by the Maker, there is so much I need to tell you! I’ve only come back here myself two days ago. We’ve been at Branson’s for a few weeks, to… Oh, we’ll need to talk properly, not standing like this in the middle of what is basically my hallway. Although”, she prattles on, “I cannot offer you any kind of refreshments, I didn’t have the time to go grocery shopping… ah, who am I kidding. I am not much of a cook, we usually have a simple dinner, most of the time we are eating out…”

Morgan blinked at Mia, slightly overwhelmed by the cascade of sentences flowing out of her in quick succession, in demeanour the complete opposite of her usually rather reserved and serious brother. Morgan exchanged a quick glance with Cullen, who responded with a subtle nod. “Mia, why don’t I let the two of you do some much needed catching up while I take the dog outside and see if I can get us something to eat?”

“I cannot ask that of you!”, Mia objected, deflating somewhat. “Maker, I am a terrible hostess. I’ve been blabbering on and on about everything and nothing…”

“You are not asking, I am offering”, Morgan replied with a kind smile, although the slight strain in her voice did not go unnoticed by Cullen. “It would be my pleasure, Mia, really. And also, I need to- I mean, I think Mischief needs to, um, sniff out a tree soon.”

“Oh, I see…”, a relieved laugh escaped her. “My apologies. You’ll find a couple of market stalls down the street. But before you go”, she eyed her three visitors curiously, “how, by Andraste’s holy knickers, did you get my brother to agree with a name like Mischief?” 

***

“Was it something I said?”, Mia turned towards Cullen once Morgan had left, a look of concern was shadowing her eyes.

“No, not at all! Morgan’s just… hm…” Cullen thinks for a moment. “She has just been through a lot lately.”

He gave his sister a rough retelling of the events during the Exalted Council. It had not been more than four months since then, but it already felt like a lifetime ago. Most of it he left deliberately vague, since in the end, this was Morgan’s story to tell, if she should ever feel ready for it. As so often before, their responsibilities had demanded for them to be in separate places during the most crucial moments, when all he wanted was to be with her and be there for her. Especially once she had revealed to them how much the anchor had been straining her. He had wanted to tell her that he would give anything to take this burden, the pain, away from her. A sentiment left unspoken, since it would have been a hollow one, being entirely impossible. All that was left for him to do was to offer his support and hope for the best, that she would make it out alive.

Mia had listened quietly throughout most of his monologue, her expression varying between several stages of shock, horror and sympathy. “Will she be alright? Are you alright?”

“I get the feeling she is starting to get better.” Cullen’s voice went quiet. “We talked about it. A lot. And we are confident we made the right call. Not only because both the Dread Wolf and the Ben-Hassrath proved that the Inquisition has grown too large, making us vulnerable to corruption, but especially because it might be good for her to get away from all that. Start anew. I speak from experience”, he concluded in a husky tone.

For a while they sat side by side, until Cullen broke the silence. “How are Rosalie and Lowri?”, he asked.

“They are doing good”, Mia answered, relieved over the change in subject. “Ro has been living with us, as long as she is taking to her studies. And Lowri is a good kid, really. But I could do with fewer of her teenage escapades. She reminds me of her father in that regard”, she laughed, a sad look around her eyes. “But you can ask them yourself later. In the meantime”, she looked at him, a devilish grin on her face, “how about a game of chess?”

***

Morgan felt horrible for leaving this abruptly. Mia seemed to be a genuinely lovely person, not only based on their first meeting, but also based on her correspondence with Cullen and she would gladly get to know her better. But that was also part of why she felt the need to get outside and leave the siblings to their heartfelt reunion. She did not want to sour this moment with the hint of resentment she felt towards her own family in that moment.

The last time she had heard from her family was years ago when she had informed them that she had successfully passed her Harrowing. Her brother Maxwell, who had been the only one in regular correspondence with her anyway, had send his congratulations. Then the letters stopped. She tried contacting him several times after that, but she never received a response. Eventually, she gave up.

Next she heard of House Trevelyan was a formal request towards the Inquisition, not towards her as Morgan, asking for support in settling a petty quarrel amongst their relatives. She had tasked Josephine to handle the matter. And that was it.

Lost in thought and keeping one eye on Mischief, who had by now indeed relieved himself in a spot he had deemed acceptable, Morgan went through her purchases in her head, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything crucial before she headed back. Based on what Mia had told her regarding the contents of her cupboards, she had taken the liberty to acquire even the most basic essentials like salt and oil.

“I forgot the beans!” Morgen stopped in her tracks and turned around, causing the person walking behind her to bump into her side. “Oh, I am so sorry. Are you alright?”

The young, red-haired woman looked at her in surprise, then a smile spread across her freckled face. “Nothing to worry about! I am sure it it was my fault, really! I must have not been paying attention…”

Morgan frowned, studying the woman’s face with increased curiosity. “Excuse me, but don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“I don’t think so”, the woman shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I have just of one of those faces. I really need to go now. Have a nice day!”

Confused, Morgan watched her as the woman hurried away. She could have sworn that she had seen her somewhere before.

Chapter Text

“… I called after them, but it was already too late. They couldn’t hear me anymore”, Mia giggled, taking a sip from her wine. “And then it happened. Unbeknownst to them, they had reached the point where the otherwise shallow lake came to a sudden dip. It must have been… well, not sure how many, but certainly several feet deeper. One second, I could still see little Cullen chasing after the family dog, the next they were gone, swallowed by the lake. It was hilarious, when they emerged. They were spluttering mouths full of murky water all over the place!” She swirled the crimson liquid in her glass before taking another sip, shaking her head with a subtle laugh.

Mia and Cullen had suspended their game of chess once Morgan had come back in favour of joining her in the kitchen. Mia had opened a bottle of wine for them to share while they were preparing the ingredients for the turnip and barley stew. At the market, Morgan had met a nice elderly woman, who had recommended the dish and kindly shared her recipe with her – or more like rather cunning, Morgan had thought, when she had learned that the market stall, where she could get most of the ingredients the recipe called for, belonged to her grandson.

“At least one of us had fun that day”, Cullen frowned, thoroughly rinsing the barley as per Morgans instructions. “I remember it being quite unpleasant. It was quite the walk back home and my pants were wet and clung to my thighs. By the time we got back they were rubbed sore all the way up to- Well, it wasn’t pleasant, is all I am saying.”

“And there was that other time, when we had been at the chantry and…”

“Yes, dearest sister, please continue embarrassing me in front of my wife”, Cullen grumbled, turning towards Morgan, “Not that I ever needed help embarrassing myself in front of you anyways.”

“Oh, but I’ve got so many stories I need to tell her! Like, do remember that one time when you-”

“Probably…”

“I want to hear all of them!”, Morgan chuckled, setting the knife aside, with which she had been slicing the turnips.

“Knowing Mia, I have the daunting feeling that you will have heard all of them soon enough, love”, Cullen sighed. “But, Maker, would the two of you at least have the decency to spare my dignity and have a laugh about me when I am not within earshot?”

Mia’s gaze softened. „Cullen, you know I have always been your greatest supporter”, she said with a fond smile. “You where so proud, when you came to me after your first training session with the Templars at our local chantry. Your intentions were always so pure and innocent. Neither did you see the power you could wield over others by choosing this profession nor did you do it it because it was expected of you. You just wanted to help those in need and make our world a better place.”

Cullen cleared his throat; his ears had turned a bright pink. “That is- hm... Somehow, hearing you say it like that makes me even more uncomfortable. Wouldn’t you rather tell that chantry story you mentioned-” Morgan silenced his rambling with a tender kiss on his cheek, brushing an errant strand of his golden locks behind his ear. Mia watched them with a satisfied grin.

Cooking and baking had always been something Morgan enjoyed, it calmed her down. It kept her hands busy, doing something productive while she could either reflect on things or drown them out, when she needed to focus on what she was making. A habit she had been able to indulge more and more in the last few years, since during her time at the Ostwick Circle she hasn’t had many opportunities for this particular pastime activity. And cooking with her husband again, now here in her sister-in-law’s kitchen, was all the domestic bliss she needed right now.

Cullen had tossed Mia the celery and demanded she make herself useful instead of just diminishing her wine stocks. Lured by the smell of the fatty sausages sizzling in the pot, Mischief had abandoned his post on the rug in the living room and was squeezing himself through their legs, seeking scritches and whatever might have accidentally dropped to the floor.

“Don’t tell Cullen, ok, boy?”, Mia whispered and bent down to the mabari with a conspiratorial wink, feeding him a rather large piece of sausage.

Cullen rolled his eyes, turning towards Morgan. “Maker, I told you she would try to spoil him.” Then he turned towards the dog. “Mischief, remember who you report to!”, he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

While the stew was simmering on the stove, Mia told them that she and her daughter Lowri, together with Rosalie, had been at Branson’s for a few weeks. His wife had given birth two beautiful fraternal twin girls six weeks ago and they had prolonged their stay to help them out, while Branson and Catrin settled into their new routine, all the while also looking after their four-year-old, Dafydd, and tending to their crops in preparation for harvest season. It wasn’t like Morgan hadn’t heard all these names before, but she struggled nonetheless keeping up with the stories about people of whom she couldn’t even put a face to their name.   

“Muuum! We are home!”, came an energetic voice from downstairs, followed by the rumbling sound of two people climbing the stairs to the upper floor. “Do you smell that? You think she is expecting someone? Other than us, I mean.”

“Why else would she be cooking?”, asked a second voice.

“Mum, what are you-?” A teenage girl, presumably Lowri, the resemblance to Mia quite apparent, rushed into the kitchen, followed by another woman with dark curls and amber eyes. “Who are you?” The girl stopped, looking perplexed from Cullen to Morgan.

“Cullen?”, the dark-haired woman asked, inquisitively looking at the man she thought to be her older brother. Only then Cullen noticed the medical bag made of dark brown leather she carried.

“Hey Rosie.”

“It’s Ro now.”

“Of course, my apologies.”

“You look… different.”

“It’s been a long time.”

Her gaze trailed over to Morgan and lingerd on her left arm for a second. “And you must be the Inquisitor.”

“I’m not- Nice to meet you”, Morgan nodded, stirring the pot to prevent the thick stew from burning, the grains and beans had absorbed most of the liquid by now.

“You are Inquisitor Trevelyan? I mean you were. I mean-”, Lowri interrupted the rather chilly back and forth between Cullen and Rosalie and looked directly at Morgan. “You are my hero!”

“Oh”, Morgan blushed upon the unexpected confession. “Well, I guess we did do a lot of good work with the Inquisition-“

“What?” Lowri blinked at her. “Oh, right. That too, sure. But that is not what I meant.” She gave the bubbling pot on the stove a hopeful look, deeply inhaling the rich scent of the stew. “It’s not like mum lets me starve or anything, but do you have any idea how long it has been since we had a proper homecooked meal in this house?”

***

After dinner they had gathered around the living room table, Morgan and Lowri had taken a seat on the rug next to Mischief, who seemed to be especially intrigued by the young woman and kept sniffing her obtrusively.

“What’s wrong with your dog?”, Rosalie asked Cullen, leaning back in her armchair, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“He can probably still smell the cat”, Lowri explained. “I fed it before we came back.”

“You mean that stray that has been following you around?”, Mia demanded to know, her tone indicating that she already knew the answer. “I told you not to keep feeding it or you will never get rid of it.”

“Maybe that’s the point…”, the girl mumbled.

Mia gave a resigning sigh. “And why is there a tear in your skirt?”

“She clawed at me, when I tried picking her up.”

“Lowri…”

“Don’t worry! Ro already looked at the scratch and treated it with one of her ointments. It wasn’t even that deep and barely hurts-“

“Lowri!”

Trying to change the subject, Cullen turned to his youngest sister. “So, you are a physician now, Ro?”

“Still in training, but yes”, she answered, the barest hint of a smile on her face. “Seems like taking care of others kind of runs in the family.” She hesitates for a moment, before she continues. “Do you know where you will be staying?”

“Well, here of course!”, Lowri proclaimed. “They can have my room, and I will bunk up with you, Ro.” She turned towards Morgan. “You will continue cooking for us, right?”

“Lowri, you can’t ask something like that!”, Mia scolds her.

“For a few days, gladly”, Cullen agreed with a sheepish smile. “But after that… I have- I mean, we have-“ He cleared his throat, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s just say, we have… options.”

Morgans eyes widened, a look of surprise on her face. “We do?”

Chapter Text

Commander Cullen,  

The chantry would like to thank you for your services towards the Inquisition in always lending your advice, your sword and your military prowess to their cause.  

Now that the Inquisition’s work is done, the chantry would like to compensate you for your time in active service and help you pave a path of your own choosing.  

The chantry herby conveys to you ownership of a piece of land within the Fereldan borders, including all existing structures and arable fields.  

With the grace and benediction of the Maker,

Divine Victoria

(the official looking letter was dated only a few days after the Exalted Council and the envelope held a second piece of parchment; the Deed of Ownership for a sizeable estate in the Reposo Valley at the foothills of the Southron Hills, made out to “Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford, former Commander of the Inquisition’s Military Forces”, followed by his place and date of birth)

***

“I still can’t believe you’ve kept this from me this long… And honestly, I am kind of impressed.” Morgan said, looking out of the window of Lowri’s bedroom. “When were you planning on telling me?”

“You are right”, Cullen sighed, sitting on the bed, shoulders slumped. “I should have told you right away. And yet, it never seemed to be the right time.” He got up and went over to her. Reluctantly, he placed his hands on Morgan’s shoulders from behind, careful not apply to much pressure. Only when she took a step backwards to firmly rest her back against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

“I suppose I did say that I wanted to take things slow”, she admitted, melting into her husband’s embrace. “Just one step at a time.” Her hand went up to Cullen’s face, caressing his soft, stubbled cheek. Then she turned halfway around, still firmly wrapped in his arms, pulling him towards her into a sweet kiss. He kissed her back, tenderly cupping her face in one hand. “I love you.”

“I love you, too”, he smiled at her, drowning in the pools of her dark plum-coloured eyes.

They stood there for a while, the silence between them no longer uncomfortable, but heavy with anticipation, watching the at this time of night mostly quiet streets down below.

“You know”, Morgan said, her voice shaking both with amusement and relieve, “I was worried we’d have to take Varric up on his offer and move into that mansion in Kirkwall’s Hightown.”

“Maker’s breath, you would not have actually considered that?”, Cullen asked, barely able to hide the horror in his voice.

“Of course not!” Morgan exclaimed, appalled by the sheer notion. “Apart from the fact that I myself am not too keen on going back to the Free Marches anytime soon, I would never have asked that of you… But I am glad that now I might never have to, either.” After a few moments of pensive silence, she continued: “We should go there.”

“Where?”

“Take a look at this estate, before we make any further arrangements”, Morgan suggested.

Still in his arms, Cullen could feel her getting restless again. “Of course, love. When would you like to go?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Alright. Though- Morgan”, he uncomfortably shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “We have been one the road for a month now. I would- I mean, wouldn’t you rather- hm… Shouldn’t we get some rest for once and stay in one place at least for a couple of days?”

Mortified, Morgan realized why Cullen was so hesitant and she was shocked by her momentary lack of empathy. “I am sorry, you are right. Let’s stay with your family for a few days.”

“I would like that.” Cullen smiled at her, tugging her closer against his plush torso, placing a tender kiss on her forehead.

***

„This? This is it? She cannot be serious!”

“Believe me, I already tried arguing with her about it the day she handed me that envelope. But Divine Victoria was rather… persistent.”

“Careful”, Morgan laughed, “this particular Divine might not limit her wrath to piercing looks if she ever hears you call her that in a private conversation. She might actually start throwing daggers at you.”

Cullen and Morgan had left South Reach in the morning on horseback. Much to Lowri’s delight, they had left Mischief behind, which had allowed them to increase their travel pace significantly and they had arrived at Reposo Valley only after a couple of hours.

“Leliana knew perfectly well what she was handing to me.” Cullen let his gaze wander around. According to the detailed description of the outlines of the plot and structures in the deed, the piece of land assigned to him by the Divine stretched from one end of the valley at the footfalls of the Southron Hills, which they could overlook from their current position, to the other. He pulled out a map from his bag and smoothed it out on the ground. “Save perhaps from Gwaren, this is indeed the furthest you can get away from both Kirkwall and Skyhold, while still within Ferelden and within a reasonable distance to one of the larger settlements. Which, in this case, just happens to be South Reach.” 

“Did she tell you how the chantry even obtained an estate like this?”, Morgan asked curiously, while Cullen led her towards the main building. With its façade painted in a pale yellow and its elegantly decorated ivory-coloured columns the imposing villa reminded them of some of the noble residences in Orlais.

“Apparently, all this used to be the summer residence of a highly pious Fereldan noble family with close ties to Val Royeaux”, Cullen explained, foregoing the entrance of the main building in favour of inspecting the general outdoor area first. “Their line is presumed to be extinct now and the premise has been vacated for decades. After their last heir passed away, they left everything to their name to the chantry.” They went past what used to be the stables and which would certainly need a bit of work done. “Gold, works of art, farmland, estates. Once a year the chantry sent someone here to evaluate the state of the facilities and initiate repairs and restoration work if needed to save the buildings from turning into overgrown ruins.”

“But we are just the two of us”, Morgan remarked. “We don’t need this many rooms.”

“Agreed.” Cullen took her by the hand, leading her around a small orchard with about two dozen trees, which had obscured their vision of the last building on the premises. “That is why I thought” they stopped in front a beautiful, albeit slightly weathered cottage, its location hinting towards it possibly accommodating members of the staff at one point in the past, “we could make this our home for now.”

***

„No… No! Leave me be! I know that you are not-“ Cullen woke up. His heart raced in his chest; his breathing laboured as if he had just run a mile in full speed. His nightshirt, moist with sweat, clung to his torso. He levered up his head and looked around dimly lit room, only illuminated by the light of the full moon casting its silver sheen down through the ceiling window – the first of several alterations they had already made to the cottage. The space on the mattress next to him was empty. With a soft grunt, he laid his head down again.

The nightmares that used to plague him severely every night got less frequent over the past year, but they were never truly gone. They especially resurfaced in times when he was particularly stressed or exhausted or, as tonight, during a full moon, but at least nowadays he usually awoke with only a faint memory of what he had seen and heard, their remnants clinging to his mind only for seconds, once he was fully conscious. The ceiling window, a suggestion by Morgan, and being able to see the sky above him also helped to calm him down during those nights.

Cullen got up to change into a dry shirt. But instead of going back to sleep, he opened the door and went down the short hallway separating their bedroom and the two guest rooms from the open-spaced kitchen and living room area. Cullen smiled once he could hear Morgan rummaging in the kitchen, confirming his suspicions. She was humming a familiar tune, accompanied by the dog’s snoring, who slept in front of the fireplace.

Morgan smiled when she spotted him, but the expression quickly made way for a more concerned look on her face. “Did you have nightmares again?”, she rushed over to him, taking one his hands in hers.

“I did, but I am alright now”, he reassured her, taking her into his arms. “Especially now that I can hold you again.” He said, placing a kiss on her forehead.

Morgan let out a contented sigh, followed by a coy giggle. “Even now that we are married, you still manage to make me blush like a young apprentice mage when you say things like that”, she laughs.

“What are we making?” Cullen followed Morgan to the kitchen counter, where a round tin pan laid out with pie crust patiently waited to be filled.

“I picked the last good apples from the orchard the other day. Would you like to try some of the filling before I put the last pie into the oven?”

“You know your apple pie is one of my favourites.” He hesitates. “But we need to find other ways to distribute the products of your nightly cooking and baking sessions. There is no longer a battalion of hungry soldiers and a large village’s worth of grateful refugees who would gladly take it of your hands. And I can’t- I mean, I shouldn’t-“ He fell silent, his hand wandering down to the dome of his well-padded stomach, self-consciously tugging at his nightshirt.

When Cullen had taken up Cassandra’s offer to join the Inquisition, grateful for a chance of atonement and being able to still do good work away from the Templar Order, he had quit taking lyrium. Although, The withdrawal from the highly addictive substance that granted Templars their special abilities had taken its toll on him. While the chronic headaches and fatigue symptoms had ceased completely after about a year and a half, the increased appetite he had developed over this time had only somewhat lessened. By now he had accepted that he would probably have to deal with it for the rest of his life, at least to some extent, his lean warrior’s physique forever a thing of the past. But as long as he could still hold his own on a battlefield, should the need arise, this was a price he was willing to pay if that is what it took to keep his sanity intact. And so far, he had made sure that this was the case.

“I understand”, Morgan said softly, not wanting to make her husband feel more uncomfortable than he already was at this moment. “I need to pick up the new curtains and cushion covers at Mia’s tomorrow anyway. I’ll take some of the pies with me.”

Cullen nodded, looking somewhat relieved. Then he gave her a sheepish half-smile. “But, um… perhaps not all of them?”

Chapter Text

The evening sun was setting behind the low mountain tops of the Southron Hills, flooding Reposo Valley and the snow-covered estate in its centre in dark-orange and golden lights.

Accompanied by Mischief, Morgan had brought the horses back from the paddock to the stables near their cottage for the night, serving them buckets of warm, water-based oatmeal with strengthening herbs. While she waited for them to finish their meal, she brought in fresh hey, so the horses would have something to nibble on during the night.

The dog was always at her side, watching her every movement closely with curiosity, the wish to playfully bark and jump around her legs still quite apparent, but instead he opted for panting and tail wagging. It hadn’t taken Cullen too long to train the mabari to stay calm around other animals, unless his master commanded him otherwise. She praised the dog for his good behaviour on their way back to the cottage, patting his side and offering him a treat which he eagerly collected from the palm of her glove-covered hand.

“Right on time”, Morgan said with a smile, when she saw that Cullen had also returned, his arms stacked high with freshly chopped logs.

“Could you get the door?” Cullen asked, barely able to see over the mound of firewood he was carrying.

“Of course. But also, here, let me-“ Morgan opened the door with on hand, keeping it from closing again by placing one foot inside, and took the top two layers from the stack in her husbands arms. “There, much better, don’t you think?”

“I could have easily managed that on my own.”

“I know. And I know that you can be quite stubborn sometimes.” Morgan placed the logs down next to the fireplace and started arranging them into a neat pile. “But I also know, that sharing a burden makes it much more manageable.”

Cullen kneeled beside her, adding his share to the pile, humming in agreement in lack of better words. That was one of the fundamental pillars of their relationship, wasn’t it? A mutual understanding of what the other had to endure and how they both came out of it a bit broken, but alive and still able to see the good in the world and grateful to experience love and happiness.

Standing up again, Cullen took Morgan’s cloak to hang by the fire, now burning warm and bright again, before taking off his own, hanging it next to hers.

Morgan pulled off her fur lined leather gloves and looked mesmerized at her right hand; a golden band, embedded with a single, small diamond, glinted on her ring finger.

Cullen tenderly took her hand in his own, which was also adorned with a plain, golden band, matching hers perfectly, and bent down to kiss it, meeting her gaze with a fond smile. “Come”, he said, gently leading her towards the sofa, “let’s get you warmed up.”

After making some tea, Cullen and Morgan had made themselves comfortable on the sofa, sharing a blanket and going through their correspondence. They had received several letters by their friends in the last two days, Varric and Josephine even had included theirs in small packages.

„And that’s as far as I will ever read this one”, Morgan said, placing the book back on the side table, after swiftly studying the short description on the back of the cover, and going for one of the still unopened envelopes.

“I think this is the first time I see you putting a book down, before you even properly started it.” Cullen looked up from the letter he had been reading, eyebrows raised in surprise. “What is it about?”

“I already know how it’s going to end.” Morgan held up the book in front her husband, so he could read the title: All This Shit Is Weird by Varric Tethras. The cover illustration depicted a slender, ethereally beautiful heroine with unproportionally large breasts, her long, silvery-white hair dramatically flowing around her shoulders, her left hand, emitting a mysterious green glow, stretched towards an equally green glowing tear in the sky. Objectively, Morgan thought, this depiction of the Herald of Andraste could not have been further from the truth.

“Maker’s breath, this is atrocious!” Cullen wasn’t sure whether he should be offended or amused on her behalf. “That dwarf! How could he approve of this obvious misrepresentation? I will write to him at-”

“I don’t know”, Morgan chuckled. “It might make it less likely for people to recognise me in the streets now that my hair is turning black again – and people expect me to look this”, she said, cupping the air several inches away from her chest with her hands. “Can you imagine wielding any kind of two-handed weapon with those blocking most of your range…”

Cullen laughed. “Well, for what its worth, I- um, I think it doesn’t do you justice at all…”, he said, his ears and full cheeks turning slightly pink.

“Sweet of you to defend my honour based on a book illustration of questionable reliability”, she smiled, leaning over to give him a kiss on his still rosy cheek. “Thank you.” Morgan glanced at the neat handwriting on the letter in Cullen’s hand, recognising the characteristically flowy signature of Lady Josephine Montilyet. “What did Josie write?”

“Josephine and Ser Thomas Rainier arrived safely in Antiva City,” Cullen said, starting to summarize the detailed letter in a professional manner. “They only experienced minor incidents during their travels, nothing they could not handle. Ser Rainier is planning on staying with her for a few months, before he will make his way to the Anderfels and join the Grey Wardens at Weishaupt.”

“Cullen?” Morgan smiles fondly at him.

“Yes?”

“You sound like you are briefing me about your troupe movements during war council.”

“I do, don’t I?”, he said with an awkward grin. “If you want me to stop-“

“I don’t mind. It’s oddly comforting…familiar… I am sorry I interrupted you. Please, continue”, she gave him an encouraging nod, her gaze transfixed on him, eyes sparkling with nothing but pure adoration for the man at her side.

Cullen and Morgan continued to work through the numerous letters. Just like themselves, their friends had taken the upcoming First Day celebration as an opportunity to send their well wishes and informed them what they had been up to since they last saw each other.

“Would you like some more tea?”, Cullen asked as he got up to bring the Antivan specialties Josephine had send them in abundance over to the kitchen – chocolates, cocoa, coffee beans and an assortment of local herbs and spices.

“I’d love some, thank you”, Morgan replied, while opening one the last three letters. “Cassandra sends her regards and wants to let you know that she appreciates that you referred Knight-Captain Rylen to her. She is impressed by his pragmatic approach and his dedication towards the Seekers. She speaks very highly of him…”

“I am pleased to hear it”, Cullen nodded, bringing the water on the stove to a boil. “I had chosen him as my second in command for a reason.”

“… and in parts in a surprisingly informal way”, Morgan grinned, skimming over the rest of Cassandra’s message. “She also- oh…”, Morgan groaned, when she read the post scriptum. “I need to speak with Dorian.”    

***

“Sweet Maker, Morgan! Is that you? I knew you could not go without the sound of my velvety voice more than a couple of months! I was beginning to think maybe these sending crystals I spend all those Inquisition resources to get weren’t actually working.”

“Good evening, Dorian. I hope I am not interrupting something.”

“Not at all! Truth be told, you just saved me from a dreadfully boring show act at this dinner event. I was already desperately looking for an opportunity to excuse myself. How are you? How is retirement treating you, my dear friend?”

“Good, good. Everything is good. It’s quiet, for a change. That is nice. But that is not the reason I need to speak to you.”

“You piqued my curiosity. What can I do for you, my friend?”

“I received a letter from Cassandra.”

“Oh, did you now. What did she say?”

“I think she fancies Knight-Captain Rylen.”

“Morgan, are we gossiping?”

“Maybe a little? Cullen is not much for that… No, wait! That is not why I needed to speak with you! She also told me about the package you sent her.”

“Ah, that. Did she like it?”

“You send her swatch cards! With suggestions with colours, pattern and fabric combinations you would prefer, and which flowers would go best with them.”

“I just thought she could use a bit of advice from someone with expertise.”

“Dorian, I can hear you pouting. You aren’t jealous I asked her instead of you, are you?”

“Well, naturally!”

“Dorian…”

“Out of all the people you know, you could have chosen the one with impeccable taste in fashion, and yet you went with the woman who has hearts embroidered on her gambeson…”

“I thought your new position in the Magisterium and your work with Maevaris would keep you to busy. And all this fluffy romance stuff is certainly a lot more Cassandra’s area of expertise than yours.”

“That is- Well, now look what you’ve done, making me all soft! You know I like keeping up my nonchalant façade, spiced up with witty comments, but this is your wedding we are talking about! And… well, you are my best friend, Morgan. It is bad enough I don’t get to see- a certain someone as often as I would like to. I would at least have liked to be considered, you know?”

“Um… Hm… I see. I am sorry, Dorian. I hadn’t thought of it like that. Let me write to Cassandra, I am sure we can work something out. Just promise me you two won’t argue to much about the flower selection, alright?”

“That is all I wanted to hear! Now, what was that about our Seeker and the Knight-Captain?”

***

With a yawn, Morgan put down the sending crystal on the desk. It was getting quite late. She hadn’t used a magical artefact like this before and found it fascinating, as well a bit concerning, that the crystal had grown warmer and warmer during her talk with Dorian, presumably burning through the lyrium used in the runic enchantment which made them function over long distances.

“Do you have a moment?” Cullen stuck his head through the half open study door.

Mischief squeezed through the gap between Cullen’s legs, walking over to Morgan in hopes of finally being cuddled by her, after he had found her place on the sofa empty after his nap.

“Of course”, Morgan said, followed by another yawn and scratching the panting mabari behind the ear. “What is it, love?”

“Do you recall me telling you that I have been in regular correspondence with Ser Barris?” Morgan nodded. “Last week, he resigned his post as Knight-Commander.”

“He did?” Morgan looked at him concerned. “Were there indications this might happen soon in any of his letters? Or did something happen to him? Is he alright?”

“Not entirely, it seems. He says he has some concerns and-” Cullen hesitated. “He- um, he wants to speak with me. He did not go into great detail, but I think it is not difficult to assume what this might be about.”

“Tell him to come here as soon as he is can.”

Cullen nodded, a serious expression on his face. “I’ll finish my reply to him first thing in the morning. Then tomorrow afternoon we can drop the letter by a messenger service in South Reach’s city proper on our way to Branson’s farm.”

Chapter Text

Messeres Rutherford and Trevelyan,  

I know you never introduced yourself as such, but when you came to stay at The Chicken and the Nug of course I’d known who you were immediately. Having lived in Redcliffe Village for a few decades now, one would have been blind and deaf to not recognize the Herald of Andraste and the leader of the Inquisition’s forces. 

I meant to write to you earlier, but it took me some time to find someone I could trust to deliver this message, since I had no way of knowing where you went after you left Redcliffe last summer.  

But I am rambling. What I meant to tell you was that the boy, Titus, and his little sister came a few days after you were gone. They never asked for you, though. Instead, he asked if I could need help in the kitchen and cleaning the rooms. I am not the young woman I used to be, and I was indeed thinking about hiring someone again, after my son went back to the Free Marches to be with his partner.  

I just wanted you to know having Titus and Ellie around is a delight, the boy has become indispensable to me and the girl brings so much joy to everyone she meets. She does bemoan, though, that we do not actually have nugs and chicken here. I plan on taking them to the theatre on Wintersend, Ellie says she has never been to one. I hope they like it.  

I pray this letter finds you well. May Andraste watch over you.  

Helga

***

“The commander had the look of a templar who had seen the worst of humanity”, Morgan read out aloud, eager for every new paragraph of Varric’s prose, “yet still had the time to style his hair. ‘This isn’t just a war,’ he said, his gaze steely like a dull blade. ‘It’s the only war.’ The serious expression that seemed to be chiselled onto his face for all eternity melting away like butter under the sun of the Western Approach only-”

“Have you been reading to yourself again, love?” Cullen had entered the cottage unnoticed by Morgan and snuck up behind her, casually leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of his plush stomach.

Morgan had made herself comfortable in her usual corner on the sofa, wrapped up in a woollen blanket, her feet up on the sofa and her knees angled to use them as a resting place for the book she was reading, a steaming cup of herbal tea stood on the small table between the sofa and the lit fireplace. On the kitchen counter, Cullen could see a fresh loaf of sourdough bread as well as a dense chocolate cake set out on a cooling rack. Judging by the smell, a rich and heavy mushroom soup was being kept warm on the stove, waiting to be served.

“I take it you are feeling better, then?”, he asked with a soft expression on his face, a slight hint of concern in his voice.

Startled, Morgan turned around, her eyes wide with embarrassment and a deep crimson blush spreading up from her neck to her hairline and the tips of her ears. “I- Yes, much better, thank you… How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to tell that your impression of me still needs some work,” Cullen smiled. “But you do have a lovely reading voice.” He stepped towards her and leaned over the sofa, kissing her on the top of her head.

“I hadn’t expected you to be back for another hour…” Morgan felt the need to justify the situation.

“I can tell. But don’t let me entice you away from your reading.”

“No no, I was finished anyway. I, um, had mostly been looking up the parts that mentioned you”, Morgan confessed, shutting the book close and placing it at the bottom of the stack on the side table – below some of Cullen’s books on mabari training and the history of Thedas and her volume of herbal remedies for all ailments. “I just couldn't help myself...”

Cullen stepped around to her, took her hands into his and pulled her up towards him, wrapping her in a tight embrace.

“Oh”, Morgan called out in surprise, before nestling against his broad chest, affectionately stroking the side of his pillowy stomach with one hand. “What was that for?”

“I missed you”, he whispered into her ear.

“You’ve only been gone for half a day”, she said quietly with a soft chuckle. “But I missed you, too.” Her hand wandered up to his face, tenderly caressing his cheek with her thumb, before she seals their lips with a passionate kiss. “How did your meeting with Charter go? Did you they learn anything?”

With a soft sigh, Cullen broke their embrace. “According to the Spymaster, the redheaded woman we keep meeting is not one of hers. They also contacted Sera, she confirmed she is not one of the Jennys either”, Cullen reported. “They will look into it.”

“Did you also ask about Helga?”, Morgan wanted to know.

Cullen nodded. “As we suspected, her contact is indeed one of our own. Sutherland, to be precise. I gave the order that someone should keep an eye on the inn. We’ll receive regular reports for now. Just as you wished.”

“Thank you, Cullen.”

He looked her up and down. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“I really am, love”, she confirmed. “Why do you keep asking?”

“Because”, Cullen gently pirouetted her halfway around, so that her back was now pressed against his well-padded torso, “I wanted to make sure you are feeling well, before I do this…”, he said, brushing her long, black-and-white-streaked hair aside, baring her neck. He nibbed at her softened jawline, before he pressed a tender kiss just below the nape of her neck. He could feel her whole body shiver in his arms.

Morgen had closed her eyes. She raised her right arm, stretching it backwards to stroke through Cullen’s thick, blond curls.

“Shall I stop?”, he asked, his hands slid down her sides, tracing every soft curve of her body, until he rested them firmly, but not demanding, against her full hips, his thumbs affectionately caressing the softened flesh of her lower abdomen.

“No”, she sighed contentedly, melting away in his strong arms, keeping his hands affirmatively in place with her own, “please, continue…”

***

The next morning, Morgan was awoken by something warm and wet tickling her ear. As she opened her eyes, she blinked confused at the calf-sized dog next to their bed. Cullen’s side was empty.

“Hngh… Mischief, how did you get in here?” The mabari responded with an excited bark and started pulling at the blanket. “Whoa, not so fast, boy!”, Morgan laughed, holding onto her cover. Obediently, the dog let go.

“I ordered him to get you. He is awfully clever, even for his breed”, Cullen explained, standing in the doorframe with a proud smile. “And you know, usually I would prefer to let you rest, but we are expecting my sisters soon and I thought you might want to get ready before that.”

“Yes, thank you”, Morgan sat upright, the blanket still tightly wrapped around her body, taking a deep breath. “Hm, what is that smell?”

“As compensation, I ground up some of the coffee beans Josephine sent”, he produced a steaming mug from behind his back. “You said the other day you wanted to try them, so I read up on one of your recipe cards how to prepare them. The brew is quite bitter, to be honest. So, I added some cream and sugar for you. I know you like things… sweet.”

“Indeed, I do. That is very considerate, love.” Morgan took a sip of the milky-brown liquid. “Hm. Sweet and warm, and comforting”, she kissed him on the cheek, pressing herself against him. “Just like your hugs. And they are one of many the reasons why I married you, after all.”

Cullen cleared his throat, letting out a sheepish laugh, as he could feel heat rise in his cheeks and the tingling sensation in his stomach, while a foolishly wide grin spread across his face.

Morgan took another sip, as she listened intently, giving her husband an adoring smile, while he continued to enthusiastically explain in great detail the different local customs on how to correctly make and serve coffee, adding some historical facts and other titbits he had read about in a book on Antivan culture.

***

In the months since Cullen and Morgan had moved into the cottage on the estate in Reposo Valley, they had managed to transform the initially rather sparsely decorated and slightly rundown rooms, intended for the practical purpose of accommodating the staff employed by the former owners, into something they could call their home.

With Mia’s help, the replaced old upholsteries, cushions and curtains around the house and added a few rugs to make the rooms especially homey. While tending to the wooden floorboards, Lowri had proven to be quite skilled at carpentry, being overjoyed that she was given the chance to assist with repairing, restoring and altering any of the visible beams and was allowed to add decorative elements to the wooden kitchen front – resulting in some of these now bearing a matching, delicate floral design. A talent which Lowri, according to Mia, had inherited from her father, albeit she never really got to know him.

In preparation of Ser Barris’ arrival, Mia and Lowri had offered to help Morgan with the finishing touches to the guest rooms, which they had neglected so far, while Cullen had requested Rosalie’s counsel on another matter.

“This is against nausea”, Rosalie placed down a thoroughly labelled glass bottle with white, chalk-like chunks on the dining table. “They are to be ground up and dissolved in lukewarm water before consumption. These”, she pulled a small wooden box from her medicine bag, the rattling noise coming from inside indicating that it contained some form of pills, “help with headaches and light-sensitivity and if you let those” she tossed Cullen a fist-sized satchel, stuffed to bursting with dried herbs, “steep in boiling water for a few minutes, they calm the nerves and lower blood pressure. Keep them away from minors”, she looked down at Mischief, “and animals. And here”, she hands him a neatly written piece of paper, “just to be sure, is a list with detailed instructions and the ingredients of each remedy.”

“Maker, that is quite the apothecary you brought us here”, Cullen turned the small, brown glass bottle in his hand, studying the label. “Thank you, Ro. It is much appreciated.” Recalling his own experiences with lyrium withdrawal, he added: “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to help with insomnia, too, would you?”

“Let the herbs I gave you simmer for half an hour, add some of the ground-up powder in at the end. It’s all in the instructions”, she said, leaning around her brother’s shoulder from behind, to point out on the paper what she just described. “I just hope it is enough.”

“You are already helping a great deal, Ro.” Cullen gave his little sister a grateful look. Then his face split into a wide grin. “And you really seem to know your way around remedies. You should consider making a career out of it.”

“You can get insufferably smug when you are happy, did you know that?”

“I’ve been told that, on occasion…”

Ro rolled her eyes. “Well, at least I don’t have to deal with that every day. That is the problem of the woman causing this.” After a short silence, she added: “I hope it sticks. The being happy part, I mean.”

“She has yet to complain to me about it”, he grinned, standing up fom the dining table.. “And I hope so, too.”

“You could stand to lose some of that cockiness, though”, Rosalie teased him friendly.

“You wouldn’t enjoy arguing with me as much as you do if that were the case”, he countered.

In that moment, Morgan entered the room coming from the small hallway leading to the bedrooms, followed by Mia and Lowri. The girl was excitedly telling Morgan about the Wintersend festivities in South Reach. “Please, you both need to come! You will love the theatre, Morgan! They tell amazing stories! Oh, and the market! It’s more like a fair around this time of year. You can not only get the usual everyday stuff, but play games and they have music and…”

“Don’t forget to breath, Lowri”, Mia laughed.

“It does sound rather lovely”, Morgan admitted, barely able to keep up a neutral expression. “But our guest will most likely stay with us for a while. I can’t promise anything.”

Cullen could hear the slight disappointment in her voice; he knew she would have loved to go.

Chapter Text

Nothing Cullen told her could have prepared Morgan for the moment when they had eventually met up with Ser Delrin Barris several miles outside of South Reach a few days later. The last time they had seen the now retired Knight-Commander was before he had left Skyhold several weeks before them last summer, accompanied by a handful of Templars who had been in service of the Inquisition, to fulfil their duties elsewhere.

Without his armour, the tall, dark-skinned man looked scrawny and frail, his complexion had taken on an ashen tone, and there was a haunted look in his vibrant green eyes. The straight, proud posture one was used to see from the Templar, emitting strengths and confidence, was gone. Shoulders sacked, slouched together, Delrin paid the coachmen as soon as he saw their carriage drawing nearer and climbed off the waggon he had arrived on.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me”, Delrin offered his hand in greeting.

“Don’t mention it.” Cullen took the hand offered to him and noticed the cold, clammy palms of the man before him, grabbing his shoulder in a comradely way. Up close, he also noticed the sheen of sweat on Delrin’s forehead.

“Lady Trevelyan”, Delrin took a curt bow before Morgan.

“Please”, Morgan said, fighting the urge to just wrap Delrin in a welcoming hug, “there is no need for formality. Unless, of course, you are not comfortable with it.

“I’ll have to get used to it”, he gave them a tired smile.

“Let’s get you back to the cottage.”

Cullen was quick to help him up, while Morgan took a seat in the back of the carriage, together with Delrin’s sparse luggage. Mischief had been sleeping on the floor, but once Morgan sat down on the bench, the mabari laid his head in her lap, nuzzling into her hand when she started scratching him behind the ear.

“In your last letter”, Delrin turned towards Cullen, who was driving the carriage, “you also mentioned a physician who might be able to help. And who I could talk to.”

“My sister, Rosalie”, Cullen nodded. “I hope that won’t be an issue.”

“Not at all.”

“In that case, we told her we’d been expecting you today. If it is not too much for you, we could get her right away.”

“I- well, why not. Thank you.”

Once they had reached the city of South Reach, Morgan jumped off the carriage to walk the short distance to Mia’s tailor shop, where Rosalie was waiting for them. Both of Cullen’s sisters accompanied her back to the carriage, and after exchanging hugs and some pleasantries, Mia waved them off again.

They made their way back to the estate in relative silence, their only topics the weather and how Delrin’s journey had fared so far.

Just a couple of hours later the carriage had arrived at the cottage. Cullen had led Delrin and Rosalie inside, showing their guest where he could stay for the time if he wished, while Morgan had tended to the horses.

Now the two men were walking up to the main house on the premises. It is a beautiful building, Cullen thought. The pale yellow and its elegantly decorated ivory columns where a nice touch and so unlike usual more practical and robust Fereldan architecture and had two stories, several bedrooms, a large kitchen, a library and a dining hall, to mention only a few. But their cottage was more than enough for them. The only reason Cullen came here every now and then was the small chapel at the heart in the mansion’s north wing. The ceiling of the chapel went up high to the roof, accommodating two large stained-glass-windows on either side to a statue to Andraste. The windows were built in such a fashion, that the shrine would be bathed in golden beams of light every morning at sunrise. And while it was late in the afternoon, they still had made their way up to the chapel, their steps echoing through the empty hallways of the imposing structure.

They still hadn’t spoken much. So far, Delrin had only mentioned what Cullen and Morgan had already suspected after the letter he had sent late last year. 

“I’ve seen it before”, Cullen had told Morgan back then. “But usually in older Templars. I can’t say I am not worried about him.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever noticed anything like this in the Circle, and I spent the better part of my life there. I believe, until I met you, I hadn’t given it much thought”, she had admitted. “I consumed Lyrium on very rare occasions in battle and of course at my Harrowing. But as a mage, I did not experience any lasting side-effects.”

“I am not surprised,” Cullen had explained, a sombre look on his face. “When the Lyrium takes their mind, a Templar becomes unfit for duty. They would be a danger to themselves and their charges. The chantry then- um, they relieve them from their service.”

With Delrin, it also apparently had started with him being unable to recall a verse of the chant he used to recite every morning.

“At first, I did not think much of it. I only forgot a few single words, after all. Surely, it didn’t mean anything, I tried to convince myself”, Delrin confessed, his eyes fixed on Andraste’s likeness in the chapel.

Cullen waited quietly for him to continue.

“But then it got worse. Single words became verses. Then, I had trouble with the names of my men. And then came the day I could not deny it any longer and had to face the truth.” His gaze dropped to his feet, his fist clenching at his sides. “Maker’s breath, I knew he was coming, Cullen; I had been expecting him. But when he walked into the courtyard, for a moment I- I did not see the young man I rescued nearly three years ago. I thought- I was sure I was seeing the abomination they had accused him of being back then. I was ready to strike him down. It lasted only a second, but that was enough. When I came to my senses again, I could see the fear in Noam’s eyes. And I was the reason, the person he trusted the most. But still, if Knight-Captain Briony had not been quick to react and intervened… I handed in my resignation that same day. After that, I wrote to you.” Delrin turned to Cullen, his eyes were wide with horror about what might have happened.

***

„Was it this bad for- Did my brother have to go through all of this, too?” Rosalie asked Morgan.

Ser Delrin Berris had been staying at the cottage for little more than a week now. After her initial examination, Rosalie had assembled a treatment plan and offered to check in with him once a week as long as he needed her to, which he had reluctantly, but no less gratefully, accepted.

Now Morgan accompanied her younger sister-in-law back to the city, where she wanted to replenish some of their supplies.

“Shouldn’t you be asking him that?”

Ro huffed out a humourless laugh. “Would he give me an honest answer?”

“Probably not”, Morgan said with a sad smile. “As you know, Cullen is remarkably resilient and strong-willed-“

“Others would call it stubborn.”

“Ha, well, that too, I guess. It took me a long time and even more convincing before he was ready to admit how hard the withdrawal had actually been on him.”

“So it was that bad, hm?”

“I wasn’t there in the beginning”, Morgan explained, “when the symptoms would have been worst, so I still can only tell you what he was willing to share with me about that time. I could have asked our friend Cassandra, who had been with him from the start and had a close eye on him. But it felt like going behind his back.”

In a quiet tone, Morgan recalled what Cullen had told her about his experiences in the first months of sobriety; about the physical symptoms like fever, cold hands, the headaches, the cravings and feeling constantly weak and exhausted. But also, the nightmares and the claustrophobia, which had been haunting him ever since his captivity at the Circle tower of Kinloch Hold, and which had only gotten worse without the soothing and emboldening effects of the Lyrium. By the time she was finished, the two women had reached the outskirts of South Reach.

“I had no idea…” Every colour had drained away from Rosalie’s complexion.

“Of course, it is still different for Delrin, I suspect”, Morgan contemplated. “Unlike Cullen, he was already experiencing the first symptoms of the prolonged use of the substance. Your brother always feared he too might lose his mind to the Lyrium. Everything still needs to have his place, so he can keep track on misplaced items. It helps him feel at ease – and, at the very least, helps keeping the cottage tidy”, she concluded, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Hm, he always liked his things in order, but this would have made it even worse for him, I assume.” Ro placed her hand on Morgan’s upper arm. “Just, let me know if I can help with anything else

Morgan could only nod.

Together, the two women strolled past the shops and market stalls, talking about lighter subjects now that they were surrounded by other people. Amongst other things, Morgan bought three dozen eggs to pickle; they were about the only thing Delrin could currently stomach and picked up a few books she had ordered from the bookseller.

“Oh look, they are already preparing the stage for the theatre!” Ro pointed out, as they neared the town centre.

Morgan followed her gaze, a little knot in her stomach. Wintersend was only a few days away and she hadn’t been able to attend any of the festivities apart of what was celebrated within the limitations of the Circle in over twenty-five years.

***

“Are you alright, love? You’ve been unusually quiet this evening.” Cullen handed Morgan a bowl full of chopped leak, which she added to the already slightly caramelized onions and garlic in the pot she had been stirring.

“I- I don’t know”, she answered, her eyes fixed on the pot, while she broke up the freshly ground beef with a wooden spoon. “Seeing Delrin like this… I am glad he is feeling a bit better, but still… Thinking that this could have been your fate, had you not quit… That it could have been so much worse, for the both of you… I can’t help but wonder if the Inquisition should have... I let you make the decision for yourself. Shouldn’t we have offered the Templars amongst our soldiers that same choice?”

Cullen discontinued grating the cheese for the creamy soup. He turned to his wife, taking her trembling hand into his. “I understand where you’re coming from. And I appreciate your concern”, he said, tenderly striking the back of her hand with his thumb. “It- it might seem unjust to someone who is not all too familiar with the inner workings of the Templar Order, but: I was grateful for the chance Cassandra offered me to leave that life behind. In title, I was not a Templar anymore, the moment she, Varric and I stepped on board of the ship back to Ferelden. And in truth, at heart, it might have been much earlier. But would I have looked for a way out on my own? I am not so sure. I was bound by oath and duty to serve the chantry and the people I swore to protect.”

After Morgan had added a cup of dry white wine to the pot and gave the roasting ingredients another stir, he continued, tilting her chin upwards so they could see into each other’s eyes. “These men and woman were still Templars when they joined the Inquisition. Many of them still are. They knew the risks and would never have forsaken the vows they had taken. On the contrary,”, Cullen sighed, “Maker, you probably would have offended them, had you suggested they’d give up their powers. The skills Lyrium grants the Templars are what sets them apart from not only any common foot soldier, but even any veteran chevalier. And while, even without those, Templars may be the best trained military force in all of Thedas, they would not see that. They would only see it as you taking something away from them, something they trained hard for years to be granted.”

“But at what cost?” Morgan adds the grated cheese to the pot more forceful then necessary, causing a few slivers of cheese to land next to stove. She poured a jug of milk in it as well, before closing the lid to let the creamy soup simmer.

“Some even call it a blessing.” Cullen furrows his brows. “To forget the failed Harrowings, the demons… Some atrocities haunt me still… But to lose what good I can recall?”, he shook his head. “I nearly lost my mind once, Morgan. It is no gift.”

“And that is why it still feels wrong.” Morgan’s hands were still restless, until she found another block of cheese and some vegetables and started cutting them up in bite-sized cubes. “This whole system was insane and harmful. We should have done better.”

“What choice did we have back then, Morgan?” And please, by the love of the Maker, could you place that knife down?, he wanted to add. But he didn’t, fully aware that cooking was one of her coping mechanisms to prevent magical accidents from happening when she was especially upset. “We were at war. The Templars’ boldness and magical resistance granted by the Lyrium was the exact reason why we needed them in this fight. What would been the alternative?”

“Dozens, if not hundreds, of men and woman, weakened and possibly rendered unable to fight or even defend themselves.” Morgan took a deep breath, finally placing the knife on the cutting board.

“Precisely. Right at this time, there was no other choice then to give them what they needed, to continue supplying them with Lyrium. Not with the fate of the world hanging in the balance. And you knew that. As always, you made these hard decisions because you knew someone had to. You knew we needed them as they were, with all the risks that entailed.”

“But things are different now! It doesn’t have to stay that way!”

“No, it does not”, Cullen smiled fondly at her, picked up a cheese cube and put it in his mouth.

“Let’s write some letters”, Morgan said energetically, pushing herself away from the kitchen counter and hurried towards the study. Cullen grabbed a handful of cheese cubes and followed her.

An hour later, the cottage door was opened with a curt knock. Delrin entered, followed by Rosalie. Cullen and Morgan had insisted she would use one of the rooms in the villa as her office, to give them more privacy during their weekly examinations.

Cullen and Morgan were sitting on the kitchen table, a stack of freshly written letters between them, waiting for the ink to dry before they could fold them up.

“Cullen, Morgan, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Ro wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders, a firm grip on her medicine bag, ready to leave.

Morgan nodded, a wide smile on her face. “I am looking forward to it!”

Ro turned to Delrin. “Will you also be joining us, Ser Barris? South Reach offers many distractions for the Wintersend festivities.”

Delrin hesitated. “I don’t think so. I would not want to intrude. And… I feel like I am already abusing your hospitality…”

“Nonsense!”, Cullen, Morgan and Rosalie said vehemently in unison.

“You are more than welcome to stay as long as you like”, Morgan added.

“And”, Rosalie gave him a wide grin, “I am certain my sister would not mind your company at all.”

Chapter Text

“Wintersend, South Reach, 9:45 Dragon

07^th hour – Morning Mess at the local Chantry  

14^th hour – A collection of, sometimes humorous, skits performed by various actors and groups on the stage at the town centre

(Note: Some topics might be considered offensive and/or unsuitable for children. Attend at your own volition.)  

17^th hour – Tales of a Tevinter Slave

A new play based on the Canticle of Shartan, approved by Divine Victoria, performed on the stage at the town centre  

22^nd hour – Evening Mess at the local Chantry  

The canticle “Exaltations 1” will be recited at the Chantry after Morning Mess at every full hour until Evening Mess. Everyone who wants to join our Chanters is welcome.  

For questions and requests regarding proposals and marriages, please contact Mother Flissa between the 8^th and 11^th hour.”

Morgan had read the notices on the Chanter’s Board out loud by peaking over Cullen’s shoulder from behind him, steadying herself by placing her hands on his sides.

“It would have been much easier for you to read the board if you’d been in front of me”, he shook his head, laying his right hand over hers, interlocking their gloved fingers.

“I like it better this way, because now”, resting her chin on his left shoulder, she gave her husband an adoring glance, before placing a quick peck on his cheek, “I can do this.”

Her smile widened in a delighted grin as she saw the colour in his face rise to his ears and he cleared his throat, and she wrapped her arms around his middle. “You are incorrigible,” he croaked amused.

It was still early on this chilly Wintersend morning, and many of South Reach’s citizens were attending the third citation of the Canticle of Exaltation for this day. Garlands made of pine sprigs, poinsettia and bundles of mistletoe decorated the half-timbered buildings framing the large market square as well as the fountain in its centre, which was inactive during the winter months. Additional lanterns and large candles were strategically placed to both illuminate the area and to create a festive ambience. The stage for the theatre performance had been set up on the far end of the town centre opposite to the chantry, with several trading stalls and merchant booths occupying the area in between.

Cullen and Morgan had just arrived at the town centre, accompanied by Delrin, who had reluctantly agreed to join them at the insistence of Rosalie the night prior and after he was promised they would leave should he not feel up to it any longer.

“Ahem”, Delrin coughed out awkwardly, directing his gaze away from them. “So, when do think the others will join-“

With a sharp swoosh followed by a thud, an arrow hit the Chanter’s Board, piercing a pamphlet advertising this afternoon’s pie eating contest at one of the nearby taverns. Alarmed, Cullen looked around, his hand shooting at once to his belt were the hilt of his sword used to be, a growling Mischief at his side. Delrin had done the same, panic widening his eyes.

“Check the rooftops”, Morgan ordered, while inspecting the arrow. They were lucky there was barely another soul around right now, the few people in the vicinity not inside the Chantry were gathered around the stalls on the other side of the town centre. When she noticed the tightly rolled piece of paper on the shaft, kept in place by a thin, bright-red string, she hurried to pluck it from the notice board and hid it in her bag. “See anything?”, she asked the two men.

“Confirmed. I just spotted some sort of cape or cloak vanish behind the clock tower on the roof of the counting house”, Cullen nodded towards the building to their right. “How are you feeling, Delrin?” He turned to their companion. The retired Knight-Commander was breathing heavily, pupils dilated, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and glistened on his close-shaven scalp and his upper lip.

“I think- I think, I need to sit down”, he answered breathlessly. Cullen and Morgan led him to a bench, where his knees gave in before he could properly sit down. Mischief, now calm again, after his master hadn’t given him any commands, followed. Panting and tail wagging, he watched Delrin with his big, loyal eyes, then placed his head and his front paws on his lap. Still a bit shaky, Delrin started to limply pet the mabari until slowly, his heartrate and breathing returned to a steady rhythm.

While Cullen kept an eye on Delrin, Morgan had untied the paper slip. There was nothing on it but a crude drawing of an elven girl with a sloppily cropped haircut, arrow-like vision-lines shooting from her eyes in every direction. “Oh, for pity’s sake, couldn’t she have been a tad more subtle about it”, Morgan let out an exasperated sigh. “Sera is here”, she explained, her brows furrowed as she added: “And she is looking for someone.”

***     

Morgan knew, if there would have been an immediate need for cautionary measures, Sera would never have just sent them the message she did without further instructions. The young elven woman had adapted many tactics she picked up during her time with the Inquisition, making her work as a Red Jenny more discreet and efficient than ever before.

Still, neither Morgan nor Cullen were at ease, when they were finally joined by Cullen’s siblings and their respective families half an hour later and she was sure that Delrin also was still on high alert. Although, she did notice the coy glances he kept steeling of Mia, who was eagerly conversing with her nephew Dafydd about chess stratagems – or as in depth a conversation one could have with a five-year-old, while he proudly held onto a wooden toy sword Lowri had whittled for him, a matching shield strapped to his back. The teenage girl was currently carrying one of her baby nieces, while her uncles had fallen a few steps behind the others to talk.

They strolled past the food stalls, sharing lamb and pea stew (allegedly after King Alistair’s original recipe), large cheese and onion stuffed bread rolls, caramelised nuts, candied apples and mulled mead (Dafydd and Lowri got warm apple juice), when they came upon a group of musicians playing cheerful Fereldan folksongs.

“My dear Catrin, may I have this dance?” Branson offered his hand to his wife, who nodded and let out a delighted giggle. “Morgan, would you be so kind and hold Ffion for a bit?”

Not waiting for a response, Catrin had already placed the bundled-up baby into the arms of a perplexed Morgan. “I- Sure, looks like it…” Afraid she might drop the fragile little human in her arms, Morgan wrapped Ffion in an awkward embrace, keeping her left arm especially tightly cramped around her. The little girl was awake, seemingly watching her every move with wide eyes.

“Not like that”, Lowri grinned, “here, I’ll show you.” She manoeuvred the other, sleeping twin, Elin, on her left arm with ease, patiently helping Morgan put Ffion into a more comfortable position for the both of them.

“Thank you”, Morgan mouthed grateful.

Timidly, Delrin approached Cullen’s eldest sister. “Miss Mia”, he wiped his clammy, slightly shaky hand on his leg, before he extended it to her, “may I ask you the same question?”

“I- Why, yes of course”, she said pleasantly surprised. “Are dancing lessons part of a Templar’s education?”

“I am afraid not”, Delrin explained, “but my father insisted a young man of my, um, heritage needed to be able to dance, play chess and write poetry.”

Mia looked up, smiling. “I shall put that to a test.”

Meanwhile, Morgan turned to Cullen, giving him a sheepish smile, which he returned, but there was something else in his gaze. While as warm and loving as ever, she thought she noticed a new kind of softness around his eyes, as he looked down at the bundle in her arms…

Her train of thought was abruptly interrupted by Ffion stirring in her arms and she had to be quick to prevent the girl from wiggling free. At the same time, Cullen felt a nudge at his side.

“Ey Cul”, Dafydd looked up to his uncle, “can you show me how to hold this?” The small boy held out his sword and shield towards him. “Papa says you know how.”

“He, um- He is not wrong”, Cullen stammered. “But I am not sure this is…”

“Please?”

“Maker. Alright. But let’s step aside, so we don’t get in the way of the others.”

Morgan had to bite her tongue, as she watched Cullen try his best to keep the harsh military tone out of his voice, often stopping himself and searching for simpler and friendlier descriptions, as he proceeded to explain to his nephew how to properly angle the shield while not poking the toy sword in his own eye.

“I can take her again, if you want.” Morgan was so enraptured by her husband playing with Dafydd, that she had not noticed Catrin stepping next to her.

She looked down at baby in her arms, now fast asleep. “I can hold her a bit longer”, she smiled. “Go, ask Branson for another dance. I’ll be fine.”

***

Morgan drove their carriage on the West Road, upstream along Drakon River and passing the usual couple of hands full of farms separated by small groups of trees which they had seen multiple times in the few months since they came to South Reach. They were only a mere mile away from the dirt road leading uphill towards Reposo Valley.

After once more adjusting the hood of her winter cloak to shield her eyes from the light of the setting sun, Morgan noticed a cart blocking the road in the distance. “Cullen”, she said, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder, where her husband and Delrin were sitting, mostly hidden from on outside view by their purchases, “there might be trouble ahead.”

“Whatever you need of me”, he nodded, a stern look on his face. “Mischief, guard”, he commanded the war dog, pointing to Delrin. The mabari answered with a sharp bark, signalling that he’d understood.

Delrin was in no condition to fight. They had been watching the skits being performed prior to the main play, when halfway through a suggestive bit about then-Grey-Wardens Solona Amell and Alistair, Delrin had started to experience severe withdrawal symptoms. Earlier, he had jokingly told Mia how lucky he felt that she got to see him during his most sociable hours of the day, thanks to her sister’s treatment. Mia had offered him to retreat to her shop, which was officially closed at this time, while Morgan and Cullen went looking for Rosalie, who had made herself sparse. Cullen found his youngest sister behind the small tent where the actors were getting ready for their performance, instantly shielding his eyes and turning beet red, when he realised the woman kissing the elven actress playing the role of Shartan was, in fact, Rosalie. After Ro had made sure Delrin could make the ride back to the cottage, they had left South Reach for the day.

Drawing nearer to the blockage, Morgan slowed down the carriage until they came to a halt. “Hello?”, she called out, looking around the area. She jumped off, carefully approaching the cart which had been tipped over onto the side. A dead horse laid beside the hansom. Morgan noticed it was wearing a riding harness and a saddle. “Is anybody here?” She followed the trail of blood leading from the horse towards the bushes within a small group of pine trees.

“Please”, came a weak voice from her left.

Morgan signalled Cullen to follow her. “Do you need help?” She shouted in the direction where the voice was coming from.

“I am injured… bandits…”

Once Morgan had reached the end of the blood trail, several things happened at once. Four men jumped out of the bushes, but before any of them could reach her, a buzzing bold of electrical energy shot past her and one of the ambushers dropped dead immediately.

As if watching their peer get electrocuted had rendered the others immobile, they watched Morgan in horror. “You’re… shit, a mage!”, one of them managed to shout out in shock.

Cullen had caught up with them now, stepping in front of Morgan, his sword, which he had kept in a hidden compartment of their carriage, drawn.

“By the Maker, was that you?” Delrin, who had followed Cullen against his better judgment, the barking mabari at his heels, asked horrified, looking rapidly from the smouldering corpse to Morgan and back again.

“No”, Cullen and Morgan answered in unison, the latter holding up her right hand, crusted with ice crystals. There was an unspoken truce between the two of them that they would never again kill another living soul, unless it deemed absolutely unavoidable.

Morgan looked around, squinting her eyes. And then she saw her, a young woman with red hair. She was just close enough for Morgan be certain that it was the one they had met several times in the last months. But this was the first time that she noticed the woman actually following them. Their eyes locked for a second and Morgan was certain that the redhead knew that she had been spotted. “Who are you?”, Morgan wanted to know. Instead of answering the question, the woman started to run away.

Without thinking, Morgan spoke an incantation and shot an icy blast after the young woman, which should have slowed her down. To her surprise, she blocked Morgan’s spell, but neither of them saw the arrow coming, which pinned the redhead’s cloak to a nearby tree.

“You take care of them idiots”, a blonde elven woman called from behind before rushing past them, bow still in hand. “I’ll chase her down!” Before Sera could catch up with her, the other woman had conjured what seemed to be a spirit dagger and cut herself loose. “Oi, that’s no fun! Stupid magics!”, Sera called after her, picking up her speed.

“How did Sera get here?” Morgan watched after them, shaking her head in disbelief. Baffled, they watched the two women disappear in the distance.  

“You”, Cullen was the first to find his words again and addressed the man closest to him, “you are coming with us.”

“Where are you taking us?”

“Back to South Reach. The local authorities will take care of the rest.”

“Yeah”, Morgan whispered, more to herself, “let someone else judge our captives for once…”

Cullen and Delrin led the three men towards the carriage, where they secured them with ropes, not that Cullen thought they would actually try to flee.

Morgan had stayed back, studying the blood trail. None of the ambushers bore visible injuries. “Mischief, search!” As if to proof that mabari were indeed a highly intelligent breed, the dog did not wait for her to elaborate what she wanted him to look for. He started sniffing the ground, picking up different scents and disbanding those that seemed not uncommon for an area like this.

They went deeper inside the scrubs, where the last beams of the setting winter sun barely reached them. Mischief seemed to know perfectly well where he needed to lead her. And then Morgan heard it, too, a soft whimper. Animalistic, not human. Pushing aside the last sturdy branches, Morgan finally found the source of the noise. A dog, nearly the size of Mischief, sat next to a lifeless body. One of the dog’s legs was bending in an unnatural angle. It was obvious that both grieve and pain were the cause of the other mabari’s quiet howling.

***

Cullen closed the door to the small shack, careful not to wake their newest guest, who had just gone back to sleep, after he had changed her bandages. Mischief greeted him outside, eagerly hoping to finally play with the other dog.

“Not yet, boy”, Cullen told him. “She still needs to heal and rest.”

A couple of days had passed since Morgan and Mischief had found the young female mabari. Once they had learned that her master was not from around here, they had taken her with them to the estate to look after her. For now, they waited to be notified if anybody would claim ownership of the young mabari.

Cullen made his way back to the cottage, where Morgan and Delrin were discussing the fencing for the herb garden Morgan planned on planting at the south-eastern side of the cottage. As he came closer, he could see someone crouching on the roof right above Morgan and Delrin.

“Sera”, he called, “would you please get off the roof?”

“Why?”, the elven girl grinned, sitting down and letting her legs dangle over the edge of the roof. “You’ve even built a ladder to make climbing up here a lot easier!”

“Maker’s breath, yes, to clean the ceiling window above our bedr- Don’t you dare spy on us at night! Or ever!”

“Don’t give her any ideas, love”, Morgan laughed. “Sera”, she said, looking up to their friend. “Anything new to report?”

“She got away”, the blonde girl grumbled and jumped cat-like off the roof, landing next to Morgan. “But just to be sure: you guys did know she is elf-blooded, right?”

Chapter Text

“So, what do you think? I really quite like Cassandra’s suggestion that we should… Dorian? Are you still with me?”

“What? Oh, yes, yes of course, my friend! I was just-“

“Where are you, anyway? You are not at any of your estates in Qarinus or Minrathous, are you? We haven’t been disturbed by one of your servants today bringing you tea and cake, which is quite unusual…”

“Your wit is sharp as ever, my dear Morgan. No, I am not at home. I am away on some, um, urgent business-“

“Urgent business? Is that my new nickname, kadan?... Hey, you talking to the Inquisitor? Let me say hi-”

“Bull, this communication crystal is a highly complex magical instrument which requires precise and delicate handling! You can’t just pick it up and start talk-“

“Hey boss, how are ya?”

“Hey, Bull. Nice to unexpectedly hear from you today. Cullen and I have kept ourselves busy and the wedding preparations are coming along nicely. How have you been?”

“Good, good. Been doing all sorts of things; doing some traveling, doing some mercenary work with the Chargers, doing Dorian…”

“Amatus!”

“As was to be expected! We should talk some other time, Dorian; I don’t want to keep you from… whatever else it is you guys do.”

“Hm, that is probably for the better. I’ll get back to you in a couple of days. Until then, my friend!”

“See ya later, boss. And give my regards to the Commander!”

“I will. Enjoy your time together – I know how rare these moments are for you…”

“Now you made Dorian cry!”

“I am not… there is just something in my eye-“

“Oh, suuure… it’s stripweed season, isn’t it? Anyway, love you both! Bye!”

Morgan put the sending crystal away in the small pouch she wore on the belt over her simple, dark-blue linen dress. She had noticed her body filling out a bit more over the past months, slowly returning to her soft, pear-shaped figure from before she travelled to the Conclave years ago. She ran her hand through her by now mostly ink-black hair, only a few persistent silvery-white strands remaining and wrapped it up into a casual bun.

She looked around the herb garden in front of the cottage, which she had been nursing since the beginning of spring and had been strolling through during her conversation with Dorian, thinking that she might also plant a few flowers in between to add a bit more colour.

“You're looking lovely. Have I told you that today?” His shoulder long, golden curls still glistening wet with the remnants of his early morning swim in the lake, delightfully rebellious in their untamed state, Cullen tenderly kissed Morgan’s forehead, as he joined her outside. His hands were splayed out against her full hips.

“Only about five times since we woke up this morning”, she smiled. “And the same goes for you.” She wrapped her left arm around his plush midsection, relishing in the strong muscle she could still feel under the generous padding at his arms and chest. Morgan buried her nose in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent of elderflower and oakmoss and brushed a few errand strands of hair behind his ear, gently stroking the back of his head.

The two mabaris had followed Cullen when he had left the cottage, now chasing each other over the meadow stretching half a mile down to the lake in the valley’s basin. Delrin meanwhile had retreated to the villa after their morning exercise, where they had set up a room for him a while ago, granting everybody more privacy during his prolonged stay.

“Do you have some time?”, she asked, taking a step backwards, but still holding her husband’s hand.

“For you? Always.”

“Good. We finally need to sort out our guest list. Unless”, she added, when she saw the look on his face, “you’d rather do that tomorrow.”

“Maker, no, of course not”, Cullen sighed. “I certainly have something different planned for our first wedding anniversary.”

Morgan looked up in surprise. “Do you now? Would you like to elaborate?”

“Then, my love”, he said, gently poking her nose, “it would not be a surprise anymore. Alright”, he continued with a pleased smirk, her dark-purple eyes as expressive as ever and in addition to the playful pout telling him he had indeed piqued her curiosity, “let’s get to work.”   

An hour later, Cullen and Morgan were sitting in the warm spring sun in front of the cottage on a woollen blanket, several stacks of paper surrounding them, weighed down by flat stones to prevent the occasionally stronger mountain breeze from scattering their notes and invitations. Between them what used to be a flat wooden crate repurposed as a deep tray, keeping the tea mugs and oatmeal filled bowls topped with honey and chopped nuts from spilling.

“Alright, so we will be adding Madame de Fer to the guest list?” Cullen paused, his hand holding the quill hovering above a sheet of paper, where several names where already crossed out while others had recently been added.

“Can you imagine her reaction if we wouldn’t?”, Morgan giggled with a mock-shiver. “Besides, I doubt she would leave the Empresses side and travel to Ferelden just to attend our humble, intimate wedding ceremony. And Vivienne is actually not too bad, she just has, um, strong opinions on certain matters I do not share…”

“I agree”, Cullen said, adding the name First Enchanter Vivienne de Fer back on the list. “We need a table out here, and a few benches”, he groaned, stretching his back after he had been sitting upright and cross-legged on the ground for nearly an hour by now.

“Oh, that is a lovey idea”, Morgan said dreamily, leaning back on her elbows for a more relaxed posture, her eyes closed against the sun. “Sitting in the garden, reading, watching the bees buzz around the flowers and listening to the dogs’ gentle snoring sleeping in the afternoon sun…”

“Morgan?”

“Hm?”

“You cannot keep using anything I say as a distraction not to think about whether you would want to contact your family or not.”

“I am thinking about it… I- I just don’t know…”

“Rest assured”, he looked at her, a soft, earnest expression in his warm amber eyes, “I would not want you to do something you are not comfortable with. I know how you feel about them. And we are already married. This ceremony we are having this Harvestmere is just for us and the people we care about.”

“I think- I think I would like to invite my brother. Maxwell”, Morgan said with a newfound determination, before she hesitantly added: “But I don’t know where he is. I have no idea how to contact him.”

“And since when”, Cullen shook his head with a quiet laugh, “has this been stopping you from getting a hold on someone, Inquisitor Trevelyan?”

As if to underline Cullen’s words, a raven landed with a low caw on the perch erected in one of the corners of the cottage garden.

***

Morgan, Cullen,  

It has happened. Yesterday morning I noticed the white ribbons in the bush outside the Chicken and the Nug, just as we asked the children to do. Helga has succumbed to her illness. 

I went to speak with the boy immediately. Just in time as it seemed, since he was about to have the Revered Mother write down a letter to you. I told him it was ill advised, given the matter at hand.  

Instead, I offered to include a summary of what he wanted to ask in his message; he is worried about his sister, she hasn’t been quite herself lately. He doesn’t know where else to go and would like your advice, since you so kindly offered to help them once before.  

As previously discussed, I will take the children to you after the funeral. Some of Sutherland’s men will accompany us, they already know and trust them.  

As you are aware, I’ve known Helga since I was girl, which is why Charter gave me this task in the first place. She will be dearly missed by many.  

Yours,

Scout Harding

***

About a fortnight later, in the last week of Bloomingtide, a carriage arrived in Reposo Valley late at night. Sutherland himself carried a sleeping Ellie to the guest room in the cottage where the siblings would be staying, followed by a tired and nervous looking Titus. After that, him and Voth bode their farewells to return to their duties. Harding spent the night, catching up with Cullen and Morgan.

“Thank you for having us”, Titus said, staring down at his hands. “I- I didn’t know where else we could go after…” He looked up as he heard a delighted squeal coming from outside the cottage, where Ellie and Harding were playing with the dogs, supervised by Delrin.

Titus sat next to Morgan on the sofa, Cullen in the armchair opposite them, a thoughtful look on his face. Both children looked well taken care of compared to the last time they had seen them, the traces of the more than two weeks long journey to Eastern Ferelden aside.

“Miss Lace is very kind”, the boy continued. “She visited often. Especially when things with Helga didn’t get any better. Ellie likes her a lot, too. And she told me she was keeping an eye on us for you. First, I thought it was to see if we were causing any trouble. But I soon realised it was to keep us- um, me out of trouble.”

“We are glad you decided to come here”, Cullen reassured him. “You mentioned you are worried about your sister. What can you tell us?”

“Well, um, at first, she started talking in her sleep. I had heard her before, but it didn’t happen often. When Helga became-… when she was feeling unwell, I could hear Ellie every night. When I talked to her the morning after, she explained she had only dreamed about being on adventures with Rosie, her doll. And that she could do all kinds of fantastical things in her dreams. Like bringing Rosie to live, but that the doll spoke with a weird voice in weird sentences. But it seemed to comfort her. Later, Ellie started talking to the doll when she was awake as if she was expecting to have an actual conversation with it. I was a bit scared of her… but, mostly I feared for her. She is my little sister after all. It is my responsibility to look out for her…”

Morgan nodded. “Have you told anyone about this? About your sister’s dreams?”, she wanted to know.

“Only Helga and Miss Lace. Which is why Miss Lace asked me not to have the Revered Mother write my letter to you. She told me about the dreams… how some mages can have special dreams, before they even know they are mages…”

“I see”, Morgan nodded, remembering all to well the first of many of those dreams she had more than twenty-five years ago. “I think it’s time to speak with your sister”, she said with a friendly smile.

The three of them went outside. Titus stayed back, as Cullen went over to talk to Delrin.

“What do you think?”, Cullen asked Delrin quietly.

Without taking his gaze away from the girl, Delrin replied: “You were right. She doesn’t seem to be an abomination. But she definitely shows early signs of magical abilities, they just haven’t properly manifested yet.”    

“Just as I had suspected. But I wanted to get second opinion on the matter”, Cullen said with relieve. “She is not aware of what her dreams could mean. Will you be alright with them staying?”

Slowly, Delrin nodded. “I have to be. They are just children. They obviously have nowhere else to go. And I honestly can’t think of a better place for them right now.” Both men were painfully aware of the grim double meaning that was implied.

The two men stood next to each other, watching as Morgan talked to Ellie. As she dropped to her knees, hugging the girl tightly, Cullen was about to rush over to them. Morgan, noticing her husband’s uneasiness, shook her head and signalled him that everything was alright.

***

“Ok May, it’s your turn”, Harding said, wiggling a short branch in front of the female mabari, before throwing it as far as she could. “Now, fetch!” Ellie did the same with Mischief, her branch covering a significantly shorter distance, though.

“Hey, Inquis- sorry, Morgan. That greeting’s just so ingrained in my mind”, Harding apologised. “May is a cute name. Can I ask-?”

Morgan laughed, as she joined them. “Yes, Harding. If anyone asks, you can tell them it is short for Mayhem.”

“Yes, Mayhem!”, the dwarven woman shouted excitedly, punching her fists in the air, as the dog brought back her catch.

“How are you feeling, Ellie?” Morgan asked the girl.

“A bit tired. And sad. About Helga”, the girl looked down at her feet, her ragdoll tightly pressed against her chest.

“I understand. She was very good to you, wasn’t she?”

The girl only nodded, a few tears trickled down her cheeks and she wiped her snotty nose with her dress sleeve. Then, her eyes lit up just a bit. “But last night, Rosie told me everything will be alright now. That we are save now and that we can be happy now that we are here.”

“Would you like to tell me what else Rosie told you? Did she promise you anything, if you gave her something of yours?”

“No”, Ellie snorted a laugh, “that would be silly. She is just a doll; what could she want from me?” She paused for a moment, then: “We just went on all kinds of adventures. One time, we even fought a dragon! In the Hinterlands! And she told me lots of stories. They all had rabbits in them. She always told me, there should be more rabbits in stories. And”, she added quietly, her small hand shyly searching for Morgan’s, “that you would make everything better. That I don’t need her to protect me in my dreams anymore, now that I am with you.”

Morgan took the girl’s hand and got down on her knees. It hit her, who had been talking to Ellie in her dreams. It hadn’t been a demon. It was a spirit. A spirit of pure, unadulterated compassion. When Ellie flung her arms around Morgan’s neck, she wrapped the girl tightly in her embrace. Morgan could feel hot tears burning in her eyes as she whispered, quiet enough for nobody to hear: “Thank you, Cole.”

Chapter Text

„Ugh, this is getting me nowhere!” With a frustrated sigh, Morgan cast aside the scroll she had been studying for the better part of an hour.

“If the solution was obvious, others would have already found it before us”, Cullen said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “We need to keep looking, I refuse to believe…”

“I admire your determination”, Morgan said, stifling a yawn. “But it is well past midnight. We should get some rest.” She stood up from her chair at their shared desk, stretching her stiffened limbs.

Cullen didn’t move, still crouched low over the book in front of him, rereading the same paragraph for the umpteenth time without properly grasping its content. “I will join you in a moment.”

Morgan walked over to her husband and started massaging his tense neck and shoulders. “Don’t take too long.” She kissed him on the back of his head. “And you should really consider getting some kind of visual aid, as Rosalie suggested.”

“Thanks for your concern, but my eyes are fine. It is just… the candlelight makes it harder to read…”

“Yes, love, that is because your eyes are-“

“Um, sorry. Can I come in?” A shy, little voice came from the half-opened study door. Cullen and Morgan had left it ajar on purpose in case any of the siblings needed them.

The transcript of the ancient dwarven text on mining lyrium instantly forgotten, Cullen looked up, a soft smile on his face. “Of course, Ellie. Come on in.”

“Are you alright, little one?” Morgan asked, walking her over to the desk.

Ellie nodded. “I can’t sleep.” She placed her doll on the desk and started clumsily climbing on Cullen’s lap. Once up there, she grabbed her doll and snuggled against his chest.

“Oh.” Taken aback by Ellie’s unexpected display of familiarity, Cullen didn’t stop her. Awkwardly, he wrapped his arms around the girl, so she would not fall off. The siblings had been with them for a few weeks now. But this was the first time Ellie came looking for the two of them at night. Usually, she would just climb in bed with her brother Titus, and he would tell her stories until she fell asleep again.

“Can I stay with you for a bit?”, she asked, her big, hazel eyes hopefully looking up towards Morgan.

“I- Yes, of course.” Morgan studied the girl curiously. She could not tell exactly what it was, but something seemed different about her. “If you think this will help you sleep, I think we can make an exception.”

Cullen gave Morgan a knowing look. He sensed it, too. “How about, um, Morgan will read you a story… and- and you can stay here, with me, until you fall asleep?” Burying her head deeper into Cullen’s shoulder, the little girl nodded.

Morgan went over to their extensive bookshelf, stretching over two walls of the study room. Quickly, she found what she was looking for. A volume with a collection of Thedosian children’s fairytales, which had been one of her favourites when she still lived with her family.

She didn’t even get to finish the first paragraph of the classical story about a princess and her knight in shining armour, when they heard the low and steady breathing, Ellie now fast asleep in Cullen’s arms. Morgan exchanged a look with him. They had both seen it. Before Ellies eyes had closed with one last flicker, her hazel irises had turned a pale, icy blue colour.

***

Ostwick, 9:17 Dragon

„Young Miss, did you hear what I just said?” Brother Henrice slapped down the heavy volume titled The New Cumberland Chant of Light on Morgan’s desk to get her attention. The elderly cleric was a high-ranking scholar at the Chantry of the University of Orlais, when he was not tutoring another generation of Trevelyans in the Free Marcher city of Ostwick.

In addition to their regular lessons in the mornings, twice a week, the two youngest children of Bann Trevelyan, Maxwell and Morgan, would receive tutoring from Brother Henrice in the afternoon, while their older siblings Michael and Marcella were required to accompany their parents on diplomatic travels. As was tradition, the youngest scions of House Trevelyan were taught from a young age to lead a life as a devoted member of the Chantry. All third born and younger offspring were expected to become initiates, from here on they were free to choose whether they would seek to become a Templar or follow a more academically oriented path.

Nine-year-old Morgan Evelyn Trevelyan had neither of those aspirations. She would rather spend her days horse racing against her brother, reading her favourite books over and over again and helping their cook make all sorts of sweet, delicious pastries in the kitchens. And while Morgan found the tales and teachings of Andraste, bride and prophet of the Maker, to be interesting for the most parts, she failed to see why she needed to know all these extensive canticles by heart. Yet, she often surprised Brother Henrice with insightful remarks and occasionally made their tutor squirm, when she rightfully questioned certain rulings applied by the Chantry ages ago.

“I- well, not exactly…”, Morgan admitted.

“Then I will repeat my question: During that time, do you think Maferath’s betrayal of Andraste could-“, he stopped when he noticed that Morgan’s gaze went straight through him, as if he wasn’t even there. But when he turned around, all he could see was the Trevelyan family crest depicting a strong, proud steed on the wall. “Young Miss, I am well accustomed to your daydreaming during our tutoring hours and if your grades weren’t as good as they are, I would have long had a word with your father. But you seem especially distracted today.” He sighed, allowing for a slight crack in his usually strict and indifferent demeanour. “Is everything alright?”

“Brother Henrice, we are told while we sleep, we go to the Fade when we dream. But what is the Fade, exactly? Can it be anything I want it to be?”

The scholar’s eyebrows rose, an unreadable expression on his face. “What a curious question and completely unrelated to today’s curriculum. May I ask what brought this on, Miss Morgan?”

“In Threnodies 5, we learn how the Maker created the Fade and the spirits and how it is said to be full of endless possibilities. So, last night, in my dream, I decided to wander around a bit. And suddenly, I could see all sorts of things I’d never seen before. I visited a grand ball; saw two people I did not know fall in love there and… What do you think that meant?”

There was silence in the drawing room. Maxwell looked at his younger sister, eyes wide open, while Brother Henrice did his best to hide his uneasiness, but to no avail. “I am going to stop you right there, young Miss”, the sharp tone in his voice startled Morgan. “It meant nothing. You were probably just remembering what you’ve read in of one these books you are so fond of and confuse letting your mind wander with an actual dream. You are dismissed for today.”

“Brother Henrice, please. I just wanted to know…”

“I said you are dismissed. You too, young Master Maxwell.”

“But… I don’t understand.”

Maxwell wrapped his hand around Morgan’s upper arm. “Come, Evvy. You heard him. Let’s get out of here”, he said gently, pulling her towards the drawing room door.

“What did I do wrong?” Morgan was confused.

“Nothing! You hear me? There is nothing wrong with you, Evvy!”, Maxwell proclaimed a bit too hastily.

“You have always been a bad liar.”

“Well, so have you.”

“Then tell me what is going on.”

“I- I can’t, Evvy”, he said quietly. Morgan could see her own worry reflected in his strong, bluish-grey eyes, which were so much like hers. “Not here, anyway. And I am anything but certain… Let’s get up on the roof.”

“Fine”, Morgan grumbled and followed her older brother. Unbeknownst to the rest of their family – or so they believed – Morgan and Maxwell had made themselves a hiding spot on one of the flattened rooftops of the mansion, which they could access through one of the small, round attic windows by using the ivy creeping up the façade as a climbing aid.

“Soon we will have outgrown the way to our little hideout”, Maxwell grunted, as he squeezed himself through the window, before helping his sister do the same.

They approached the nook next to the chimney which they had claimed as their own, carefully setting one foot in front of the other, the tiles still slightly slick from this morning’s rain shower.

“Watch out, Evvy. Last time I was up here, there was a mossy patch, and I nearly slipped-“ And then he did. Crying out in shocked horror, Maxwell slid down the roof and vanished over the edge, prone to falling several dozens of feet to the ground.

“Max!” Morgan was already flat on her stomach, prepared to crawl to the edge to find her brother’s lifeless body lying-

“Evvy? I am alright! Don’t come closer!”, he commanded her, his breathing quick and shallow. “My leg got caught in the ivy vines… Wait, what is happening?”

Within seconds, Morgan could make out the vines creeping up over the edge of the roof top towards her, pulling up Maxwell, whose leg they were tightly wrapped around.

Morgan helped her brother settle next to her on the flat roof and started ripping the vines off him.

“Thank you, Evvy.”

“Don’t thank me!”, she snapped, hot tears burning in her eyes. “Do you realise what just happened? It was me, wasn’t it? I could feel it.”

“Nothing happed. I didn’t see anything”, he lied.

“Max, you know what that means! They will send me away. They will think I am a monster, that I cannot be around you anymore or that I might hurt you!” Sobbing and shaking, Morgan broke down, desperately clinging to her knees, which she had pulled up close to her chin.

Without hesitating, Maxwell wrapped his arms around his younger sister. “We can work this out, Evvy. No one will know if we don’t tell them. And I certainly won’t.”

“I don’t want to go to the circle, Maxi. But mama and papa always say mages are not to be trusted. And- and I- I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t”, he said, trying to put every ounce of confidence is his voice he could muster. “As a matter of fact, you just saved me, Evvy.”

Morgan did not say anything. She was rocking back and forth now, her sobbing subsided, replaced by irregular hiccups.

“Evvy, what is our family motto?”

With an incredulous little laugh, Morgan shook her head. “Modest in temper, bold in deed”, she recited instinctively.

“Precisely. And that is exactly what I need you to be now, Evvy. Be bold. Be brave. I know you can. Please, for me?” And while Morgan could not bear to look her brother in the eyes right now, she could clearly hear that he, too, was on the verge of tears.

Still shaky, Morgan nodded slowly.

After the initial shock and once Morgan had calmed down, the two siblings had settled on the woollen blanket they had stashed up here, their backs leaning against the chimney. They let their gaze drift above the city; in the southeast, they could make out the seagulls circling over Ostwick’s harbour district and the glittering see reflecting the sun on the horizon. They listed to the distant Chantry bells and Morgan could feel a shiver run down her spine with every low chime. If she would have turned her head around, which she did not dare to right now, she would have been able to make out the silhouette of the Ostwick Circle Tower only a few miles outside the city itself.

“Has Marcella told you how she liked great-aunt Lucille’s summer ball?” Maxwell broke the silence between them after a while. “She was so excited to attend for the first time as a debutant.”

“She has. She said her dance card was full before the first dance even began. No wonder, she is awfully pretty”, Morgan said with a sad smile.

“So are you!”, her brother nudged her in the side.

“I once heard mama tell auntie that if I were a boy, I would have been “a handsome young lad””, she snorted humourlessly.

“Don’t listen to her, Evvy. You have just the same prominent nose and strong blue eyes as… I have…” Maxwells studied his sister’s face with a frown.

“Why are looking at me like that?”

“Your eyes-“

“What about them?”

“They look like the night sky. All dark and purple, with golden specks…”

***

“Is he afraid of me?” Ellie asked quietly, dangling her legs from a tree stump in the vegetable garden and fumbling with her doll, while Morgan cut down the last stalks of this season’s rhubarb crop. “Is that why Cullen has taken Titus up to the big house? Because”, she swallowed hard, trying to hold back her tears, “I am afraid of me, too, you know? I don’t want to hurt him. Or anyone.”

Morgan put the bundle of rhubarb stalks down and came over to kneel beside the girl.

“It is absolutely understandable to be scared at first, little one. For both of you.” Morgan placed her hand on Ellie’s. “I was, too, when I discovered my magic.”

“Nah, you are messing with me!” The girl chuckled. “I know who you are. People are still talking about all those brave things Incrisistoher Trevelyan did.”

Morgan laughed upon the butchered title. “I am flattered”, she said with a smile. “But I was not much older than you are now when my magic manifested. And I was horribly afraid. The issue is fear makes some mages more prone to unintended and uncontrolled magical outbursts. That is, why it so important for us that we learn to understand and control our magic from a young age.”

“You told us when we got here that I might become a mage soon. And you told us that there are special schools to learn magic. You will send me away, won’t you?”, Ellie asked, tears now streaming down her cheeks.

“Of course not!” Morgan’s heart broke, as she took the shaking girl into her arms. “The Circle of Magi and the College of Enchanters are institutions where mages live, study and research together. But no one will ever make you go there, if you don’t want to.” Oh, how times have changed, she thought.

“Promise?”

“Promise!”

On their way back to the cottage, Ellie stopped at the newly planted rose bushes. “Will we have roses soon? They are my favourite flowers.”

“No, these won’t come into bloom until next year”, Morgan explained. “Their roots will need grow deeper and stronger first, before they can get enough nutrition for the roses to bud.”

“Will I still be here then?”, she whispered, delicately stroking one the gnarly branches, careful not to prick her finger at the thorns.

“Certainly, if that is what you want”, Morgan reassured her. “Although, in that case it might be wise if I teach you a thing or two about magic myself”, she added, as if she had only just thought if it now. But for Cullen and her, this had always been an option.

“You would do that?”

“Someone has to. I haven’t really taught anyone before, so we will have to figure some things out together. But I get the feeling”, Morgan watched with a smile, as under Ellies gentle touch the bush’s leaves started to grow, buds formed and burst open to reveal beautiful large, pink roses, “that you have a natural talent for this.”

Chapter Text

“And you are certain about your choice?” Cullen observed Titus scrutinizingly, standing with his back against the desk in Rosalie’s provisional study in the villa, his arms crossed over his stomach. It was one of the few rooms in the imposing building currently furnished to a somewhat comfortable degree apart from the chapel and Delrin’s private quarters.

“I- Yes, Ser.” Titus’s gaze went down to the two mabari sitting still to Cullen’s left and right, readily awaiting their master’s next command.

“You do realize the burden this knowledge might place on your relationship with your sister?”

“Probably not fully”, Titus admitted, looking Cullen straight in the eyes, straightening his shoulders, to match Cullen’s pose. At only fifteen years of age, he stood nearly as tall as the man before him. “But this won’t stop me from doing everything I can to help her. And that is my final answer.”

“You heard the boy, Cullen.” Delrin, who had mostly been quietly listening to their conversation for the last two hours from his position at the window, came over to them and placed a hand the Titus’s shoulder. “He won’t waver, no matter what you ask of him.”

A small smile flit across Cullen’s face and he nodded. He tapped his left hand against his thigh twice, and the dogs dropped down immediately. While Mischief laid his head on the floor to rest next to Cullen’s feet, May went over to the boy. Panting and tail wagging, she sat down and looked at him expectantly.

“Very well.” Cullen picked up one of the book’s he had brought with him earlier this morning. “If I understand correctly, you haven’t properly been taught how to read and write yet.”

Titus’s face burnt red. “No, Ser. There was no one who could have. Helga taught me the letters and a few simple words, though. But I would like to learn- What does she want?” Confused, he looked down at May, who had placed her paw against his leg.

“Your attention, of course”, Cullen said, watching them both curiously. “It might make it easier for you, if you could at least take some notes during your lessons. So, we will be working on that as well. Hold out your hand and command her to give you her paw.”

“I am not sure- Ugh, okay. Fine.” Succumbing to May’s soft whining, Titus held down his hand. “What do I say?”

“Paw”, Cullen said in a low, neutral tone.

“Paw?”

“Try a more commanding tone. You are not asking her for a favour, she is waiting for your permission.”

“Um… May, paw. Oh!”, Titus huffed out in surprise, when the mabari put her paw firmly in his hand. Awkwardly, he petted her side and she nuzzled her snout against his thigh.

“Can I ask you something?”, the boy asked after a few moments of silence.

“Certainly”, Cullen nodded. Both men waited for him to continue.

“Will it ever get any easier?”, he wanted to know. “Knowing, that a person you deeply care about could become a danger? Even if the chances seem small?”

“I- This is- Maker’s breath…” Caught off guard, Cullen took a moment to contemplate, as he could feel Delrin’s gaze burning on his skin.

His mind took him away to a day several years ago, when Morgan and he had shared one of their all too rare quiet moments away from Skyhold. Away from the Inquisition. He would never forget the hurt and the doubts in her eyes as she looked at him that night. You’ve seen the worst mages have to offer. How can you not see that in me? He was taken aback at first, why she would say something like that. But it was true, at the least the first part of her statement. After what he had experienced at Kinloch Hold and later in Kirkwall, and all the things in between… He had become a different person during that time. And not one he was proud of. He had done his best to leave that version of himself behind, when he boarded the ship back to Ferelden. So, when Morgan had asked her question, his answer came confident and reassuringly, as they held hands on the small dock, the stars and the moon reflected in the mirror-like surface of the lake he had taken her to the only witnesses to their intimate moment. I don’t. Whatever I fear of magic, I see none of that in you.

“Honestly?”, Cullen said after a while, “no. Not really, anyway. Which I fault mostly my Templar education for. I trust Morgan, with my life and all my heart. And I do my best not to think about what could theoretically happen. I am aware of it at any given time, but by the Maker, I will not let that affect what we have and what she has proven to be.” And just like all these years ago, there was not a single doubt on his mind, as he spoke these words with absolute certainty.

***

Honnleath, 9:15 Dragon

“Hey, Cul?”

“What is it, Branson?” Cullen asked without looking up from the drawer where he was searching for one his less worn-out linen tunics.

“Would you rather fight against one gargantuan hurlock or one hundred tiny druffalos?”, his little brother prompted.

“Why would I want to fight the druffalos at all? They are harmless unless provoked.”

“Because… Well, I don’t know! Those druffalos aren’t tame, they have been corrupted by an evil blood mage and have venomous horn tips!”

“That sounds ridiculous”, Cullen shook his head, as he pulled out the shirt he had been looking for.

“Ugh! Would you just answer the question?”

“But if the druffalos were indeed corrupted, shouldn’t we rather be looking into that blood mage…”

“You are no fun at that game, you know that?”

“Maybe you should ask more plausible questions then… What in-? Why-? By Andraste’s nightgown! Miaaaa!” Cullen stormed out of the bedroom he shared with his younger brother. He could hear Branson’s laughter following him down the hallway.

Red faced, his blonde curls tussled and only one arm through a sleeve of the tunic he had failed to put on, he stomped into his sisters’ bedroom.

“Cullen, why aren’t you dressed yet?” His mother, who had just finished tying Rosie’s hair into two pigtails, looked at him with furrowed brows. “You are usually not one to dawdle. We will be late for Sunday mass as it is.”

Cullen could hear Mia snickering, as she tried to hide behind their mother. He took a deep breath to steady his voice. “I am sorry, mother.” Pointing accusingly with the unworn sleeve towards his eldest sister, he explained: “She sewed my sleeves together. Again. I cannot wear my shirt like this.”

Their mother sighed. “Mia, go help your brother. I’ll need to see if your father found his good shoes.”

“Certainly, mother.” Mia jumped off the bed, a wide grin on her face as she walked over to her younger brother. “And I think I saw the dog with one of them.”

After the mass, Cullen had stayed behind in the Honnleath chantry to browse the small selection of chantry approved literature available to the public. His father was waiting patiently for him at the door, while his mother and his siblings had already left the building with the rest of the chantrygoers. A section with only a hand full of books labelled “Miscellaneous” housed a wide variety of topics. An Adventurer’s Guide to Rivain, Mabari: A History and Legends of Ferelden where some of the volumes which caught his attention. Stretching his arm up high, he was about to pluck Advanced Chess Stratagems by Carl Magnusen from the shelf, as he heard two people talk in a low whisper on the other side of the shelf, presumably unaware of the eight-year-old strolling through this part of the library.

“Have you received word from Tavish yet?”, one of the voices asked.

Cullen recognised her at once as Knight-Templar Violette’s. He would never admit this to anyone, but the templars were his favourite part about their visits to the chantry. He admired these defenders of the people with all their fearlessness and prowess, standing watch and fighting in the name of the Maker. The chantry in Honnleath housed only a few templars and while they did not know him, he knew all of them by name and rank – which is why Cullen had noticed the absence of Knight-Templar Tavish over the past few weeks, but he had not been brave enough to ask anyone about him.

“Indeed, I have”, said the other voice, which had to be Knight-Captain Bryant’s. “He and his men successfully undermined the attempted trafficking of elves from the Redcliffe alienage destined for Tevinter.”

“Did they really think they could have made their way up to the Waking Sea without arousing any suspicions?”

“Apparently, there was a lot of indifference and the exchange of several hundred sovereign involved. They had bribed a few unassuming fishermen who were supposed to ship them up north by night.”

“Will Tavish be back soon?”

“I doubt it. They called him to Denerim. I guess good old Tavish is finally up for his well-deserved promotion! Oh, and I almost forgot. As it turned out, some of the children they had captured are mages. Someone must have thought it would be easier to dispose of them that way then sending them to the circle. Can you believe that?”

“This is utterly revolting! They have hopefully been taken care of?”

“Yes. I heard First Enchanter Irving took it upon himself to ensure they arrive safely at Kinloch Hold.”

Cullen had listened in awe to every word the two templars had exchanged, until his father had called for him and he remembered, ashamed of himself, that it was impolite to listen in on someone else’s conversation. He grabbed the book and brought it over to the Sister in charge of the library.

“Wouldn’t you rather get one of these?”, she asked with a kind smile, as she noticed the title of the book in Cullen’s hand and pointed to the measly children’s book section containing the entirety of three, battered volumes.

“No, thank you”, he said politely. “Just this one, please.”

His father only shook his head, when he saw what book Cullen had clutched to his chest; a large chess piece depicted on the cover. He had already witnessed his sons’ recent obsession with besting their older sister in a game of chess.

Cullen loved his siblings. But he also sometimes needed a bit of quiet alone time, which was hard to get in a small house with three other children and a dog. The small dock at the lake only a short distance from their home had become his favourite spot for when his siblings were especially raucous and he just wanted to feel like he could properly breathe again.

Later that day, Cullen sat on the docks, dangling his short, chubby legs above the water and flipped through the book he had gotten from the chantry library. He wasn’t delusional. He had known that he would not be able to actually read the instructions provided on these advanced chess moves. At least not good enough to follow them. A few months ago, Cullen had talked one of their elderly neighbours into teaching him how to read, in exchange he would be weeding their absurdly large vegetable patches every other week. But he did find in the book what he had been hoping for: a series of drawings and sketches explaining the different moves. And those, he thought, he could easily learn how to follow.

Usually, it was easy for him to focus on and get lost in an activity he found interesting and exciting. But, as aggravating as it was for him to admit, today his mind kept wondering, going back to the conversation he had overheard between the two templars.

Finally, he admitted defeat, that he would not get to enjoy his new book today and snapped it shut, as he heard giggling and running behind him. Rosie clumsily bumped into his back and wrapped her arms around her eldest brother, who had already caught her, so she would not fall into the lake.

“Found you!”, she squealed. “Now it’s your turn, Cul!”

“Rosie, I told you Cullen wasn’t playing hide-and-seek with us today”, Mia laughed, gently grabbing their baby sister by the arm and started to drag her away to the landside of the dock, where Branson was waiting for them. “You alright?”, she asked Cullen, looking back at him.

Cullen nodded. Slowly, he stood up. He took a few steps towards the lake shore, then stopped. “When I grow up, I am going to be a templar”, he declared solemnly, his voice uncharacteristically deep and mature, even for him.

There was a moment of silence between the four of them, only cut short by Rosie. “Oh, I want to play that game, too! When I grow up, I am going to be… um, a princess! No, better! A cat!”, she beamed at them.

“Yeah, sure you will, Ser Cullen!”, Branson shouted laughing while taking a run-up and attempting to tackle his older brother into the lake unsuccessfully. “Maker’s breath, you are just too heavy!”, he huffed with a grin, sounding only mildly disappointed.

A few weeks later, the four Rutherford children were playing together on a field behind their house, when their father came looking for them, wearing his flour-dusted apron and a kitchen cloth thrown over his right shoulder.

“I have been wondering where my strainers had gone”, he said with an amused smile, as he spotted his missing utensils repurposed as helmets on top of Cullen’s and Branson’s heads.

“Papa! Look, Cul and Branny are templars. I am a prostate. They need to catch me!”, Rosalie was happy to let their father in on their play.

“I can see that, my little apostate”, he laughed heartily. “And are those your mother’s new sofa cushions strapped to your chests, boys? She will not be too pleased if she finds out… Mia, weren’t you supposed to look after your siblings?”

Sulking, Mia looked at their father. “I am! Who do you think made them wear the armour?”

***

The sweet and tangy scent of the rhubarb-crumble-cake baking in the oven filled every crevice of the cottage kitchen and greeted Cullen as he opened the door to get inside, followed by Titus.

“You came back!”, Ellie rejoiced. She jumped off the stool she had used to stand next to Morgan at the kitchen counter and ran towards her brother, pulling him down into a hug.

“Of course I did”, he said confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, because… never mind”, she whispered, burying her face against his chest.

“Why don’t we go outside to play with the dogs? What do you think, Ellie?”, he asked, stroking her hair.

“Yes, I would like that”, Ellie sniffled. “Can we go outside?”, she asked, looking at Cullen and Morgan.

Wiping her hands on a kitchen cloth, Morgan nodded, and she could feel relieve spreading throughout her body. She smiled at the two siblings. “Of course. We will get you once dinner is ready.”

“And the cake?”

“That too.”

Once Titus, Ellie and the two excited mabari had closed the door behind them, Cullen came over to Morgan to wrap her into a warm, tight embrace. “They will be alright now, won’t they?”, she asked him.

Cullen nodded. “We will see to that. I promise.”

Chapter Text

Morgan was late. Later than she had planned at least. Who could have known that the meeting with Keeper Lanaya, which Loranil and Neria had kindly arranged for her on neutral ground at the outskirts of the Southron Hills near Ostagar, would fall right around the time when the most severe thunderstorm of the summer was about to occur? She had planned for a five-day trip but now it was already late in the afternoon of the sixth, her travels delayed by more than a day which she had to spend sheltered from rain and lightning in a small, abandoned hut at the roadside.

During this journey Morgan had also been keeping an eye out for the red-headed woman they kept meeting after she and Cullen had left Skyhold for good about a year ago. But ever since Sera had chased after her that Wintersend evening, she had made herself sparse and wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Which, Morgan was certain, did not mean that the woman could not just as well be still close by. 

The woollen and linen fabrics of her travel clothes still damp, the occasional smaller shower and the lack of sunshine preventing it from drying since she took to the road again this morning, she spurned her stallion to go as fast as she dared on the last two miles to not exhaust the mabari following at her side too much.

The moment Morgan reached the edge of Reposo Valley, the sun had finally broken through the blanket of dark, heavy clouds for the first time in days, casting its golden and orange light on the glittering lake at the basin of the valley.

She slowed down, taking in the view in front of her. Home, she thought, a smile curling at the corners of her mouth, as a warm feeling spread through her chest. I’m home. She took in a deep breath, the scent of petrichor still heavy in the crisp mountain air, despite it being hours since the last downpour.

As they trotted closer, Morgan could make out the smoke coming from the chimney of the cottage behind the small orchard, as well as two people sitting by the lakeside, one of them with long braids, petting May’s exposed belly. Hearing Mischief’s longing whimper, Morgan gave the mabari next to her permission to roam free. Immediately, the war hound thrashed towards his friend. After making himself known with a few excited barks, the two dogs reunited, affectionately sniffing and playfully nibbling at each other’s ears.

Titus and Lowrie had watched the scene from their blanket at the lakeside and now joined Morgan and the two mabari.

“You are back!” Lowrie gave her aunt a welcoming hug. Titus followed after her, the rosy glow on his cheeks did not go unnoticed by Morgan. “Good to see you, Morgan”, he said with a smile.

“I am. And don’t”, Morgan laughed. “My cloths are still rather damp…”

“I don’t mind. Here”, Lowrie said, taking the reins from Morgan’s hand, “jump off. Titus and I will take care of your horse.”

“How is everybody? Is your mother still here, too?”

“Well, I’d be lying if I told you Cullen hasn’t been getting a bit restless, when you didn’t return as planned. But he did his best to hide it from Ellie. And I don’t think she noticed, I just did because he has the same tells as mum. And yeah, she and Ro are currently at the villa with Delrin.”

“Thank you, dear. Titus”, Morgan looked at the young man with a knowing smile, “I trust you and May will be looking after my niece.”

Titus cleared his throat, the rosy sheen on his cheeks growing deep red and spreading all the way to his ears. “Of course, Morgan.”

For a moment, Morgan watched as the two adolescents led her horse towards the stables, chatting and laughing casually, with May dutifully at Titus’s side, before she continued her way towards the cottage, followed by Mischief.

“Thank the Maker, there you are!”

It took Morgan a moment to realize from where Cullen’s voice was coming from, while Mischief had already spotted his master and walked over to him, his tail wagging happily. The dining table had been pushed closer towards the back of the sofa and the chairs were positioned a few feet away from the table. Everything was covered in blankets. Cullen’s golden, slightly dishevelled curls were poking out from under one of the blankets. As he crawled out of the cave, getting up with a soft grunt, Morgan could glimpse at a sleeping Ellie resting on top of what must be every single cushion that was to be found in the cottage, her doll Rosie tightly clutched to her chest.

“I was wor- um, I mean, I am relieved you made it back safely.” They greeted each other with a deep kiss.

“Me too”, Morgan whispered, resting her chin in the crook of his neck, eyes closed. “Whose idea was the cave?”, she asked with a chuckle, as they let go of each other.

“I, hu, guess it was mine”, Cullen laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ellie got frightened by the lightning and the rolling thunder. And well, the first thing that came to mind was to distract her by building our own pillow-Skyhold to keep us, um, well, safe…”

“Oh, you sweet, wonderful man…” Morgan sealed their lips with another kiss, trying to put everything into it for which, after her journey, she currently did not have the right words.

When Morgan returned to the open-spaced kitchen and living room area nearly an hour later, refreshed and in dry clothes, Mischief was sleeping in his favourite spot next to the fireplace, while Cullen was busying himself in the kitchen, Ellie standing next to him on her stool at the kitchen counter, just as she often did when Morgan was cooking or baking. With a smile, Morgan noticed Cullen confidently wearing one of her florally embroidered aprons over his tall, broad frame, which made her ex-templar husband look ridiculously charming.

“What are we having?” Curiously, Morgan watched him stirring a pot on the stove. While they did spend time in the kitchen together on a regular basis, usually he would simply follow her instructions or help her with prepping the ingredients. Which she preferred most of the time; after all, cooking and baking where things she enjoyed immensely and helped her relax.

“You seem surprised”, he said with a cheeky grin. “And to be honest, I am not quite sure myself”, he laughed.

“I’m helping”, Ellie explained, after giving Morgan a hug, apparently taking her task rather serious. “I get to taste a spoon full and decide whether I like it or not.”

Morgan grinned. “Well, that is certainly one way of doing it. Looks like a lot of spinach, though.”

“It is one of my father’s old recipes”, his eyes grew soft. “Mia found his recipe book stashed away in a small crate in her house the other day. Apparently, it was one of the few things they were able to save when they had to flee from the Blight. But as you can see”, he turned the handwritten book laying on the counter towards Morgan, so she could read it, “his instructions are not exactly, um, easy to follow.”

Morgan’s eyes flew over the recipe. She started flipping through the rest of the pages and let out a delighted giggle. “I see”, she nodded. Deegan Rutherford’s notes were written in the somehow crude, yet careful hand of a person not used to holding quills, the words often spelled by sound, rather than following the common spelling rules. In addition, his instructions were kept short and simple, lacking some of the crucial details a person who doesn’t cook very often would probably not know of. To top it all off, his measuring units consisted mostly of hand fulls, dollops, splashes, pinches, as neededs and to tastes. This must be a nightmare for Cullen, she thought. “May I have a taste as well?”

“But be careful”, Ellie warned. “It’s very hot!”

***

Together, they had successfully managed to decipher the instructions in the recipe. Just as the sun was about to set behind the mountain tops in the distance, Ellie had happily finished setting the table outside in the small cottage garden while Cullen brought out two large baking pans of spinach, chard and sheep’s milk cheese pie with shallots and nutmeg.

Once dinner was over, it was time for the siblings to go to bed, since Titus still refused to let Ellie be on her own during the nights. Lowrie said she would retreat to the guest bedroom, which she shared with her mother, taking Mischief with her for a prolonged cuddle session, which the mabari was not opposed to.

“Your decisions regarding the floral arrangements are final?”

Morgan nodded, swirling her clay goblet with the dry white wine they had served with the pies. “We will be combining red amaranth, white globe amaranths, reedgrass, dark smoketree leaves, rose hips and fennel blossoms. I like their warm, rich autumn colours and hope they will complement the fabrics you suggested for our attire.”

“Yes, about that”, Mia sipped at her wine and took out her sketchbook, her eyes sparkling excitedly as she continued, “I know there are only about seven weeks left till your celebration, but I wanted to run some ideas by you I had regarding your dress, Morgan…”

While Morgan and Mia discussed last minute additions and alterations to their wardrobe, Cullen lit a few oil lamps and torches in the garden and brought out their cloaks. The air had gotten rather chilly this late in the evening. Inside, he noticed Lowrie and Mischief asleep on the sofa. Gently, he put a blanket from the now dismantled pillow-Skyhold over her before he headed outside again.

Looking from Morgan and Mia to Rosalie who was quietly talking with Delrin, he shook his head, incredulous that this was apparently his life now. So peaceful and quiet. Something he had not dared to dream of until little more than a year ago. And he was perfectly content with it.

“Sit down, Cullen, we’ve got everything we need”, Ro patted the seat on the bench between her and Delrin. “We were just talking about your new guests. Do you know when they will arrive?”

“Paxley, Hugh and Ruvena should be here by the end of next week. They served with me in Kirkwall”, Cullen said, taking his seat next to Rosalie. “They were still mere Templar-Recruits at the time I arrived in the Free Marches myself. I am glad they haven’t lost their faith and are willing to come here.”

“Then I will be back here in a week”, Rosalie said. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Cullen. But we need to work on our… arrangement. You know I always wanted to-”

“Certainly, Ro! You always talked about opening your own clinic in South Reach now that you finished your medical training. Please don’t feel obligated…”

“But I do. But I think it would help immensely if I had someone to assist me here and could help out on the days I am not at the villa.”

“We’ll find someone. I am certain of it.”

“Thank you. And don’t think that will keep me from riding out here at least once a week. You will not be getting rid of me that easily”, Rosalie teased.

Impishly, Cullen nudged her in the side. “I was counting on it, little sister.”

Chapter Text

“I think that is all we needed from you this time, Ro. Thank you”, Cullen said, casually leaning against the desk in Villa Reposo’s newly professionally equipped treatment room. He pushed his reading spectacles up the bridge of his nose and put down the list he had been studying, before Rosalie handed him her latest treatment reports. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

“Not today, I am afraid. I promised one of my patients I would check in with them once I got back today.” Rosalie stood up from her chair, propping herself on the table to take a look at the list Cullen had just put down. “According to your allocation plan, two thirds of the guest rooms are currently occupied. How does it feel?”, she looked at her older brother, “Knowing, that these men and women not only want to follow your example but are willing to seek out your support during these arduous months?”

“For one, a little intimidating”, Cullen laughed quietly. “But mostly, I am simply glad we can help those who want to choose a different path for their lives. And”, his eyes darkened, “make the lives of those who are too far gone a bit more bearable in their last days. Ro, the work you do here and the help you provide are invaluable to us. We could not have done this without you.”

“Stop, you are making me feel uncomfortable with all these praises. And I really need to go now”, Rosalie said, giving him a hug goodbye. “I’ll let Delrin know I am ready to leave. He wanted to accompany me back to South Reach to pay Mia a visit.”

Cullen nodded, a knowing smile on his face. “He should be in the common room with some of our guests. I’ll see you to him.” He led Rosalie to the former drawing room of the generous villa, as Mother Jans, a seasoned Chantry nurse who had led the charge of the humanitarian aid provided for the City of Amaranthine in the aftermath of the darkspawn attack several years ago, and one of Rosalie’s new assistants at Villa Reposo, caught up with them.

“Excuse me, Ser Cullen?”, she said, and Cullen noticed the uneasiness in her voice.

“Is everything alright, Mother Jans?”, Cullen asked, slightly alarmed.

“I am not sure. There is… There is a man waiting outside. He asked to speak with you.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“He did not give a name, but from what I could tell based on the insignia on his armour, he must be a Knight-Captain.”

Cullen frowned. They were not expecting any new guests for at least another four weeks and there were no open applications as far as he was aware. And for apparent reasons none of their current guests were still actively serving in what remained after the war and the reformation under Devine Victoria of the Templar Order. “Thank you, Mother Jans. I’ll be with him at once.” With a sharp whistle, Cullen called Mischief to his side.

Cullen walked down the wide marble staircase leading from the vestibule to the forecourt of the magnificent building. In its centre a man stood at attention in full templar plate, his helmet placed on the edge of the fountain next him. He had one hand placed on his back, the other rested ever vigilant on the hilt of his sword.

To Cullen’s relieve, the mabari at his side stayed quiet, which he took as a sign that the templar, whose rank Mother Jans had correctly identified as Knight-Captain, did not pose an imminent threat.

“How may I help you, Knight-Captain?” As Cullen came closer, he noticed something familiar about the man. He studied him thoroughly. He was about an inch taller than Cullen. His, what must once have been a deep ink-black, greying beard and hair meticulously trimmed and styled. His most prominent and most uncanny features, though, were his eyes and nose. It took Cullen only a moment before he realized why his face looked so familiar and what felt off about it. He knew those strong features, and rather intimately at that. But not in the bluish-grey version he saw in front of him now, but their dark-plum coloured version with the golden specks, marked by magic.

“Ser Cullen Rutherford?”, the Knight-Captain asked. “It is a pleasure to meet you. There is something I would like to talk to you about.” And if there was the tiniest sliver of doubt left in Cullen, after hearing the gentle, slightly raspy voice laced with the thick accent of the Free Marchers, now he was absolutely certain who this man was.

“I believe”, Cullen looked the templar up and down, subconsciously straightening his posture and mirroring his defensive stance, “whatever you want to tell me, you should also tell her.”

The man gave him a curt nod, let his hand fall off the hilt of his sword and adjusted the strap of the sunshield on his back. “Certainly. Please, lead the way.”

***

“You are doing great, Ellie. Just try holding the spell a little longer next time”, Morgan gave the girl an encouraging smile, as the globe of water Ellie had been levitating splashed back into the lake. “Remember to focus on what you are trying to achieve. You can shape and control reality just by willing things into existence. And don’t be afraid. Magic reacts to our emotions, which means-”

“I know. But sometimes concentrating is really hard”, Ellie complained. “And I am- I am not afraid… I think- I think I am just getting really tired, Morgan”, she yawned.

“Oh, I am sorry, little one. You are right. We have been practicing for quite a while today, haven’t we?”, Morgan apologized. “Then let’s end today’s lesson with one of our breathing exercises.”

Morgan and Ellie sat down in the grass, legs crossed. Morgen opened her eyes again to make sure Ellie was following her instructions correctly. Titus and May had been watching them during Ellie’s lessons. Cullen had suggested that in addition to their own lessons he should also join Morgan and Ellie from time to time, so Titus would learn to recognize different patterns of spell casting and especially those of unintentional use of magic, since those could look different for every mage. And just like his sister herself, he needed to learn to respect her magic without fearing it, if he wanted to be there for her.

“Ellie, keep your eyes closed. I can see you”, Morgan reminded the girl, who was peeking through one half-opened eye.

“But someone is coming”, she whispered.

Morgan’s head turned around to look over her shoulder. Cullen and Mischief were coming their way, followed by a man Morgan did not recognize. But even after everything that has changed in recent years for mages, having someone unexpectedly stride towards them in full templar armour, apart from the helmet he held tugged at his side, made her feel a cold shiver running down her spine. She stood up, instinctively stepping protectively in front of Ellie, who tightly held onto her leg. Titus and May took position at Ellie’s other side.

“Cullen”, Morgan looked enquiringly at her husband, confused as to why his lips twitched into a quick smile, “what is the meaning of this?”

“The Knight-Captain wanted to speak with you”, Cullen said as if this would explain everything.

Morgen froze. She studied the templar’s face closely, searching for even the smallest signs of deceit. But there were none. All she could find were the soft eyes of the boy she had last seen more than twenty-five years ago, crinkled at the corners by age and the sheepish smile she knew so well, now half hidden behind his close-shaven beard.

“It’s good to see you again, Evvy”, the man said in his gentle, raspy voice.

“Max”, Morgan croaked, tears glistening in her eyes and trying to comprehend that her older brother was standing right in front of her.

Max’s gaze lingered for a brief moment on the scar which split her left eyebrow and went down to her cheekbone, then wandered down to her left arm, before he hesitantly reached out for her. Morgan watched him for a few awkward seconds and then pulled her brother into a tight hug.

***

“I’ve found three more!”, Ellie stormed into the cottage, holding up her little wicker basket before placing it energetically on the kitchen counter. “You were right, Cullen, there where more eggs in the chicken coop. I’ll need to remember to look more than once a day from now on.”

“I am glad I could help”, Cullen smiled. “I think Morgan wants to make gooseberry jam for breakfast tomorrow and she needs a few more. Would you mind picking them for her?”

“Can we eat some, too, while we do that?”

“Of course.”

“I am on it. Come, Titus!”, she said, pulling her brother towards the still open door.

“Maker, Ellie”, he laughed. “How are you still so high spirited after today? I’m coming, I’m coming.”

With a bit more force than necessary, the siblings closed the door behind them. Mischief looked up from his napping spot by the fireplace, but shortly put his head down again, affectionately licking May sleeping next to him, before snuggling up against her.

Morgan and Cullen had invited Max back to the cottage. There, Morgan immediately had started prepping the ingredients for a rich and flavourful pumpkin soup, assisted by Cullen, while Max leaned against back of the sofa, facing them while they caught up with each other. For the moment mostly on his part, though, since much of what the Inquisition had done during the four years it had been reinstated wasn’t exactly a secret.

“Ellie and Titus”, Max said, watching the siblings run past the window outside, “they, um, they aren’t yours, are they?”

Morgen stopped peeling the potatoes for a second and looked at him. “No”, she said, clearing her throat. “Not by blood at least, if that is what you are asking.” Automatically she splayed her right hand against her lower abdomen, as Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder.

Maxwell nodded, studying his sister. “I see. They seem happy.”

“I wasn't sure you if you... I thought you were dead”, Morgan said quietly without looking at her brother. “When Kirkwall’s Chantry was blown up and the city fell into chaos, I thought you might have been…”

“What? Oh, Maker, help me. I should have known that nobody would inform you”, he sighed. “Evvy, I wasn’t in Kirkwall anymore by that time. I had long since been transferred to Starkhaven.”

“You were stationed in Kirkwall?”, Cullen looked at him, brows furrowed. “I don’t think I remember ever seeing you there.”

“Neither I you”, Maxwell countered. “But I believe we have a mutual acquaintance. Knight-Captain Rylen. Or, as I learned only a few weeks ago, Seeker Rylen as of recent.”

Maxwell proceeded to tell his sister and his brother-in-law what he had been up to. After he took his vows to join the Templar Order, he insisted not to be sent to Ostwick’s Circle of Magi and was instead asked to serve at the Gallows in Kirkwall, where already at this time they had trouble finding new recruits. This Morgan had known, since up until her Harrowing they had been regularly corresponding with each other.

In the meantime, Maxwell had learned that all his letters he had sent to Morgan since her Harrowing had been interjected, which led him to believe the same happened to the messages she sent him and what was the reason why he hadn’t heard from her in years. Kirkwall’s Templar Order did have strict rules regarding “fraternising” with mages, family or not.

So, when Starkhaven's Circle of Magi burned down in 9:31, Max had asked to be transferred there to aid the remaining templars in their pursuits of bringing order and tracking down the apostates who had fled during the incidence. To his surprise, Knight-Commander Meredith seemed almost eager to get rid of him and had told him she had already agreed to have a Fereldan templar, “with way more potential” than him and who had spent his last months in Greenfell, join her ranks to replace him. Morgan felt Cullen uneasily shifting his weight from one leg to the other when Maxwell mentioned this.

Following the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry six years later, while his by now good friend Rylen was dispatched to lead an aid mission and coordinate rescue efforts in the coastal town, Maxwell and some of his most trusted subordinates went on a mission to secure the Circle of Magi’s safehouses around the Free Marches in expectations of possible unrests. And as turned out, they were urgently needed, once the Mage-Templar-War broke out.

“We have mostly been on clean-up missions for the last two years”, he finished up his story. “But when I received your invitation... Thanks to Rylen, by the way… Evvy, I knew I had to come see you immediately, once I was finished with my last assignment. I just wanted to see at least one last time…”

“Max, you sound like you want to leave. Soon”, Morgan said, a sad look in her eyes. “Will you at least stay until the celebration?”

“Of course, if you’ll have me, I very much would like to, yes.” He let out a sigh of relief.

“I think that goes without saying”, Cullen said, observing Max closely. “Is there something else you would like us to know?”

Maxwell picked up a kitchen cloth, which hung over the back of a chair, nervously fumbling with it, when he continued. “Hm, very observant”, he chuckled dryly.

“I can recognise a templar recently off lyrium from own experience. Will your provisions suffice?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been rationing what I have left and if I am careful, it should last me for another month or so. By then, I will be on my way again anyway.”

“You said last assignment, not latest”, Morgan noted. “Why?” Cullen could hear the hopeful tone in her voice.

“I’ve- hm, I’ve heard word of what you do here. It’s a noble sentiment. But I…”

“Everyone is welcome here.” Morgan walked over to her brother, taking his hand in hers. “Especially if they are family.” She looked over her shoulder and Cullen noded encouragingly, signalling her to continue. “If you want to stay, we’d be happy to have you. For as long as you want to.”

Chapter Text

“Where would you like me to take these crates, Lady Rutherford?”

“It’s not-“, Morgan started to correct the purveyor but then decided against it. Besides, she did like the sound of it - Lady Rutherford. She was used by now to being addressed in several different manners at least twice a day, since she dropped the title of Inquisitor. The more time passed, though, the rarer she was addressed as Andraste’s Herald by strangers and Morgan no longer held any claims as heir to the Trevelyan family name ever since her magic had been discovered. Meanwhile, the staff they had hired to help around Villa Reposo had insisted on using formal titles when addressing her and Cullen as a form of respect. “If you could just bring them over to the canopy, that would be kind. My husband will be with you shortly and help you unload the cart. These arrangements are incredibly beautiful, thank you so much for your work and bringing them all the way out here.”

“My pleasure. Mia spoke very highly of you and a friend of hers is a friend of mine. Especially, if there is some business to be done.” He winked at Morgan, which she responded with an awkward laugh. According to Mia, Tristan Plainsborough was the best in his field and actually a pretty decent person but might come off as a bit smarmy at first.

“Do you need my help out here, love?” Cullen stepped out of the cottage and Mischief took the opportunity to squeeze past him, inspecting the crates with the floral arrangements, candles and other decorative elements by sniffing them extensively.

“Would you mind helping Tristan unload the cart?”

“Not at all.” Cullen gave her a sweet, quick kiss in passing. “By the way, those steamed dumplings you are making smell incredible.”

“The dumplings! I’ll leave you two to it!” Hastily, Morgan rushed into the kitchen, where she managed to rip the saucepan off the stove barely in time before the milk and sugar, in which the yeast dumplings where steaming, would turn from caramelized to burnt.  

The heavy scents of the sweet dumplings and the oven roasted, spiced plum compote they were served with still hung in the air, as Cullen and Titus cleaned the dishes, while Morgan had taken Ellie outside for another practical lesson in magic.

Most of their friends from their days with the Inquisition had announced they would arrive a day earlier to help out with the final wedding preparations and Cullen and Morgan were expecting them any minute now.

Early that afternoon, Delrin and Maxwell had joined them near the lake, where the linen marquee was to be set up to shield the tables and the wedding guests from any mid-autumn weather unpleasantries.

“Hey boss, need a hand?”, a deep baritone echoed through the valley’s basin and Morgan turned around, happy to hear the familiar voice.

“Bull!”, she greeted him.

A small caravan of travellers, some on carriages, some on horseback, arrived next to them. The giant Qunari brought his carriage to a halt and jumped off to pick Morgan up in a tight hug, gently swinging her in his arms.

“Amathus, leave some of the lady for the rest of us before you squeeze her to a pulp. Morgan, it’s good to see you, my friend. You look beautiful!”, Dorian said, taking his turn at hugging her.

“We gonna go make ourselves useful, boss. Krem, let’s get the others. We’ve got work to do!” With a big grin on his face, Bull called rest of the Chargers and the merry band of mercenaries set out to set up the marquee, which the other men had been struggling with on their own due to the harsh mountain breeze.

This gave Cullen the opportunity to welcome their guests as well. Slightly offended, when Cullen had offered him a welcoming handshake, Dorian pulled him into a brotherly hug as well.

“You know, Cullen”, Dorian said, letting his gaze wander around the valley, in the distance they could make out Ellie and Titus playing with the mabari, “Morgan did tell me about your cozy little cottage-live, and yet I did not picture it to be quite as- how do I put this politely? – domestic and wholesome. I don’t think this is for me.”

“I guess it is a good thing than that I didn’t ask you to marry and start a life with me?”, Cullen grinned.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong”, Dorian grinned, looking Cullen up and down, “I think it suits you formidably.”

“Morgan”, Max stepped next to his sister. “Sorry to interrupt, but is there… is there anything else you need of me? Just say the word…”

“Don’t worry, Max. Get some rest, we’ve got plenty of help now”, Morgan smiled sympathetically.

“You don’t… you don’t have to coddle me… but I think… I think I need to go lie down for a bit…”

Dorian cocked an eyebrow as he curiously studied Morgan’s brother. “Morgan, who is this handsome man and why have you been hiding him from me? Dorian of House Pavus, Morgan’s best friend”, he introduced himself. “With whom do I have the pleasure?”

Taken by surprise, Maxwell took the hand offered to him. “Maxwell Trevelyan. And I… should really go now.”

“Your brother?” Dorian asked with wide eyes. “My, my… who would have thought…”

Maxwell looked from Morgan to Dorian, slightly confused. “I think what he is trying to tell you is, that you are his type, Max”, Morgan explained, teasing her friend. “What he should have told you instead, however, is that the Trevelyan’s and the Pavus’s share a family tree. Don’t you remember, Dorian? For some inexplicable reason this was one of the first things you told me.” To Morgan’s delight, Cullen only half-heartedly stifled the laugh escaping him at the sight of Dorian’s face at that revelation.

“Pish posh!”, Dorian waved her remark off, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. “Well, technically yes. There was a Trevelyan somewhere in the dank nethers of my family tree. But I think we'd be still good to go – by at least three ages. And to be fair: you go back far enough, ninety percent of Thedas has Tevinter blood.” He cleared his throat. “Should I have made you feel uncomfortable, though, I am dearly sorry. That was not my intention, and I won’t repeat my mistake. I’ll see if Bull needs my help. And if not, I’ll just distract him a bit.”

“Love, I think Cassandra is also waiting to greet you”, Cullen whispered in Morgan’s ear, once Dorian and Maxwell had left. He placed his hands on Morgan’s hips and carefully turned her to face the dark-haired woman who was watching them from a few feet away, wearing an uncharacteristically soft expression as she came towards them.

“Not just me”, Morgan disagreed, smiling.

And true enough, it took Cassandra a moment to decide whom she should embrace first, before she opted for Cullen.

“It is good to you see again, both of you. It has been too long, my friend.” Cullen noticed how her features seemed to be gentler in general, and he was surprised how much this affected her appearance.

“Thank you so much for all the ideas and inspirations”, Morgan gave Cassandra another hug. “I just wish we could have talked about some of these things in person. You look well.”

“I am sure it will be perfect. Rylen- ahem, Seeker Rylen sends his regards. He would have liked to celebrate with you, Cullen, but we agreed it wouldn’t be wise if both of us left Skyhold for several weeks at a time, without someone to supervise our new recruits.”

Cullen and Morgan nodded. Most of their friends from the Inquisition held high ranking positions. Them making the time and traveling several weeks just to be here with them was proof enough how strong the bond between their found family was.

“As I understand it”, Cullen wrapped one arm around Morgan, who rested her head against his plush chest, “he was the one who tracked down Maxwell Trevelyan. We couldn’t have asked for a finer wedding gift.”   

“Ah, this reminds me. Leliana – Divine Victoria – has tasked me with bringing her wedding present with me, since she of course cannot leave Val Royeaux”, Cassandra sighed. “If I would have known what it would be, I would not have agreed to it. Divine or not. Here, let me show you.”

They turned towards the horses and carriages still standing at the lake side, when they heard a delighted, high-pitched sound coming from one of the smaller carts. Ellie and the two mabari were standing among the caravan with Mischief sniffing at one of the boxes. The girl saw them approaching and ran towards them, her brother following closely after. “Morgan, Cullen! There are two tiny nugs in one of those crates!”  

***

Ostwick Circle of Magi, 9:41 Dragon – Two days before the rebellion took over the Circle of Ostwick

Morgan’s steps echoed through the eerily quiet Circle library as she browsed the alchemical section for further source material on her current research project. Since the start of the rebellion, many mages and several templars had left the safety of Ostwick’s Circle Tower behind to fight for what they thought was right in the Mage-Templar-War. First Enchanter Maverick had always been a true Aequitarian, but when the time came to choose sides, in opposition to many others he refused to join ranks with the more extreme Loyalists against the Libertarians and was determined to uphold Ostwick’s neutral status in the brewing conflict.

Morgan missed the rustling of paper and the dry coughing of her fellow mages, which used to be a vital trait of the library’s ambience just as much as the exasperated groaning, muffled cursing and low whispered arguments regarding late returns. But if she ignored the underlying circumstances, which she was shocked to realize how easily that came to her most days, she actually enjoyed having more time for herself to do her research and the considerable amount of free resources at her disposal, despite recently having to take over a few classes to teach the younger apprentices with more and more mages leaving each day. She never saw herself as a teacher but one was desperately needed now, so she did what she could to help.

With Ines Aranicas Botanical Compendium and An Alchemical Primer of Metallurgy: Volume One tugged under her arm, she left the library and made her way up to her quarters for a bit of light reading, while planning out her lessons for the next day and looking forward to sipping her favourite, lavishly sweetened tea and enjoying a plate full of biscuits.

Lost in thought, she bumped into a suit of armour as she turned around the corner. She barely kept her footing and might have stumbled if the templar she had run into wouldn’t have caught her by her arms. Oh no, Morgan thought, as she recognized the olive-skinned man with dark brown hair and eyes like molten chocolate. Her heart skipped a beat, and she could feel the heat rush to her cheeks.

“In a hurry as always, Enchanter Morgan?” The man let go of her and Morgan could have sworn that his lips twitched into an amused smile for a second. 

“Terribly sorry, Ser Corwynt. I’ll be out of your way at once.” Without looking back, Morgan hurried off.

Out of breaths, Morgan reached the dormitories on the upper levels of the tower, not for the first time today shamefully aware that her fitted robes once more had gotten a bit tighter all around these past months due to her sedentary lifestyle; especially around her hips. She was just about to open the door to her room, when she heard someone calling after her.

“Enchanter Morgan!” A pale elven boy with white hair and ruby eyes ran towards her. He was one of the apprentices she got to teach, and she had to admit that she had taken quite a liking to the boy with his impish charm.

“Good evening, Adhal”, she greeted him with a kind smile. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now, young man? We’ll be starting pretty early tomorrow morning.”

“I, um, might have gotten into trouble earlier and had to go see Senior Enchanter Lydia… Once she dismissed me, she asked if I could do her a favour and look for you. She wants to see you. Do you think you are in trouble, too?”, he asked, his tone innocent, while his eyes shone with the wicked spark, she knew all too well by now.

Morgan laughed. “I hope not. Now, go to your room. Good night, Adhal”, she shooed him away. She brought her books inside, snuck a biscuit from the plate on her writing desk and went to see her mentor.

The door to Senior Enchanter Lydia’s door stood ajar. Morgan knocked and poked her head through the gap. “You wanted to see me?”

“Morgan, glad you could make it. Please, take a seat.” The Senior Enchanter ushered her inside, closing the door behind her. Once Morgan was sat, her mentor continued without further a due, erratically shuffling a few papers on her desk. “Morgan. First, I wanted to congratulate you on your latest research project. Our Formari have already enchanted the first couple of staves using the alloy you developed. Secondly-“

“It was nothing, really.” Morgan shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I’m just glad I could help.”

“Secondly”, Senior Enchanter Lydia continued, “we have urgent matters to discuss.”

Morgan nodded, taken aback by the shift of tone in her voice.

“Morgan. You are a talented mage, a brilliant researcher and your approach to alchemy is unparalleled.” Morgan cleared her throat, and she could feel her face starting to burn hot. She did not take compliments very well. “Do you even know what you could have achieved in your career? With your talent, you could easily have become magical advisor to any court in Thedas. And if this is not for you, you could have been leading your own research expeditions outside the Circle tower. But you passed on every suggestion I put your way.”

“Well, it would be pretty reckless to lead an expedition outside the confinements of the Circle walls in these times”, Morgan tried joking half-heartedly.

“This is not a laughing matter, my child. You know that I gave you ample opportunities before the rebellion started.”

“I know”, Morgan whispered, her gaze went down to her knees. “It is just… I am perfectly content staying inside the Circle. Here I can do my work on my own accord. I have everything I need. I don’t enjoy beeing at the centre of attention. And most importantly, I… I am no leader.”

The Senior Enchanter sighed, a sad – or was it pitying?, Morgan thought – look in her eyes. “Morgan, the world is changing at a rapid pace. We do not know yet if for better or for worse. But what we do know is that we need mages like you to play their part, too. Do you have any idea how much you could accomplish if you had a little more confidence in yourself?”

“I am sure there are hundreds of other mages, which are just as talented and better suited to lead the charge in this war then I am.”

“This is not just about who can cast the biggest fireball or whose lightening chain is the longest, Morgan. This is about doing what is right and what needs to be done.”

“I still don’t see…”

“You have been working day and night these past couple of months on this alloy, which allows the caster to enhance their protective magic significantly. Still, when I asked you to take over a few classes, you did it without hesitation, let alone complaining. You are resourceful. Adaptive. And work well under pressure. And in the midst of all that, you are still kind and compassionate. Whenever one of our young apprentices needs advice or just someone to talk to, it seems like it is always you who is there for them. They talk, you know.” She smiled. “Adhal said I should not be too mean to you and that he really likes it when you read them stories and do the funny voices after class. You are looking out for them. Always have. That is one of the reasons why you never left, isn’t it?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure… Maybe. I mean, someone had to do it… has to do it”, Morgan mumbled. She couldn’t remember when it was the last time she felt this vulnerable.

“I thought so”, her mentor sighed. “As of tomorrow, they will no longer be your responsibility.”

“Excuse me?”

“With how things have been escalating lately, we’ve already made all the necessary arrangements to have the children and some of the Tranquil brought to safety. A group of Chantry-loyal templars under the command of a Knight-Captain from Starkhaven will escort them to a Circle safehouse.”

“I don’t understand.”

“As you probably have already heard, Divine Justinia called for a peace summit. Mages and templars alike are invited to the talks which will be held in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I convinced First Enchanter Maverick that you will be the one joining the delegation to the Conclave in Ferelden in my stead. Your ship leaves tomorrow.”

Morgan didn’t know how to respond. Her thoughts raced through her mind, as she sat in the chair on the opposite side of the Senior Enchanter’s desk. She felt hot, then cold, her heart pounded so fast that it threatened to jump out of her chest and she had trouble breathing. She was supposed to represent the Ostwick Circle during the peace talks. What difference would it make if I attend the Divine Conclave instead of Senior Enchanter Lydia?, Morgan thought helplessly.

***

The Waking Sea, somewhere between the Free Marches and Ferelden, 9:41 Dragon

With slow, staggering steps Cullen made his way to Cassandra’s cabin below deck. He needed to get this done before they reached Ferelden. And he especially needed to get back on deck, soon, lest he might suffocate without the fresh air and the sky visible above him.

He steadied himself on the doorframe, doing his best to fight back the nausea and ignore the early signs of the pounding headaches which threatened to crack his skull. Wiping his cold and clammy hands on his overcoat, he braced himself for what was to come and knocked on the door.

“Come in”, a voice beckoned from inside, the harsh Nevarran accent making it out to be undeniably the woman’s he was looking for.

“Seeker Pentaghast, do you have a moment?”, Cullen asked, taking in a laboured breath.

“Certainly, Commander. What can I do for you this late at night?”, Cassandra asked without looking up from her paperwork.

“There is… I need to… excuse me”, he interrupted himself, agitatedly running his hands across his face.

She looked up. “Take your time. Why don’t you take a seat?” Cassandra motioned to the chair next to her desk. “You wished to speak with me?”

Cullen nodded weakly. As he walked over to the seat offered to him, he tried to focus on his surroundings. He looked around the sparsely furnished cabin, much like the one assigned to him. The only difference was the small writing table in on of the corners. The only other item there aside a stack of freshly written reports, the ink on the parchment was still glistening in the light of the oil lantern, was a heavy volume, clad in red and silver, and depicting what resembled the sun-insignia of the Chantry, but with an ominous, all-seeing eye at its centre.

Cassandra studied him intently. “You look distressed.”

Cullen cleared his throat and fixated his wandering gaze on her. “As you know, templars take- take lyrium to… to gain certain abilities and… and advantages necessary when dealing with mages and abo-… abominations… and the like.” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. Even the dim light of the oil lamp seemed painfully bright right now. “But I am not a- I am not part of the Order anymore. When I… When I vowed to give myself to your cause, I swore to… to myself that I would serve the Inquisition out of loyalty… Not… not blind obedience.”

Cassandra had listened patiently. “I see. May I ask, Cullen: when did you take your last dose of lyrium?“, she asked bluntly.

“The morning of the day you… you approached me in the… the Gallows”, Cullen answered truthfully and without hesitation. He could feel cold sweat forming on his forehead, his breathing getting shallower by the minute.

Cassandra looked at him, contemplating. Cullen was certain she was calculating how many days had passed since. “But that was- And yet you are…“ The disbelief was apparent in her tone. Then, to his surprise, she nodded approvingly. “Good.”

“Good?” Cullen asked in confusion, his breathing more a panting by now. “Maker, is that… is that all you have to say?”

“That’s it. I don’t see what else there is to discuss.”

“But shouldn’t you at least consider-“

“Cullen”, she interrupted him, “Do you doubt your ability to lead? Do you regret that I recruited you to our cause?”

“No”, he said firmly.

“See”, her stern expression twitched for a second into a smile, “neither do I. Now, was there something else?”

“Well, yes.” Cullen took a deep breath. “I would… please, let me ask one thing of you, Seeker: If my… my ability to lead is compromised, you will relieve me from duty. Sparing my feelings is not… not worth the lives that might be at stake.”

“I am sure that won’t be necessary. But if that is what you wish of me: you have my word.”

Shortly after Cassandra pledged her promise to him, he had excused himself and fled on deck. The soft sway of the ship was just enough to cause the spray of the sea to cool his face down and help clear his head, while not yet strong enough for the captain to insist he go below deck again for the rest of night. By now he knew there was no arguing with Cullen on that matter.

Cullen firmly clasped his hands around the railing to gain his footing back. He could feel his stomach churn once more und just in time leaned over the wooden barrier when he emptied its contents into the sea.

He turned around and let himself glide down the railing, still breathing heavily but feeling slightly better for the moment. He grabbed his waterskin and eagerly gulped down every last drop. The withdrawal-induced quenching thirst and unrelenting cravings did not pair well with the nausea inflicted by the same underlying cause.

He closed his eyes, determined not to doze off. He dreaded falling asleep, despite the exhaustion eating away at him. The nightmares he experienced ever since his captivity at Kinloch Hold had only gotten worse without lyrium. Proof, that the substance did not only provide powerful abilities and bolstered boldness but also dulled every emotion – the negative ones as well as the positive ones.

“Feeding the fishes, are we?”

Cullen hadn’t heard steps approaching him, but he did not have to open his eyes to recognise the voice. He groaned. “What do you want, dwarf?”

“No need to be rude, Curly. I just wanted to admire the peraquialus constellation. I heard its good luck if you spot it during a sea voyage.”

“You just have an answer to everything, don’t you?”

“Of course. Most of the time I don’t know shit, though. I just make stuff up.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Curly, when you got my good looks, charm and observational skills, you either become a con artist or a writer. And sometimes, well, sometimes it’s both.”

“If you say so.”

“But it also gives me the unerring ability to call people out on their bullshit. You are not doing so good, are you? And don’t tell me you are just seasick. I’ve frequented Lowtown. I’ve seen things.”

“Well, Varric, then I guess you’ve got your answer. But I’ll endure.”

“You are from Ferelden originally, Curly. You’ve got anyone waiting for you back home?”

“Not really… Just my siblings. Two sisters and a brother. I- Maker, I haven’t seen them in over ten years.”

“You plan on telling them that you are coming home?”

“Am I, though? Coming home, I mean? They fled to South Reach during the Blight. But I probably should write to them where I am going next. I wouldn’t put it past Mia to track down her “stupid brother”, as she once lovingly called me in one of her letters, in person to scold me should she find out I relocated and didn’t inform them. Again.” Cullen’s lips morphed into the first real smile in months.

There was no answer. The only sound were the waves crashing against the ship’s bow. Cullen opened his eyes. He was alone. “Maker, help me…”, he groaned. Holding onto the railing, he stood up and looked around. To his left, a thin veil of lavender, golden yellow und dark orange on the horizon announced the soon to start rising of the sun. Looking ahead though, he could make out the blurry outline of the Fereldan coastline.

This time, Cullen could actually heard the steps of a person coming up behind him. Standing on his toes, Varric leaned on the railing next to Cullen, resting his half-exposed chest on his crossed arms. “You are up early”, the dwarf remarked without looking at him. Neither of them spoke for a moment. “Kirkwall lies behind us now and Ferelden is just around the corner. You and Aveline kept that place together for the better part of two years. Which is, why I have been pondering one question: Are you really ready to leave?”

Cullen thought for a moment. The nausea was worsening again, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to throw up while Varric was well within the splash zone. He took a deep breath, then nodded. “All of it.”

“You know, Curly, Ferelden might not be any better.”

“Maybe”, Cullen said, staring at the landmass in the distance. “But I was there during the Blight… and the Circle…” He couldn’t help but somewhat smile, as a glimmer of hope sparked inside his chest. “It can’t be worse.”

“You know”, Varric glanced at him from the side, “that thing on your face looks almost like a valid first attempt at optimism. You should keep that up. That serious expression you usually carry around with you can’t be good for your health.”

***

By the time the autumn-sun set behind the mountains and cast long shadows down the valley, a few more guests had arrived. Now they were sitting around the provisional fire pit on the other side of the lake, where the wedding party had set up camp. Josephine and Thom caught up with Cassandra, while Sera and Dagna roasted fresh corn on the cob in the fire for everybody. Bull and the Chargers entertained the whole party with tales of their latest jobs, with Dorian elegantly lounging next to them.

“So, Twinkles”, Varric sat down next to Morgan and Cullen, who had snuggled up against each other, quietly watching their friends for a moment, handing them mugs with mulled mead, “Big day coming up tomorrow.”

“It’s not like we haven’t been legally married for over a year now”, Morgan laughed.

“Na, that doesn’t’ count. None of us were there so there is no proof it actually happened. Besides, how am I to write a sequel to All This Shit Is Weird, if I miss out on the crucial parts of your life?”

“That should be simple enough”, Cullen groaned. “Just don’t write one.”

“Ah, we’ll see. Hawke says “hi”, by the way. She tells me your great-aunt Lucille keeps pestering her when you will be attending one of her infamous summer balls, Twinkles. You know, especially with you now being Comtesse of Kirkwall and all that thanks to yours truly.”

“Does she now”? Morgan scoffed. “What did Hawke tell her?”

“Oh, you know Hawke”, Varric grinned. “She told her to get that stick out of her but and just ask you herself. And I told Hawke that she should stop going to that ball, if she hates it so much, regardless of how good the food there is. But then again, I’d miss out on all the gossip she tells me afterwards...”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Morgan was woken by the tickle of rough stubbles and the tender press of soft lips to her forehead, and she let out a contended sigh. As she opened her eyes, Cullen was propped up on his right elbow, watching her, the right corner of his mouthed curled into a half-smile, brushing a few stray hairs that had fallen over her eyes behind her ear. “Good morning. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“Not really. But even then, you can wake me up like this any day.” Morgan repositioned herself so she could look at him properly and cupped his face in her right hand to pull him into a deep kiss. “That would also be appropriate, by the way.” The golden specks in her plum-coloured eyes twinkled like stars in the night sky, as she looked at him. Her slender fingers raked through the coarse, golden curls on his bare chest, illuminated by the morning sun shining through the domed ceiling window, and then traced the hairs down the trail lining his soft stomach.

“Is that we are doing right now?”

“Only if you want to. I mean, there are about two dozen people bustling around in very close proximity by now…”, she said, placing a kiss next to his belly button.

“Then we might just have to make it quick”, he smirked. “Remember those times back in Skyhold when you came to my office to inspect if my desk was sufficiently sturdy?” With a hungry look in his eyes, Cullen closed the distance between them and leaned in. He nibbled at Morgan’s earlobe and started trailing kisses down her neck, painting a trail towards her exposed collarbone, as she arched into his touch.

They heard a knock against glass. Cullen turned around to look out the window facing the orchard in the distance, but there was no one. Meanwhile, Morgan had opened her eyes and bent her head to the left so she could see past Cullen, who had blocked her view of the ceiling window.

There she saw Sera, waving at them with a broad grin on her face. “You’re up, good!” they heard her muffled voice through the window. “Come on, let’s get you ready!”

Morgen sighed. “We both knew it was very real possibility that something like this might happen.”

“Unfortunately, you are right.” Cullen dropped heavily on the mattress next Morgan, disappointment written all over his face. “Some other time, then…”

***

“I don’t see why this is necessary”, Cullen said, leaning with crossed arms against the chest of drawers in the guest room, as Dorian hung the trousers handed to him by Branson over the wooden partition, next to the rest of the attire. “I would feel far better if I could get to work like the others instead of hiding in here.”

Earlier, Dorian had caught him outside, bringing a ladder to Sera and Lowrie, who had started hanging the floral garlands around the marquee and showed them how to attach them properly. Now, Cullen sullenly watched Titus, Delrin, Thom, Bull and the Chargers pass by outside the window, carrying tables, chairs and the crates which had been delivered the day before towards the marquee by the lake. Rosalie and Varric followed them, shouting instructions – or as they called it: “suggestions” – on how to set everything up.

“Absolutely not. Honestly, Cullen, you don’t actually think we are going to let you or Morgan lift a single finger today.”

“He is right, you know”, Branson chimed in.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Just let me help for an hour and I get myself ready once Morgan is done. I won’t take long.”

“That is what you think.”, Dorian said, pushing a chair in the middle of the room.

Cullen sighed. “Listen, Dorian. I just want to make sure everything is set up the way Morgan wants it.”

“I can see that. But you might be forgetting that Cassandra and I played a crucial part in planning all this. I know this must be hard for you, relinquishing control like this, but I hope you know we have the same goal here.”

“Maker’s breath… Fine. But don’t expect me to just stand here and make idle chitchat with you. How are things in Minrathous?”

“Certainly. And… quite challenging, if I am being honest. We had to find new accommodations for Maevaris in Dock Town. You and Morgan should really visit some time.” Dorian led Cullen towards the chair in the centre. “Now, sit down. I need to get started on your hair.”

“Excuse me, you need to do what?”

Branson laughed. “Dorian, you should know my brother is a bit, well, peculiar when it comes to his hair. Even when he was a boy, no one was allowed to touch it.”

“I am not peculiar,” Cullen said indignantly. “I just like my curls to fall a certain way...”

An hour later, Cullen inspected himself in the large cheval mirror, as Dorian smoothed out the last creases in the exquisitely tailored burgundy suede vest with the golden buttons, which he had paired with an ivory tunic. Branson handed him a neatly folded pocket handkerchief matching the dark slate-colour of his trousers and Cullen gave his mirror-image a sheepish smile, as he tucked self-consciously at his vest.

“Don’t worry, Cullen”, Branson nudged him encouragingly in the side. “You look great. Mia’s handywork never fails to amaze me.” 

“Your sister is quite the talent. Oh, I can’t wait until you see Morgan in her dress!” Dorian claps his hands enthusiastically. “And I am fairly certain our dear Morgan will only have eyes for you anyway, whether you wear this or a potato sack. Although, I am still not used to seeing you without armour. You were practically living in that thing.”

“Looks like you are ready to go. Do you have everything?” Branson asked.

Cullen patted himself up and down, then his eyes widened in shock. “Have you seen a small, red velvet box?”

“Like one for jewellery?”

“Yes.”

“Are you looking for this?” Dorian snatched a box matching the description from the nightstand.

“Thank the Maker, that is the one, yes.” Cullen took the jewellery box and opened it to make sure it wasn’t empty. “Last year I, hm, had it all planned out. I even had a ring commissioned with a goldsmith in Redcliffe Village. But when we got to Halamshiral, I felt like I couldn’t wait any longer. Strange, considering what happened afterwards and that it very well could have cost Morgan her-“ He stopped himself, clearing his throat. “I only picked it up when we passed through Redcliffe on our way to South Reach. And since we already got matching wedding bands by now, I had it reworked into a necklace. I was going to give it to her today.”

Dorian and Branson had listened quietly, looking at the fine golden necklace. Three small stones where encased in the intricately designed charm, two diamonds and a dark-purple amethyst.

***

„… So, no. Unfortunately, none of our contacts were able track Morrigan down yet. Charter will inform us, should that change.” Cassandra had been pacing up and down in Morgan’s and Cullen’s bedroom. “You are not the only one who is worried. And probably rightfully so.”

Morgan nodded, forgetting that Josephine was currently pinning up her side braids in practiced motions, to create an elegant half-bun at the back of her head. “Ouch! Oh no, I am so sorry, Josie! Did I mess it up?”

“No harm done”, Josie reassured her with a smile. Just like Cassandra, she was already in her formalwear. “I used to braid Yvette’s hair without any issues, and my little sister is unable to sit still for more than a minute. A little tuck won’t ruin anything I do here.”

In that moment, Mia made herself known with a knock at door. “May I come in?”

“Of course”, Morgan greeted her warmly, introducing the women. “You can take a seat on the bed, until I am ready to change into my dress.”

Josephine inspected her work, walking in circles around Morgan. She rearranged the flower wreath, then used a few hair pins, which would keep it in place. As a final touch, she used heated tongs to curl that part of Morgan’s hair not pinned up and draped it in delicate waves along her neck and let it cascade past her shoulders. The remaining silvery-white strands in her otherwise dark hair created exciting highlights on their own and Mia and Cassandra voiced their approval.

“Now, would you please close your eyes?” Josie held up a small brush. “I’ll just add some colour to your eyes and lips to accentuate your features.”

Morgan did as she was told, flinching just a bit when she felt the cool paste being applied to her eyelids. As Josephine bent a bit lower to paint her lips, Morgan could feel the distinctive curve of Josie’s rounded belly brush against her arm, and she opened her eyes. “Please let me know should you need a break, Josie. There is no rush, you know. They won’t start the ceremony without me.”

“Thank you, but I am almost done”, Josephine smiled, placing a hand against her lower abdomen. “I will claim your sister-in-law’s spot on the bed, though, once you get dressed.”

Cassandra and Mia helped Morgan in her dress, making sure everything stayed in place, while Josephine had taken off her shoes and made herself comfortable on the bed.

“How do you feel?” Mia asked Morgen, dent down on one knee in front her to drape the pleats of her flowy skirt perfectly around her ankles.

Morgan laughed out nervously. “I don’t think I could be any more anxious if this were our actual wedding day. Maybe it was a good thing we did it as spontaneously as we did. There was simply no time to overthink things…”

Morgan studied herself in their bedroom mirror. The sleeveless dress was embellished with floral embroidery on golden threads, its burgundy colour perfectly complimenting the flowers in her ink-black hair. The bell sleeves of the ivory blouse she wore under the dress were designed to sit a bit lower, leaving a small part of her shoulders and upper arms as well as her collarbone exposed.

Mia stood up. “Would you give it a spin?”

Morgan did as she was asked and couldn’t hold back a giggle when she spun on the spot, her dress twirling in a wide circle around her, before falling back into place. Feeling around in the pleats, Morgan found the hidden pockets. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Mia.” She throws her arms around Cullen’s sister to pull her into a sisterly embrace.

“No”, Mia whispered, choking back tears. “Thank you, Morgan”, she said, emphasizing her words by hugging her even tighter.

Morgan turned around to face the others. Cassandra had a hard time concealing the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes, as she came over to embrace Morgan. “You look beautiful, my friend.”

Josephine, on the other hand, openly dapped her eyes and nose with a laced handkerchief, before she pushed herself off the bed to take over from Cassandra. Then she went over to the chest of drawers next to the bedroom door, where she had placed her satchel. “Don’t forget this.” She opened it and with a conspiratorial wink handed Morgan a small, blue velvet box.

Morgan took the box, tenderly stroking the soft exterior with her thumb. Her hand trembled slightly. She opened the lid to reveal a golden timepiece on a fine chain, the design elegant in its simplicity. She let it spring open and watched the hands move in regular intervals, each time accompanied by a soft ticking noise. “This is lovely, Josie. It is even prettier than I imagined.”

“Ah yes, Master de Dondi is well renowned far beyond the Antivan borders for these kinds of instruments. Apparently, the precisions with which they work is unmatched. You picked well.”

Morgan closed the timepiece and put it back in its box. Her heart fluttered with nervous excitement, as she let the box slip into one of the pockets in her skirt. Then she straightened herself, smoothing non-existent creases out of her dress and smiled at the others, signalling them with a short nod that she was ready to go.

***

Cullen felt as if he was the unwitting participant in a skit playing out around him. As soon as he was dressed, he went outside to finally get to work, fearing not everything would be ready in time for when Morgan would step out from the cottage. But every time when he was about to pick something up, someone else swooped in, nudging him aside in a friendly manner and took over for him. It was utterly frustrating. In the end, he had settled for advising the caterers, who used the cottage kitchen to store their equipment and prepare the food they brought, so they would find their way around it. This at least gave him the illusion of doing something productive.

But once the caterer’s were done, he was left to walking up and down in the cottage garden, until Mischief demanded his attention, sensing his master’s eagerness. “You are with me on this, aren’t you, boy?” Cullen asked the mabari. Mischief barked happily and started nudging Cullen towards the wooden bench at the garden table. He placed his paws on the seat, looking expectantly at Cullen. “Maker”, he laughed. “Even my dog thinks I work too much. Fine.” Cullen sat down and the giant war hound instantly claimed his lap by laying his head down on it. Defeated, Cullen sighed and started scratching Mischief at his favourite spot behind his left ear.

“I am surprised to see you so calm. I was certain you would be busy at work with the rest.” Morgan had stepped up behind him, laying her hands on his shoulder and gently rubbed at his neck. She could feel the tense muscles relax under her touch and smiled.

Cullen huffed. “Believe me, it was not by choice and certainly not for lack of trying.” He stood up and turned around to a look at her. He could feel his heart skip a beat and the sensation of a hundred butterflies in his stomach. Suddenly, he was back at Skyhold. The day he had escorted her up to her quarters after the War Council meeting. The day she had kissed him for the first time. It hadn’t seemed like much, just a quick brush of her lips in his cheek. A gesture of encouragement. But it had given him hope that it might mean so much more. “Maker… you look- I mean, you are… uhm, what I meant was, of course you are always breathtaking, but…”

“Thank you, love”, she smirked, incredulous as always that it was her who could render him speechless so easily. Then she locked eyes with him. Her soft smile lit up her whole face and Cullen noticed the spark in her eyes, so warm and full of love, that seemed to be reserved especially for him. As if he was the most precious thing she had ever seen. Morgan wrapped her arms around him and kissed him deeply. “You look even more handsome today than usual”, she said, absentmindedly brushing imaginary specks of dust off Cullen’s chest. “I might hand in an official request to implement vests as general work attire at Villa Reposo.”

Cullen cleared his throat, a coy smile on his face. “I will forward your request to the proprietor”, he said, as he could feel the heat creeping up his neck and ears. “I love you, Morgan.”

“I love you, too”, she whispered.

“We, um- we should go see the others soon. But first, I have something for you.” He took the small, red velvet box out of his pocket and opened it, holding it so Morgan could see what was inside. “I hope you like it. This, um, was supposed to be the ring I.. hm… was going to propose with…”

“Cullen… It’s beautiful.” Morgan let the fine chain glide through her fingers and let her gaze rest for moment on the intricate charm. On its back, the words May our luck never run out were artistically engraved, followed by their initials. “Would you…?” He nodded. His fingers trembled slightly, and it took him a few tries to open the clasp.

Her hand felt the small charm settling just below her collarbone for a brief moment. Then she pulled the blue velvet box our of the hidden pocket in her skirt.

“It has pockets?” Cullen asked surprised.

“Of course. The other one is filled with these fancy Orlesian dog treats.”

“Of course it his”, he laughed. “That it explains that, then”, he said, pointing at Mischief, who had unusually persistently been sniffing Morgan’s dress. The mabari barked affirmatively. Cullen took the blue box and opened it carefully. Fascinated, he took the golden timepiece out of its protective fabrics and let it spring open. “How did you know…?”

“I had a hunch. You can wear it, if you’d like. There should be a special pocket on your vest.” She helped him fasten the golden chain to his vest and Cullen let the instrument slip in its designated pocket. She took his hands in hers, looking him in the eyes. “Cullen, even if I get to spend all of eternity with you, it still won’t be enough.”

They shared a few quiet moments, before they decided that they could not let their guests wait any longer and they made their way down to the lake.

Halfway there, Cullen and Morgan could make out Ellie, who was running towards them, her flowy, ivory dress with the large, burgundy bow around her waist fluttered around her legs. Titus and May were following close behind. “Ellie, watch where you are going! And be careful with your dress!” Her older brother shouted after her. But she did not listen.

“Oh, Morgan!”, Ellie squealed in excitement. “You look so, so pretty!” She kept running in their direction, barely stopping in time before she would crash into them, which caused her to stumble over her own feet. Cullen caught her and with one, swift motion scooped her up and sat her against his right hip. “Oof!”, was all Ellie could say, before she started giggling. “And my dress looks just like Lowrie’s!”, she told them proudly, the admiration for Mia’s daughter unmistakable. “Come, everybody is waiting for you!”

“We can’t have that, can we?” Cullen said in playfully solemn tone.

Morgan laughed and stroked Ellie’s head. Cullen sat the girl back on her feet and gave Titus a fatherly pat on the back. Together they joined their friends and families at the lakeside.

***   

The weather could not have been more favourable. While the nights already got rather chilly mid-Harvestmere, once the sun came out it would warm up the temperatures to a rather comfortable degree. The golden ball of fire standing high in the bright blue sky cast its light down Valley Reposo and fractured on the clear lake surface like thousands of scattered crystals.

As the drew closer, Cullen nudged Morgan in the side and pointed at a floral arch. Morgan could not remember having ordered one of these, but there it was: a floral arch, a few feet to the right side of the marquee, decorated with the same flowers as everything else – red amaranth, white globe amaranths, reedgrass, dark smoketree leaves, rose hips and fennel blossoms – and with translucent ivory and golden chiffon ribbons woven in between the braces.

More than two dozen people had gathered by the lakeside, waiting for Cullen and Morgan to arrive. Once there, Cassandra stepped forward, dragging Morgan off to the side. “Is something the matter?” Morgan wanted to know, waving back at Harding, who she had just spotted amongst the others and must have arrived sometime this morning.

“There is something you should know. I tried to reason with Dorian, but he wouldn’t listen. He insisted. The least I could do was…”

“What are we talking about?”, Dorian asked, casually laying an arm around Morgan’s shoulder.

Cassandra shot him an icy glance. “Only what you neglected to mention thus far, Dorian.”

“Please, Cassandra! We are all friends here. And you wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, would you now?”

“What kind of surprise?” Morgan demanded to know.

“It is nothing, really…” He looked over to the floral arch. As Morgan followed his gaze, it dawned on her what he had planned.

“What for? We are already married”, she interjected.

“Which makes it all the more fun!”, he tried to win her over with his excitement. “We didn’t get to be there the first time around for whatever reason. And this way we can do all the fun bits and leave out as much of the boring traditional stuff as we want.”

“But we haven’t prepared anything. And just repeating our vows would feel rather shallow.”

“That is the neat part. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. Just stand there and look at each other all lovey-dovey as usual. I will do the talking.”

“You will be officiating?” Morgan snorted, cocking an eyebrow.

“As I said, all the fun parts!”

Morgan thought about it for a moment. She never liked being the centre of attention, which had been unavoidable these last years. But this did feel different somehow. She might actually like it… “Fine. But on one condition. Cullen has to be alright with it, as well. And you”, she poked her index finger at Dorian’s chest, “are going to be the one to tell him.”

Grumbling, Dorian went to speak with Cullen.

“I gave him a list, you know”, Cassandra told Morgan. “Well, two actually. One with things he should avoid doing and saying during this little ceremony. It is a joyous and romantic occasion, which I will not let him soil.”

“And the second list?”

“On the second one I listed those things I will personally see him fed to Leliana’s nugs for should he do so much as think about them.”

Chapter Text

“… and so, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union between Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford and Lady Morgan Evelyn Trevelyan. A bond forged out of necessity, steeled in battle and sealed by love. Would any of you two like to say something or shall I continue?”

The wedding party had gathered around the floral arch. Cullen and Morgan smiled coyly at each other, holding hands, while Dorian had held his speech. It had been surprisingly tame but heartfelt, sweet and genuine, nonetheless. Cassandra’s suggestions were most likely to account for that.

Cullen noticed how Morgan shifted her weight from one foot to the other and clenched his hand tightly in hers. He knew the rosy tint on her cheeks was not part of her make-up. “Right… yes, um, I- I would like to say something”, Cullen said, nodding towards Dorian, before fixing his gaze right back on Morgan.

Dorian smiled. “Please, go ahead.”

“Maker… I am not really good at this, finding the right words for these kind of situations… You would know that by now”, he chuckled, the sound echoed through the rows of friends and family, otherwise watching them quietly. Morgan let out quiet, affirming laugh herself and Cullen noticed the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. “What I do know, Morgan, is that I fell in love with you. Wholly. Body and soul. I fell in love with your mind”, he cupped her cheek in his right hand, caressing her temple with his thumb, “and I fell in love with your heart”, he placed his left hand on her chest. “You are the strongest person I know. And every day anew, I am amazed by you. Thanks to you, I found certainty in my life. And I will stay with you. Whatever comes.” Silent tears were streaming down Morgan’s cheeks once Cullen had spoken his last word.

“That was… beautiful…”, Dorian choked back a few tears. He cleared his throat before he continued. “Morgan, would you also…?”

She nodded, looking up at Cullen, eyes wide and soft. “Cullen, from the moment I met you, I admired you. Your dedication, your devotion… you don’t do things half-heartedly and not doing anything at all is not an option for you. So, when do them, you go all in. You are kind and compassionate. You lead, you serve, you care… you love. With everything you’ve got. Nothing less. And I love you for it. Always.”

“May your love be one for the ages”, Dorian said, trying to conceal the crack in his voice, as he pompously raised his arms towards the guests. “And now, I would like to bring this ceremony to a close with words by the Most Holy herself – she sends her blessings, by the way: Love is the Maker's best gift. And it is infinite. You may now kiss each other as husband and wife.”

Loud cheering erupted among the rows of guests, followed by elated laughter, as Cullen pulled a surprised Morgan in a long, passionate kiss and then swept her of her feet. Morgan held onto him, as Cullen carried her in his arms.

At this moment, Varric signalled over to Maryden and the other musicians, who had taken position on a small make-shift stage under the marquee, and the music started to play.

“Ellie, now”, Lowrie encouraged the little girl standing in front of her, who held nervously onto her small wicker basket, filled to the brim with flower petals. Then Lowrie nodded towards Sera. The young, elven woman responded with a wicked grin. “Finally getting to throw stuff! Hope it’s not the last time today…”, she exclaimed and the three of them paved Cullen’s and Morgan’s path by throwing the delicate petals left and right. Ellies eyes lit up as she saw Dafydd, Cullen’s six-year-old nephew, emerging from between two pairs of legs. He went up next to Ellie and together the two children let the wedding party towards the large, festively decorated tent; oil lamps and garlands made of ribbons and flowers, matching the ones in Morgan’s hair, were hanging from the ceiling and draped around the tent poles.  

Cullen and Morgan waited until everybody was sat at one of the long banquet tables, which were covered in lavishly embroidered, cream-coloured tablecloth and decorated with candles and floral arrangements, to say a few words to their guests. “I hope everybody enjoyed this spontaneous spectacle.”, Cullen said, taking Morgan’s right hand in his. “I will keep myself short: Thank you all for coming out here today. Let us enjoy this day of revelry and celebrate love, friendship and life itself. And for once, detached from all politics and offices but simply as a family.”

Morgan squeezed his hand and as he turned to look at her, he could once again see tears glistening in her eyes. “That was very sweet”, she whispered and placed a quick kiss on his cheek, which was perceived by their friends and families with a collective awww.

“Hm, well yes…”, he said with a crooked smile. “I did have a bit more time to prepare for that one. And it still took me a while before I was satisfied with the wording”, Cullen confessed in a quiet voice. 

Morgan laughed and then, this time louder, addressed their guest: “And now, everybody, indulge in the delicious feast laid out for us to your heart’s desire. Enjoy the food and the company while it lasts!”

***

The buffet tables groaned under the elaborate spread. Even without ever setting a foot outside Ferelden, here one could indulge in all the flavours the different cuisines of the continent had to offer, from light and fruity to rich and savoury. Starters, main and side dishes included hearty scones, turnip and mutton pie, potato and leek soup, lentil soup, fluffy mackerel pudding served with citrus bagna cauda, seafood soup, greens with Antivan dressing, stuffed vine leaves, grilled skewered squid, Khachapuri, honey carrots, eggs à la Val Foret, breaded cheese wands served with Orlesian sauce, blood orange salad as well a variety of classic regional rice and pasta dishes.

The cold spread was presented on a whole separate table, laden with a variety of cheeses, from soft and milky to hard and sharp, an assortment of cured meats, pickled vegetables and fresh fruits, fighting over space on table with butter puff, buns and crumpets, sourdough, flatbread with yoghurt dip. Having learned from past experienced, they had passed on ham from the Anderfels however.

Morgan made a mental note to kindly ask their caterer for the recipes of the dishes which turned out to be particularly popular amongst them, as she and Cullen stood with the others to generously fill their plates.

Later the dessert table was brought out, offering tiny frilly cakes and finger sandwiches, rich chocolate cake, cherry cupcakes, elderberry pie, pumpkin bread, hazelnut torte, honey and nut pastries, Blancmange, sour cherries in cream, an assortment of regional tarts and flaky pastries next to a colourful selection of toffees, candies, chocolates and candied fruits. Upon requests the caterers offered additional freshly brewed Antivan coffee and hot cocoa topped with tiny, pillowy guimauves.

The centrepiece, however, was a beautifully decorated two-tiered cake. For this one, Morgan had created the recipe herself. The bottom cake had a fruity, sweet and tart filling of caramelized apples, while the upper one was filled with rich, cinnamon plum ragout.

“So”, Sera stepped up next to Cullen and Morgan, who had just cut their wedding cake together and were serving it to their guests, “I’ll take a slice with apples. And I decided I am not going to throw any cake today.”

“Was that something you had planned on doing?”, Cullen asked with a raised eyebrow and Morgan had to stifle a cough, that sounded more like nervous laughter.

“Thought about it. Actually, kinda hoped for it. But everything is just too pretty here. That’d be shite of me, you know. But”, she looked at Morgan’s flower wreath with a big grin, “how about you throw something instead?”

Morgan snorted. “You want me to throw the cake?”

“Na, not cake. Some flower, perhaps.”

“To what purpose?”

“Well, for one, because it’s fun. People should throw more stuff. Releases tension, you know. And if it’s the bride who throws it”, Sera hesitated for a second, casting a glance towards Dagna, who was talking to Rosalie on her way back to her seat, “we could say it’s good luck and whoever catches it will be the next one to get married.”

Cullen’s eyes widened at the realisation. “And you hope to be the one catching it?”

“That is not what I said. Stopp putting words in my mouth!”, Sera said in a sharp whisper. “But will you do it? Please?”

Morgan smiled, looking at Cullen. To her, Sera was like the annoying, little sister she never had. Both nodded in agreement.

“Before we open the dance floor”, Morgan addressed their guests later, “We would like to try something.” Cassandra handed her a small bouquet which, after hearing Morgan’s request, she had fashioned from a dozen flowers and tied together with chiffon ribbons, carefully plucked off the floral arch.

“I will turn my back towards you and throw this bouquet over my shoulder. Let’s say, it is for good luck. Because I already found mine”, she gave Cullen a chaste peck on the cheek.

Intrigued by the idea, their guests gathered behind Morgan and an all too familiar shriek of excitement told her, that it was in fact Sera who had caught the bouquet. “Ok, go ahead”, the elven woman beamed, waving them off and taking Dagna’s hand, “you can do your dancies now.”

Cullen’s eyes flickered to Delrin, who gave him encouraging smile. You can do this, the dark-skinned man mouthed, and Cullen nodded. He took a bow in front of Morgan, holding out his hand. “Morgan, would you do me the honour in sharing our first dance as husband and wife?”, he asked, the corner of his mouth twitched into a sheepish smile.

Morgan looked at him in pleasant surprise. “But, you don’t dance.”

“I have done it once before”, he reminded her, “with you. Back then, I didn’t think we would get another chance. But this time, I want it to be the first of many.” He led a speechless Morgan towards the free space in front of the stage and asked Maryden, who was in deep conversation with Krem, and her musicians to take up their instruments once more.

Now we are
In our peace
With our lives assured.  

Now we are

Not afraid of the dark.  

Now we sit in our garden
In peace and love.  

Now we lay in
The fields watching clouds above.  

We held the Fade
And the demon's flight
So far from our children
And from our lives.  

We held together
The fragile sky
To achieve our way of life.  

Now we raise
Up our chalice
As family.  

Now we are
In the home of our dreams.

Now we look
In the future
Which shines so bright.  

Now we are
Not afraid of the night.

„This is it then? Weisshaupt is quite the journey from Antiva City”, Cullen said pensively, swirling the half-empty goblet in his hand, as he watched Bull letting Ellie ride around on his shoulders. Evening was approaching fast, and the sun was barely visible behind the mountain tops surrounding the valley. Then he looked over to Morgan, who was talking with Dorian, Harding and Varric, all carrying a rather serious expression on their faces.

After the dance floor had been opened, people had started to mingle. A few couples like Mia and Delrin, Branson and Catrin as well as Sera and Dagna were currently swaying to the soft tunes being played. Rosalie and Cassandra had joined Josie and Maxwell by the lakeside, lounging on blankets and soft pillows laid out by Morgan’s brother for more comfort.

Thom sighed, his gazed drifted to Josephine. “When your Lady Inquisitor pardoned me, I made a vow. And I am going to honour it. We both knew from the start that this could not last. I will see that Josephine will arrive safely back in Antiva City. Then I will be on my way.”

Cullen frowned. “So, you will not be there, when your…?”

“No. We made that decision together. We both have responsibilities. She is going to marry the noble her parents chose for her. Apparently, it is not that uncommon a custom. Otranto is a decent man and aware of the situation. He will take good care of them.”

“If there is anything you – or Josephine – would need of us, just let us know.”

“We will do that. Thank you.”

“Hey, Commander”, Bull said, joining them, now that Ellie was off to play with Dafydd. “You planning on getting any more of those?”, he nodded towards the little girl who had managed to charm her way into his heart, as she seemed to do with most people, “they’re actually kinda cute.”

“Maker, I…”, Cullen started, then cleared his throat, “I mean, we-“

“You are a remarkably bizarre creature, Amatus.” Dorian sauntered over to them, toasting them with his goblet, an impish grin on his face. “I just wish I could have been the one to catch that bouquet.”

“Um… uh…”, the Qunari stammered perplexed.

Dorian let out a high pitched, delighted laugh. “You should see the look on your face!”

“Oh, you are evil!”, Bull exclaimed, pulling Dorian into a kiss.

Dorian pulled away. “My insolence is an important part of my charm; after my dashing looks and my impeccable taste, of course.”

***

“Are you certain we shouldn’t act on it, Inquisitor?”, Harding looked urgently at Morgan, falling back into old habits. The two women stood together with Dorian and Varric a few feet offside to talk in private. “I could get my bow right now and confront her.”

Morgan shook her head. “If we are correct with our suspicions who she is working for, I don’t think she is going to harm us. As long as the dogs are not alarmed by her presence, neither should we. They are very well trained. Besides, she even helped us before, we shouldn’t forget that.”

“I don’t like this. What if she reports back to him everything she learns here?”, the dwarven woman said.

“Honestly, I am counting on it”, Morgan’s gaze trailed over to the group of trees in the distance, where Harding had seen the red-headed woman earlier. “I would like her to report back all the wonderful things we are celebrating here today. And we are not discussing any sensitive topics out in the open, anyway. As for everything else, tomorrow Dorian is going to help me set up wards around our new base. It’s about time, but they will be more effective if at least two mages are involved in raising the magical shields.”

Dorian nodded. “We implemented the same wards around Maevaris’ new hideout in Docktown. So far, no one has been able to breach the security measures the Shadow Dragons implemented.”

Varric scoffed. “The Shadow Dragons? Really? Sounds like you took that one straight from a mid-class mystery copper dreadful.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “I think it is a very distinctive and refreshing name, thank you very much.”

“So, it was your idea?”, Morgan grinned.

“Very much so!”

“I have people looking into her as well”, Varric changed the subject back to their original discussion. “Might help us get a lead on Chuckles, when we learn more about where she comes from”, he said grimly. “Now, if you excuse me”, he looked up into the starry night sky, “I need to get Sera. Time for some non-magical sparkles.”

***

With the help of Sera and Dagna, Varric had put together an impressive display of fireworks. Varric and Sera took alternating turns shooting crossbow bolts in the sky, that bloomed into glowing smoke flowers, as well as exploding arrows, which created showers of sparks raining down over the lake.

Cullen had his arms wrapped around Morgan’s waist, as they watched the spectacle with the others, his chin resting on her shoulder. Morgan had told him by now that Harding had spotted the woman, who had been crossing their path now and again for about a year now. He had taken Mischief to the woods, but there was no trace left of her.

“You know”, Cullen said, his voice quiet, so only Morgan could hear him, “I can’t shake the feeling that this is all to good to be true. Something is bound to happen eventually, isn’t it?”

“This is Thedas”, Morgan responded just as quietly, pulling his arms around her middle more tightly, nestling against his broad chest, “if we go a decade without a world threating event, we call it a miracle. But what we have here, right now, I’d still take that as a victory.”

Chapter Text

Inquisitor Trevelyan,
Lady Morgan,

we were finally able to reach out to the Dalish Clans of the Free Marches which Keeper Lanaya referred to us. Some are rather wary of outsiders and outright refused to hear us out. Of those who were kind enough to agree to meet with us, most claimed that they did not know of any form of magic as described in your letters. Others simply did not show any interest in dealings with outsiders.  

Yet, we have not been unsuccessful in our endeavours. One Clan was willing to welcome you into their wintering grounds, since this would be the only time of the year when they would be staying in one place for a prolonged period of time. They are more open to contact with outsiders in general and did show great interest in meeting with you. Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan and her First will be expecting you and a small escort of your choosing in a small unclaimed valley not far from Wycome around First Day.  

As suggested by Master Tethras and Scout Harding, Neria and I will continue our travels up north from here. We will keep you informed, should we come across anything noteworthy.  

Loranil

***

“The Light shall lead her safely
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,
She should see fire and go towards Light.
The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,
And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker
Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.”

Mother Jans had finished her prayer, silence and the lingering scent of incense heavy in the air of the guestroom. Cullen stood next to her over Paxley’s lifeless body on the bed, his hands folded in prayer. With how peaceful his expression was now, it was hard to grasp how much his final moments had been plagued by physical and mental torment.

Cullen prayed that whatever came off Morgan’s visit to the Dalish that it would aid them in their task to ease the pain of those suffering from lyrium withdrawals and that it would increase the chances of those experiencing especially severe side-effects. Even though he had gone through it himself, these past months had shown him more than ever that it was not an easy feat to withstand the maddening calling of the substance. Up to the point of being fatal. There was a difference between knowing those things and guiding others through that process until the very end.

But most of all, he prayed that Morgan would find her way back safely. He knew it was silly. There was no imminent danger. Still, he did not relish the thought of her once again being on a mission for which she had to travel for several weeks while he stayed behind. At least she had Maxwell and Mischief accompany her. Given the circumstances, this was the only logical decision; especially since they would be making halt in Ostwick on their way to Wycome.

“May her Light guide you to the Maker's side”, Cullen said quietly. “Thank you, Mother. While I am in town, I will arrange for someone to come by and hold a proper service for him. Would you need anything else from me while I am still here?”

Mother Jans nodded in acknowledgement. “No, that would be all, Ser Cullen. Master Delrin, Sister Milvarta and I will be able to handle everything from here on. Our guests will be well taken care of. Besides, you will only be gone a couple of days.” She smiled at him. “And now go, your children are wating for you.”

He quickly briefed Delrin, who would act as his proxy in the days they were gone, and promised to give Mia his regards. Soft piano music emitted from the music room, most likely being played by Rylien’s skilled fingers. The slow, melancholy melody accompanied him down the long hallway as he made his way towards the front door.

Just as he was about to leave the villa, a dwarven woman, carrying a huge pot about half her size filled with beef and carrot stew, called after him. “Thank you, Zerlinda. That is very considerate”, he took the heavy pot from her.

She beamed at him. “At these temperatures the stew should stay fresh without any problems until tomorrow. Just heat it up gently on the stove, if you would not like to end up with a pot of mush. I- pardon me saying so, but I heard your sister is not the best cook, so…”

Cullen looked at her quizzically.

Zerlinda cleared her throat. “Um, well… Mistress Rosalie might have mentioned something like this the last time she was here.”

Cullen huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. He thanked her one more time and said his goodbyes. Nola had already prepared their carriage; the young elven woman and her cousin Alarith worked at Villa Reposo as stablemaster and housekeeper to support their families in South Reach. They were often helped by Zerlinda’s son, Faren, who was about Titus’ age and sometimes visited the cottage to spend time with the siblings.

In the days between Winter Solstice leading up to First Day, the merchants in South Reach traditionally held their Winter Market. Cullen had promised the children a visit when Mia had asked if they would like to spend to holiday at her house with Morgan gone for so long. Now that Rosalie had her own accommodations above her clinic in the outer parts of town, Mia had a spare room, which gave her an excellent excuse to invite her brother and his new family over more often.

Cullen brought the carriage to a halt in front of the cottage. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, putting on a smile before he opened the door. “Hey there. Did you two finish your writing exercises? Otherwise, you will have to do them while we are in town. Your tutor will expect your homework to be done next time he gets here.”

Titus looked up from the book he was reading and nodded. He shuffled a few handwritten pages around, only handing the topmost three over to Cullen and neatly folded the last page and placed it in his book. May was curled up to his feet under the table, lazily gnawing at a beef bone, that had not found its way into yesterday’s broth.

Ellie had been kneeling on her chair at the dining table, crouched over a piece of parchment, scribbling frantically with her quill; her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth, as always when she was concentrating. She jumped off the chair, waving the parchment at him. “Just finished it, papa! Look!”

Cullen watched the girl skip towards him, her auburn waves bouncing along with her springing steps. He couldn’t help but genuinely smile every time she called him that and reciprocated her affectionate hug. Although, he was still getting used to it. “I think we need to work on that a bit”, Cullen said, handing her back the page. “But you are certainly improving.”

“Writing is exhausting. It takes so much longer than just talking”, she complained.

“Only when you do not practice enough”, her brother teased her and earned himself the sight of Ellie sticking her tongue out in his direction.

“That’s not fair, you are way older than me! Of course you are better at this!”

“We started these lessons at the same time, Ellie”, he reminded her with a sigh.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and scoffed. “Mleph. Let’s see if you can spell that!”

“Alright, that is quite enough, you two!”, Cullen intervened, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch into a grin. He felt at the same time weirdly out of his element and yet as if he was working with green recruits again. “By the Maker… Please, get your bags. The horses are getting restless in the cold.”

As Titus grabbed his hunting bow and his satchel, Cullen wished that the boy would never have to aim it at anything else but the game he sometimes hunted in the nearby woods. He gave Titus a fatherly pat on the shoulder, before they climbed inside the carriage.

***

Bourneshire Monastery, 9:23 Dragon

„They should just give it to us now. What’s the harm? I mean, seriously… How are we supposed to know if the techniques they teach us actually work?” The stocky young man paced up and down a short row of bookshelves. “They made it abundantly clear that our abilities to drain mana and disrupt spells only come into full effect once we’ve taken our vows and have regular access to lyrium.”

“Ser Eryhn also made it abundantly clear that ingesting lyrium is not to be taken lightly”, Cullen explained calmly without looking up from the essay on Anticipating Magic in Unanticipated Circumstances he was writing. “It is also a costly resource. It would be wasted on recruits who haven’t even seen a mage up close, let alone an abomination. Now, would you please get back to your seat, Drass? You are making it rather difficult for me to concentrate here.”

With a grumpy huff, Drass took his seat next to Cullen. The boys had claimed their favourite study corner in the monastery’s vast library. After three years of combat training, lessons on armour and weapon maintenance, hundreds of hours enhancing their mental focus and memorizing and reciting the Chant of Light, earlier this day, Cullen and his fellow recruits had witnessed first hand for the first time what a confrontation between a seasoned Templar and a skilled mage could look like. All, of course, within the confines of their training grounds in the monastery courtyard. The mage was a scholar, send from the Circle of Montsimmard in Orlais. And even though the confrontation was staged it was overseen by two additional Templars.

For a while, they worked quietly, Drass asking Cullen for help whenever he struggled to understand something and Cullen patiently explaining it to him. Cullen had just finished his essay, when a tall, sinewy young man joined them. He grabbed a chair from the group desk his friends were sitting at, pulled it up and turned it around, so he could sit on it while resting his crossed arms and the back of the chair. “Heya boys, did you miss me?”, he flashed them a wide grin with his slightly crooked teeth, deep dimples formed at the corners of his mouth.

“I know you would like to hear otherwise, Maron” Cullen said, “but since you were indeed noticeably absent, I was for once actually able to finish my studies in a timely manner. I might actually get a good night’s sleep this time.” Cullen moved in his chair as if he was about to get up.

Maron grabbed him by the arm, holding him down. “Oh, come on, Cul. Sleep is for the weak! I’ve only just got here.”

“Not my problem that you seem to end up on dishwashing duty every other evening and have to stay up late to catch up with your class work.”

“Oh, I have my reasons”, Maron said with a wicked glimmer in his eyes. “Have you seen that pretty, dark-skinned serving girl? Man, she is something… But also, the redhead two years above us? Do you ever wonder what the girls wear under these hideous yellow and purple tunics they make us all wear?”

“Probably the same practical cotton undergarments as you and me”, Cullen responded dryly.

“Great, thank you, Cul… Now I am picturing you in your undergarments”, Maron groaned, pinching his friend teasingly in his soft lower abdomen.

Cullen swatted his hand away. Despite rigorously training for years, never going to bed before he could feel every single muscle in his body aching, and growing several inches, this soft layer of baby fat on his stomach proved to be absurdly stubborn.

“Maker, you are disgusting, you know that?” A young woman turned around the corner. “But I doubt either of you would need to take a vow of celibacy to ensure to remain a virgin for the rest of their life.” She scrunched up her nose in Maron’s direction and leaned over Cullen, inspecting the books scattered on the desk he and Drass were working at. “Do you still need that?” Without waiting for their response, she snatched up one of the larger volumes and started flipping through its pages.

“Sure, Rylien”, Maron glared at the girl. “Just take whatever you need. Cullen has probably memorized everything noteworthy in that dusty old book anyway.”    

Certainly, Cullen had stayed to assist his friends with their work as needed. His gaze focused on one of the oil lamps in the centre of the large desk, Cullen tried to concentrate on reciting the Chant of Transfiguration from memory. To his chagrin, now and again his mind wandered, and he caught his eyes trailing around the library: from the tall windows, blackened by the darkness outside, and the long rows of bookshelves going up to the ceiling to his fellow recruits, working in silence.

Maron had lived as an urchin in Denerim and had arrived the year before Cullen joined the Order. According to Maron himself, he had been known there as some kind of “defender of the little people” and one day a Templar noticed his talent and recruited him on the spot – which Cullen was fairly certain actually meant that Maron had been caught stealing and rather then locking him up, the Templar took pity on him and gave him the option to clean up his act. Drass, on the other hand, had been given to the Chantry as an infant and rumour had it that he was the illegitimate child of two Nevarran circle mages. These tales seemed to hold some form of truth to them, as Maron once overheard two Chantry brothers talking about a young recruit who everybody was surprised to have no magical talent whatsoever despite their heritage.

Cullen tilted his head slightly to the left, where he could see past the flickering oil lamp and at Rylien, who had taken her seat on the other end of the group desk, while ensuring there where at least three chairs between her and Maron. She kept mostly to herself, and Cullen did not know much about her. Mostly what was common knowledge; she was the youngest of seven siblings to a Fereldan noble family and the only female recruit amongst their peers. Cullen highly respected her. She took their education at least as serious as he did and could easily hold her own during combat training against any pubescent recruit riled up on testosterone and adrenaline.

The young woman caught his gaze and for a moment Cullen could have sworn she smiled at him. The visual was gone so quickly that he was certain that it must have been a trick of the light. Still, he tore his eyes away and cleared his throat, while Rylien snapped the book in front of her shut and collected her parchment pages, getting ready to leave.

“Ugh!” With an exasperated groan, Drass threw his quill down, splattering a fine crescent shaped ink stain on the desk.

“Careful with the books, mate”, Cullen reminded him in the low whisper they had perfected over the years, lest they were in danger of being overheard and in risk of being banned from the library for that day. He snatched up the volume closest to Drass.

“Seriously”, Drass started to vent, having a hard time keeping his voice down, “how is this theory crap supposed to tell us how we can recognize whether a person is about to cast a spell or just about to scratch their ear?”

“Simple”, Rylien said. She had just stood up; her essay tucked safely away under her arm. “From a distance, you can make it out from their posture, how their body tenses up, slight muscle spasms in their arms and legs, how their feet shift. Up close, there are even more, but subtler tells. Shallow breathing, dilated pupils, the strained neck and clenched yaws… Oh, and of course the more obvious ones. Like, when you’ve got a lightning bolt crammed up your arse.”

Maron snorted. Then him and Drass looked at Cullen for confirmation. Cullen sighed. “Maker, you should really know this yourself by now… Yes, she is correct. Especially about the lightning bolt thing”, he smirked.

“I think I am starting to like her”, Maron declared with a wide grin.

Rylien scoffed. “I don’t need you to like me. I am not looking for friends here. I just need to be sure I can rely on you when worse comes to worst. Which, currently, I could not say about all of you”, she said, looking Drass straight in the eyes.

Cullen watched her as she left the library, her long braid swinging left and right in the rhythm of her fast, confident stride.

***

Cullen stepped outside of the Chantry onto South Reach’s large market square, pulling his coat and scarf tighter around his shoulders to brace himself against the winter cold. The air smelled of snow and burning firewood. Mia waved at him from of the Winter Market stalls, where Lowrie, Titus and Ellie were inspecting the merchants paint supplies on over. Lowrie had wanted to stock up on some of her wood paints, which caused Ellie to also decide that she would like to try painting, and the merchant suggested some beginner friendly water colours.

After that, the small group strolled through the rest of the market. Ellie was holding on to Cullen with one hand, while proudly clutching the small bag with three colours, red, white and blue, and a paint brush in the other. She had paid for them herself spending some of her allowance for the holidays. Mia walked at her brother’s other side, the two adolescents leading the way. Titus had to call May to heel a few times, when the excitable war hound got distracted by a new sound or a new smell.

“Did you see that?” Mia whispered, nudging Cullen in the side and pointing towards her daughter and her friend. Titus had just handed Lowrie a neatly folded piece of paper.

“I did”, Cullen answered just as quietly, “but I was pretending not to, to grant them some privacy.” He had also noticed the subtle redness in the boy’s face, half concealed by his ochre-brown skin, as he had handed Lowrie the folded paper.

Ellies approach, on the other hand, was a lot less subtle. “Oh, is that the poem you’ve been working on the last four days?”, she asked, genuinely curious. The blush on her brother’s face deepened as he looked at her perplexed. “You’ve been walking around the cottage trying to come up with all kinds of weird words that rhyme with “pretty”. I live there, too, you know”, she explained casually.

“How about”, Mia stepped in, looking at Titus and Lowrie, “you two go to that tavern over there. Get yourself something hot to drink. My treat.”

“And what about you?” Lowrie wanted to know.

Cullen held Ellie’s hand tighter, as he felt her pulling away to join her older brother. “There is a toymaker over there. Ellie, what do you say we look for a friend for Rosie?”

Ellie’s eyes grew wide. “Really? She would love a friend!”

“I thought so”, he smiled at her.

“You are spoiling them”, Mia teased, linking her left arm with Cullen’s right one, as they watched Ellie browsing the toymaker’s wares.

“Maybe. Have I told you we bought a piano for the cottage? It will be delivered while we are in town.”

“You’ve always liked piano music”, Mia remembered, leaving the part about how their parents were not able to afford any kind of instrument, let alone the lessons required, unspoken.

“Yes, and so does she”, he said, looking at Ellie with soft eyes. “It so happens that an old friend of mine is staying at the villa right now. She agreed to teach us the basics, once she is feeling better.” He paused for a second. “Titus never asks for anything. Before we go back to the tavern, I would like to stop by the book seller.”

“Of course.”

Cullen laughed quietly. “Maker, I commanded whole armies and led them into battle against a would-be-God, fought demons and abominations… but having to keep up with these two on my own is something else. I love them”, he said fondly, “but I am glad once Morgan and I can face all these new challenges together again.”  

Mia patted his arm. “I am sure you are doing great, Cullen”, she said reassuringly. “But I know what you mean.”

Chapter Text

Ostwick was grey. From the double walls build around the city to protect it from external influences, its bulky buildings and the stone slaps used to pave the ground up to the clouded sky. Ostwick felt grey. Morgan inhaled deeply. Even the precursory smell of snow in the air seemed muddled, nothing compared to the crisp winter’s scent she had gotten used to in Ferelden. Although, she admitted, her perception of her surroundings might have been influenced by the events of the last two hours.

The city’s graveyard was embedded in the north-eastern outer most corner, enclosed on two sides by the more than 60 feet tall double walls. Two ages ago, they had been erected to protect its residents after the Qunari had landed a number of ships near Ostwick. Morgan never felt save and calm within their confines, the walls rather looming over them as an ominous, ever-present reminder of the threats lurking on the other side. She shivered. Like the circle tower, she thought. Her home for more than two decades was nothing more now than a crumbling ruin, curtesy of the war.

Slowly, Morgan walked through the grave rows, old and new ones to each side. She passed plaques with names, memorials for those lost during the Mage-Templar-War and the war against Corypheus. She kept Mischief close at heel. The clever war hound, sensing the solemnity she carried with her, stayed quiet, careful not to step off the path. Soon, they arrived at their destination. Morgan commanded the calf-sized dog to wait for her outside, as she descended the stairs to the crypt. 

She stood in reverence, her silent prayer like drums in her head in the eerily quiet mausoleum. Carefully, she traced the fingers of her left hand over the cold, smooth surface of the polished marvel. Another shiver went down her spine. Morgan still had no idea how Dagna had managed to do it, but she could have sworn she had some form of sensory awareness back and could feel whatever she touched, albeit slightly dulled. Whether it was an illusion made possible through the enchanted prosthetic or just her own sensory memory projecting the sensation, comparable to how at times she still felt the excruciating pain of the deteriorating mark in her left hand, months after it had been amputated, she could not tell. Then her fingers stopped, just short of the brass letters spelling out her mother’s name. 

***

“Well”, Maxwell said in a low tone, wiping the freshly fallen snow off the small stone bench just outside the mausoleum, and sat down next to Morgan, with Mischief to her feet, “that went even less stellar than I had expected.”

Morgan held her head down, her gaze fixated on the gloved hands in her lap. She kept moving and stretching the fingers of her left hand, as if they were stiff from the cold, while in truth she still got used to the enhanced flexibility of her newly reworked prosthetic. “I am just surprised he didn’t threaten to call the guards on me if I did as much as try go near the family mausoleum”, she said, her voice quiet and heavy, as a few tears dripped from the tip of her nose.

Maxwell hummed in agreement. “He is bitter. And according to Michael even more so since mother passed away last summer.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t’ think he expected to ever see you again and be confronted with his own past failures. Also, I cannot imagine what it must be like for you and what it must have cost you to come here, Evvy, after how our parents treated you… Yet, I am glad we came. Weird, isn’t it?” Max pulled his younger sister into a quick side-hug, giving her a peck on the top of her head.

“How are you feeling?” Morgan tried changing the subject, as she pulled away from his embrace to study his face for any sign of discomfort.

“I’ve been better”, he said with an anguished half-smile, “but I’ve also been worse. Ro’s medicine helps keeping some of the symptoms at bay.”

Morgan stood up and the mabari, too, was on his feet within the blink of an eye. “We should depart soon, we still a have few days of travel ahead of us and I would prefer not to keep Keeper Istimaethoriel waiting.”

“Of course.” Max rose as well. “But surely we still have some time to see if Old Man Petar got even older and if he still makes the best hard candy in all of Thedas – judging by the tastes of our five-year-old selves, of course”, he grinned.

She reciprocated his smile. “What was your favourite again? Ginger and lemon?”

“You remembered! Oh, one second… Yours were those creamy toffee ones and your teeth kept getting stuck together all the time.”

“Those are the ones”, Morgan laughed. She patted the bag she carried on her side. “While we are there, we should find out if the messenger service is still on the other side of the marketplace. When I told Cullen I would write to him before we leave the city, Ellie asked if she could get a letter of her own that she could then read for herself. I might just send each of them a small package, additionally. Titus as well, of course.” Morgan started listing the things she wanted to get them, as she linked her right arm with Maxwell’s left one. Relieved, her older brother noticed that the spark had returned to her eyes, as she talked about her small family.    

*** 

Ostwick Circle of Magi, 9:24 Dragon

Morgan’s concentration wavered. She could feel it, a subtle tug at the back of her mind, a strange pull, begging her closer, inviting her in… no, wanting to be let in…

“Stay focused, apprentice!”

Morgan opened her eyes. The flame she had been conjuring in her palm had singed the hem of her right sleeve. She wasn’t in control as much as she should have been for this lesson. Shocked, she looked at the blisters forming on her fingers and the stinging smell of burned cotton crept up her nose.

“Is everything alright, child?” The elderly Enchanter giving today’s lesson asked. Morgan felt how her worried gaze did not simply inspect her wounds but was searching for any sign of demonic possession. Morgan also did not miss how she nodded ever so slightly, communicating over her shoulder with the Templars standing watch in the classroom.

“I’m good. It just… stings a little”, Morgan lied, putting her hand behind her back. She could already feel some of the blisters open, the raw flesh beneath pulsating and hot. It was her own fault after all. Elemental offensive magic had only been added to their curriculum a few weeks ago. And she hated everything about it. Especially when she had to work with fire magic. She wasn’t exactly comfortable with using ice and lightning magic either, but she found those elements much better to channel and to control. Fire was wild and always felt like it had a mind of its own.

She didn’t want to become a weapon. But she knew it didn’t matter what she wanted. Apart from singular professions, Morgan was told people with magical talent had only three options, and only one was desirable as far as she was concerned. Either always be in control of your mind and therefore your magic, which includes worst case scenarios of being forced to rely on offensive magic, or lose control and succumb to demonic possession and become someone else’s weapon, which would result best case in her death and worst case in hers as well as many casualties. The third option was something she heard older mages describe as a fate worse than death: being made tranquil. Cut off from the fade and therefore unable to use magic ever again but doomed to live a life void of any emotion. Sure, would not be fear, anger or sadness. But also, no happiness, love or hope. And despite everything, Morgan preferred having to deal with all the good and bad parts of live rather than being forced to apathy.

Her teacher looked at her sceptically. “If you say so. I would still ask you to see the infirmary, just in case. Ask one of your classmates to share the notes on the rest of the lesson, once you have returned. You are dismissed.”

Morgan nodded. Hastily, she put her notes into her small bag and made her way to the door, stumbling over her own feet – someone’s leg? – and took the stairs up the infirmary.

While she waited for one of the healers to call her in, she re-read the letter her older brother had send her included in the present for her nameday, a large bag with sticky toffees. To share, he had written. Share with whom?, she had asked herself bitterly than. As usually, he told her how much they all missed her and that their parents had sent their regards. And as usually, Morgan knew that he was lying for her comfort. She was always able to call out when he was fibbing, even as a child. Maxwell was the only one who had been writing to her the past three years. Before that, her parents and even her two oldest siblings at written to her on occasion. But now, Max’s letters were her only means of knowing what was happening outside the circle, apart from things important or scandalous enough that they would find their way inside and to her.

“We cannot use magic to solve all our problems. I am only allowed to heal you enough to use your hand again. The rest will have to heal naturally. If it gets worse, come see me again”, the healer explained. With her hand in bandages, Morgan went to the library in hopes of finding someone to copy their notes. After trading some of her toffees for something that should have been a given, although she didn’t mind sharing, she browsed the large bookshelves in the alchemical sections. Alchemy came easy to her. It was controllable and dependable, as long as one did their calculations right. She even got confident enough recently to start smaller experiments, some with more successful results than others.

Engrossed in the vast selection of new titles filling one of the shelves, Morgan did not notice that someone else was studying some of the reference books until it was to late and she bumped into them, sending the stack of books they had been carrying tumbling to the floor.

“Enchanter Lydia, I am terribly sorry!” Morgan could feel the heat rise to her cheeks. “Here, let me help you.” At once, Morgan was on her knees, collecting the books. “Oh, I didn’t know the circle library carried the revised third edition on magical medicinal herbs by Horatio Limaxus!”, she exclaimed excitedly, skimming the volumes the woman had dropped because of her. 

“We do now”, Enchanter Lydia said with a kind smile. “I put in a special request for a few new books a few weeks ago. I felt our selection was a bit lacklustre in some areas… Are you in one of my classes?”

“I- No, you teach a few years above me, if I am not mistaken. I study under Senior Enchanter Cuthbert.”

“I see… If you don’t mind me asking, you aren’t by any chance Morgan?”

“Oh, um… yes, that is me. You have heard of me?” Morgan’s thoughts raced through her head. Was she in trouble? Had anything happened to her family? Sometimes, people simply recognised her because of her family name. The Trevelyan’s where a highly pious family and generously donated to the Chantry, and therefore in extension to maintaining the local Circle of Magi. Morgan had been living in the Circle of Ostwick for nearly a year before she realized the generous bedroom with the little desk she could call her own was not the standard for mage apprentices, but courtesy of her heritage. Most apprentices lived in dormitories with up to thirty others.

“Something like that. Cuthbert had me look over your essay on Increasing the Potency of Elfroot Draughts. Indeed, I found some of your ideas rather unconventional but none the less interesting and was hoping to discuss them further with you, if you would like.”

***

When, a few weeks ago, Morgan had planned their travel route back in the cottage, knowing they would want to stop in Ostwick while they were in the Free Marches, she had initially considered travelling from Ostwick to Wycome by horse; along the less frequented, and in the winter months sometimes impassable, trade route leading through the mountain range of the Vimmark Mountains. This section of their journey alone would have easily taken them at least ten days. When she presented her results to Cullen, he had laughed, shaking his head in endeared amusement; and then suggested she just board another ship from Ostwick which would take them to their destination within a fraction of this time. She was so used to travelling on horseback, that the simple solution of going by ship when the opportunity arose just did not occur to her. And her husband had the incredible talent to correct people and voice the obvious better choice without making them feel inadequate.  

From the Duchy of Wycome Morgan and Maxwell had travelled further north a few miles along one of the smaller arms of the Minanter River. First Day was approaching fast, and they would soon arrive in the general area where the Keeper of the Dalish Clan Lavellan was going to meet them.

As the sun started to set over the valley they had been passing through, they had made camp for the night. Now they sat by the campfire, the logs crackling and sparks flying up, as Morgan served them semolina pudding, made with milk they had purchased earlier that day in Wycome, together with a few pieces of fresh meat for Mischief, topped with re-hydrated apple rings, raisins and prunes, which had been stewed in water until they were covered in their own sweet, sticky syrup. To counter the creamy sweetness, they had some dried meats on the side.

They ate in silence. Halfway through finishing the contents of his wooden bowl, Maxwell cleared his throat. “This isn’t weird, right?”, he asked.

“What is?”, Morgan wanted to know, scratching the mabari, who lay curled up at her side to keep her warm, behind his ear.

“This. Us. Travelling together. Sitting here together after not seeing each other since we both were children. It should feel like we barely know each other.”

“Oh, yes. It is most definitely weird”, Morgan confirmed.

“Thank the Maker”, he laughed, “I was worried I was the only one thinking that…”

“It is weird. But the good kind of weird. And you are right. We don’t know much about the lives the other one lived apart from what we have told each other so far. Or what has been floating around as rumours”, Morgan smiled. “But what makes it the good kind of weird is being reminded of the small things I had long forgotten or had no one to talk to about because they all happened in a life before the circle.” She paused, remembering something Cullen had once told her about how he had felt when Mia had first written to him, when they had to relocate to Skyhold after the attack on Haven. “It feels good having someone from before that back in my life. Someone I care about. And someone who cares about me…” And I would do anything to keep it that way, she thought.

After that, they shared a few more memories, not without occasionally teasing each other.

Morgan had just gotten up to replace some of the logs she had put in to keep the fire going with fresh ones, so they could try through the heat emitting from it, when Mischief shot up, signalling her that something was approaching them from behind the trees. A few moments later, two elves emerged from the darkness of the forest. Two women, both with long, platinum-blonde hair, silvery-grey eyes and sharp, elegant features. While Morgan did not recognize the vallaslin of the elder one, the intricate markings covering the prominent cheekbones and forehead of the younger woman seemed familiar. She had seen them once before, on the faces of the ancient elven sentinels which had been guarding the Temple of Mythal.

As the two elven women came nearer, Morgan studied Mischief closely from the corner of her eye. Relieved, she noticed how the war hounds’ muscles relaxed, eyeing their visitors with curiosity rather than suspiciously.

“Andaran atish’an. I welcome you, Inquisitor Trevelyan”, the elder woman said in a surprisingly low and deep voice. “I am Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan. This is my First, Ellana. I believe we have a few things to discuss.”

Chapter Text

“Dissecting the mechanical elements of a healing spell to replicate its effect with an alchemical solution to make it more accessible… I see… What a fascinating idea… And now you called to inquire on my wellspring of knowledge and benefit from my years of magical research with Tevinter resources… I am flattered, my friend. Let me think… Based on what the two of you have told me so far… Say, Morgan, have you considered consulting Beyond Magic: A Modern Interpretation of Traditional Methods? While the author might have been a tad overly confident in his abilities, his reinterpretation of Gulliver’s third law of…”

“Oh, you mean that very rare special edition, which underwent a lot of revisions compared to the one prior?”

“So, you do know…”

“You mean that very rare special edition we had been incredibly fortunate to acquire at all for Skyhold’s library…”

“Yes, that is the one!”

“… and which, according to the quartermaster’s records, was packed up in a crate to be shipped to Minrathous with your belongings? Yes, Dorian, I have considered consulting it.”

“Ahem… Point taken. Give me a few minutes. I will look it up for you.”

“Thank you”, Morgan sighed, turning towards Rosalie, who was inspecting the magical and alchemical instruments and substances in Villa Reposo’s apothecary with a mix of curiosity and uneasiness.

Ro looked up, pulling her gaze away from Morgan’s research notes next to her on the table. “I think we already were on the right path by adding feverfew extract and magnesium to the deep mushroom powder to prevent the residual lyrium from crystalizing in the bloodstream. But I cannot say I am not intrigued to learn more…” She picked up the two vials Morgan had been working with earlier, gently swirling the dark red liquid inside them around; while the viscosity in the right vial seemed unchanged, the liquid in the left glass container moved only sluggishly, with small lumps visible in the streaks it left behind.

“I am back, my friend. By the way, dear Roro, I hope we will soon get the chance to continue our discussion from a few weeks ago over a good glass of wine.”

“Rosalie says if you keep calling her that she will call you Dodo from now on.”

“I’d rather she wouldn’t. Alright. But tell me again why she cannot talk to me personally?”

“She refuses to go near any of my magical instruments and the sending crystal only resonates the voices of those touching it. Have I told you, she also insists she always feels like walking through a cascade of ice-cold water when she steps through the barrier around the apothecary?”

“Is that so? Interesting. I didn’t notice anything like that. I might need to conduct some studies with none-mages and put that to a test...”

“Ro! They are not slaves, and he would never mistreat his unwitting servants in such a way… You wouldn’t, would you, Dorian?”

“I’d be more insulted if I didn’t know that these prejudices sadly weren't entirely unjustified. And no, I most certainly would not force magical experiments on people against their will…”

“Good, now that we have cleared that up, let’s get to work. Oh, but Dorian, should your experiments proof fruitful, I would be interested in the results.”

“Certainly, my friend.”

***

Cullen made his final round of the evening through the villa, checking in with their newest arrivals and making sure everything was set up for the night. As usual these days, he finished his route at the apothecary to get Morgan, so they could make their way back to the cottage together. The magical barrier which was cast around this part of the corridor to prevent unauthorized personnel from entering made the back of his neck tingle. It was a good thing the apothecary was at the far end of the east wing, far enough away from the quarters and common rooms, where their guests were supposed to rest and recover.

Considering their training, the numbers of those willing to subject themselves to spell craft to cure their ailments were small. As Morgan had hoped, the draught was a much more acceptable method for most of the former and retired templars. Some, however, were still wary of both alternative treatments and decided to undergo the withdrawal period the traditional way. Also, the potion had its limitations; there was no more lyrium to be ingested once the treatment had started, lest the side effects could be rather severe. Morgan, Rosalie and Dorian were only mildly disappointed when they had made this discovery. It meant the results of their months of hard work could, at least as of now, not be abused as a form of recreational drug by those magisters taking to lyrium potions, to enhance their magical abilities, like others drank wine.

Cullen opened the door. Morgan was watching the last ounces of the crystal-clear liquid she had poured from the alembic tickle through the cotton cloth soaked with a derivative of prophet’s laurel and peppermint into an empty vial. Once full, she carefully corked and labelled the vial, sealing it with wax to avoid leakage and cross-contamination, before she put it to the other two dozen or so bottles she had already prepared. They would last their guests for about a week.

Morgan smiled at him when she looked up. “I’ll be with you in a moment, love.” After thoroughly wiping down every surface and washing her hands, she joined him at the door. She greeted him with a long, deep kiss, letting out a contended sigh.

“How was your day?”, Cullen asked, as he led her down the corridor, his arms tightly wrapped around her.

Morgan beamed at him. “Quite productive, actually. A few more days like this, and we have enough potions stocked up to last us for a while. But I am starving now”, she confessed.

Cullen frowned. “It is unlike you to forget to eat”, he remarked. “You have been seeing Ro a lot lately. You- I mean, I know you have been working together, but I can’t shake the feeling… Is everything- Is there something- By the Maker, Morgan. You would tell me if you were feeling unwell, wouldn't you?”

They stopped. They had made their usual small detour through Villa Reposo’s spacious gardens, and passed the freshly ploughed vegetable patches, where soon the first plants of the season would be sown, once the risk for night frosts had ceased.

Even in the dim light of the lantern in Cullen’s hand, Morgan could see the worry in her husbands’ eyes. She turned towards him, holding his hand tightly in hers. “Of course!”, she whispered reassuringly. “And you are right… I have been- Your sister has been asking to see me a few times… Cullen, I didn’t want to say anything. Not yet. Not as long as I wasn’t sure there was anything to say in the first place. I didn’t want to get your hopes- our hopes up for nothing… Not after we weren’t even sure we could…” Morgan was fumbling for the right words. She laughed quietly. “This wasn’t exactly how I had planned on telling you...” Morgan still held Cullen’s hand firmly gripped in hers, as she placed it over her stomach. “I am not far along yet, you know.”

Cullen looked at her in incredulous silence for a moment, piecing together the incoherent words she had just stammered at him. “Morgan… Maker’s breath, is this real? You are- we are…? You are pregnant?”

“Yes. Looks like it.” Morgan smiled at him. Her plum-coloured eyes big, soft and warm and full of hope, the golden specks in them rivalling the stars in the night sky, as tears started to run down her cheeks, rosy as the tip of her nose because of the chilly night.

Cullen kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose and ended at her lips. Tender and warm and comforting. Morgan let herself sink against his plush torse, embracing him. This was the only time and place she ever allowed herself to feel small, delicate and fragile, things usually not associated with her simply based on her physique. While she had proven she could take care of herself a hundred times over by now, in Cullen’s arms she felt like the world could burn around them and she would still be always safe and protected, and no harm could come to her.

Cullen slipped his coat off and placed it over Morgan’s shoulders, despite of her already wearing one of her own. “Let’s go home and get you warmed up. And something to eat. I’ll cook. Well, I’ll try, at least”, he said, the scar above his right upper lip accentuating his boyish smirk.

Morgan laughed and pulled his coat tighter around herself, nestled against her husband’s warm side, as they followed the moon-lit path downwards, around the orchard and towards the cottage.

***

„And when I have my own room, do you think Lowri can sleep over when she and auntie Mia are visiting? And can I lay out one of the corners with straw and have one of the nugs move in with me? Or better both, so he won’t get lonely when I am not there. I would feed them and always fill their trough with fresh water from the well. And I want to make a bed for Rosie and Bruno in a crate in front of the window, so they can always look outside and see the sunrise behind the mountains. Oh, and mama…”

“Yes, Ellie?”, Morgan answered with a smile, as she held the girl’s hand, while she was balancing on one of the long wooden beams laying in a sturdy pile next to the cottage. With spring around the corner, the carpenters would soon arrive to start building the second floor atop the brick-walled first.

“I love you.” Ellie turned on the spot, hugging Morgan around the middle, while still standing on the edge of the beam.

Morgan laughed, barely preventing them both from taking a tumble. “I love you, too, little one”, she said, kissing her adoptive daughter on top of her auburn waves. Her and Cullen had told Ellie and Titus right in the morning the news, a bit nervous how they would take it. They were glad they had already arranged for an annex to the cottage even before she had left for Ostwick.

“Do you think you can teach me how to help people with my magic? Make their pain go away? You know, like you do.”

“Is that something you would like to learn?”

“I think so, yes. Also doing pretty things with magic, like making flowers bloom and how to conjure pretty ice crystals. But mostly the helping part, yes.”

“Just so you know, and please don’t let this discourage you: we are still catching up on the basics. It will take many years of hard study. But I guess that is also true for any form of craft and profession one wants to master. So, I don’t see why not.”

Ellie beamed at her.

“Hey, Ells!” The girl turned around as she heard her brother calling for her, walking towards them with a big grin on his face. Cullen followed behind him, while May and Mischief were playfully chasing each other around. The two mabari had been inseparable ever since Morgan and Max had returned from their journey to the Free Marches. “We finished my lecture. Would you like to come visit the chickens and the nugs with me now?”

“I’m coming!” She jumped off the beam she was still standing on and ran towards her older brother.

“The boy is incredibly smart”, Cullen said, as they watched the siblings vanish around the corner. “He could come a long way in any field he chose.”

“I know”, Morgan nodded, leaning back against Cullen’s chest, who wrapped his arms around her middle from behind. “He had to take on a lot of responsibility so soon. And I am glad he has become comfortable enough with us to just be that at times: a boy.”

“Agreed.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, you there! Stop it! And get back here!” Cullen cursed under his breath, as he chased after his target and the distance between them increased. He could already feel the strain on his lungs, the sleepless night taxing on his constitution and agility, and vowed to rejoin Delrin and Maxwell in the exercise routine they practiced every morning with their guests.

“Mischief, halt!” Cullen commanded once more and this time the massive war hound stopped in his tracks, giving him enough time to catch up. Swiftly, Cullen wrapped his arms around his middle from behind, lifting him off the ground. All four paws dangling awkwardly in front of the mabari, Cullen carried the calf-sized dog back to the cottage. “Can’t you just behave like a regular dog for once?”, he sighed but only got a short, excited bark and a pleading whine in response; simultaneously, the dog struggled to stretch his neck backwards to lick his master’s ear. In the end he managed to achieve a tiny victory, when the tip of his tongue brushed Cullen’s nose. “Alright, that’s enough! Down you go again.” Cullen dropped Mischief behind the garden fence, well aware that this would do nothing to hold back the excited war hound, but it was better than leaving him on the open premises.

“Stay”, Cullen commanded. Catching his breath, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and rubbed his looming double chin through his scruffy beard in the process. Before he climbed over the fence himself, he bunched up his long, golden curls, to tie them up in a half bun at the back of his head. Once on the other side, Cullen went straight for the wooden bench and table in the centre, which was bathed in the rose gold light of the early morning sun. He sat down, silently observing a few bees buzzing about the surrounding patches of colourful flowers and aromatic herbs, all carefully curated and well cared for by Morgan. “Come here, boy.” Cullen patted his knee and Mischief shot up, placing his enormous front legs over his thighs, putting his head down on his master’s lap as well, expecting to be scratched behind the ear. Cullen obliged.

The door behind him opened and he could hear Morgan’s low, contented humming, which always had a calming effect on him. Two years to the day married and her plum-coloured eyes still lit up with that excited spark and full of warmth every time she looked at him. “Good morning, love”, he greeted her with a smile, taking the heavy looking basket from her, which she slightly struggled to carry with her right arm.

“Good morning.” She cupped his cheek with her now free hand, pulling him into a sweet kiss, before nipping at his lower lip with a cheeky spark in her eyes. “I thought I’d bring you breakfast. You must be exhausted after being up all night, after all.” Morgan started emptying the contents of the basket on the wooden table, the cotton cloth which had covered everything doubling now as an improvised tablecloth.

“Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you”, Cullen mused, taking a bacon strip from one of the bowls she produced from the basket and shared it with Mischief. The dog’s nose had been perking up the moment Morgan had approached them.

“Just by being the gentle and compassionate person you are. That is all you I need.” She sat down beside him, taking his hand in hers and caressing the back of the hand with her thumb. She kissed him again, longer this time, to emphasize her words.

“How is our girl doing?”, Morgan asked, placing a wooden plate in front of each of them.

Cullen looked over to the small shack, from where he had caught Mischief earlier as he was trying to squeeze through the door. “She is resting. The pups took a lot out of her. They all look healthy, though.” He wagged a mock-accusatory finger towards the dog, who was still sprawled out over his lap. “This guy, on the other hand…” He laughed, unable to pretend being cross with him any longer, “I don’t know what it is. If it is a mabari-thing or if it is just him… As far as I know, male dogs usually don’t care much for their pups. Not him, though. He got overly excited, and I had to drag him away several times. I feared he might accidentally crush one of the little ones by taking only a single careless step. I mean, look at these paws!” Cullen held up his front paws to demonstrate his point.

Morgan laughed, enjoying this more carefree and playfully silly side of her husband she got to see more and more of. “He is just excited to be a dad now! You know what the waiting feels like…” She gently placed Cullen’s hand over her slightly rounded belly. Feeling the warmth of her bump through the fabric of her dress, a joyful shiver ran through his body, leaving him with a warm feeling in his chest.

“I can see other traits in him as well, that he shares with his master.” She reached for a cheese cube and even before her hand had fully risen to her husband’s mouth, Cullen had already opened his lips, eagerly taking it from between her fingers.

“Really? Which are those?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, you both have these warm, kind eyes”, Morgan explained, now feeding him a piece of bacon from her plate. “You both have a heart of gold.” The bacon was followed by a piece of fruit. “You both would go to lengths to protect those you love and those who cannot protect themselves.” And another cheese cube. “And”, she concluded with a wicked smirk, “you both love it when I feed you little treats.”

“That is- I mean…” Cullen could feel the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Well, alright. It is hard to argue with that one… Maker, between the two of us you might think I am the one with child…”, he said sheepishly, patting his stomach and surprising himself by how little he actually minded the additional empathy pounds on top of the softness he accumulated over the past couple of years.

Morgan leaned over to him, nipping at his earlobe, before she whispered into his ear: “You know I don’t care about that, Cullen. I love you because of who you are.” She closed the short distance between them, so she could rest her forehead against his. “Thank you, for being you.”

He felt a tingling sensation spread through his body, warm and familiar, washing away the lingering weariness from the sleepless night. “I love you, too. And thank you, for being you.”

They finished setting the table together and Morgan had just taken the first sip of her herbal tea, a savoury blend of alchemilla, fennel and caraway seeds, as one of windows of the annexed, half-timbered upper floor was yanked open.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”, Ellie demanded to know, leaning precariously far out of the window to look down at them. “You promised I’d get to see the puppies!”

“Good morning to you, too, little one”, Morgan said with a motherly, unimpressed smile.

“And you will, little Miss Rutherford” Cullen promised, speaking as loudly as necessary so she would hear him without shouting. “Now, would you please stop shouting and come down here so we can talk in a more civilised manner?”

Grumbling, Ellie closed the window with a thud and soon they could hear her rumbling down the stairs. The girl took her seat on the bench opposite them, arms crossed and pouting. “Why did Titus get to be there, and I didn’t?”

“Because there is no one May trusts more to take care of her and her babies then your brother”, Cullen explained calmly.

“Not even you?”, Ellie asked, grumpily popping a piece of fruit in her mouth. “Or Mischief?”

“Not even them”, Morgan confirmed. “She wouldn’t let him leave her side for a single second tonight. Even now, he is still with them.”

Surprised, she looked at them. “She likes him that much?” The adoration and pride she felt towards her older brother clearly visible in her icy-blue eyes. “Then that’s alright. I guess. But I get to name them!”

An hour later, Cullen softly knocked on the door to the shack. Ellie was pressed against his side, waiting patiently until Titus let them in. When he opened the door with tired eyes, he smiled at his little sister. “Would you like to see them, Ells?”

The girl nodded, handing her older brother a waterskin and two pieces of bread with a generous amount of meat and cheese crammed in between, which Morgan had helped her prepare. She had also insisted on bringing him a handful of freshly plucked pea pods from the garden, which she and Titus liked to snack on.

Cullen and Morgan waited by the door, as Titus led Ellie to a nest of woollen blankets and pillows on the opposite side. May looked up sleepily, huffed out in approval as she saw them and rested her head back on her paws. Next to her, five little fur balls, about the size of Cullen’s palm, clumsily crawled over each other, quietly whimpering, using their noses to find their way around and nipping at each other in search of food.

“They are so tiny”, Ellie whispered in awe, carefully kneeling in front of them.

“I know”, her brother said, just as mesmerized by the newborn puppies. Their fur colours ranged from their father’s deep brown to their mother’s soft caramel shade, speckled with the occasional lighter blemish. He turned towards Cullen and Morgan. “Will they- I mean, do we have to… um… Do we get to keep them?”, he asked hopefully.

Cullen and Morgan exchanged a look. “We have thought about it”, Morgan nodded. “Though, they will not be staying with us at the cottage all the time.”

“They might be keeping our guests in the villa company most of the time, once they are older”, Cullen explained. Especially some of their long term guests would appreciate the comfort of a kind, furry companion at their side. While Villa Reposo offered a variety of pastime activities for the former templars, not all their guests were in the condition to participate in them. Among other things, they could help Nola and Alarith tend to the gardens and animals, to keep themselves occupied. Some of the horses and cattle had been brought here solely for that, often older or severely injured in the past and they got to life out their live here in peace. And Rylien had implemented a daily music hour in the afternoons, where she would either play for the others or with them, depending on their mood.  

Titus beamed at them. “That sounds rather nice, actually”, he agreed.

Ellie let out a soft giggle, as one of the puppies accidentally bumped against the hand she was propped up on and started nibbling on one of her fingers. Titus gingerly guided the pup back towards his mother.

***

My dearest Morgan, dear Cullen,  

Thank you so much for the well wishes and the lovely present. The rocking horse your niece made is rather exquisite and a really fine steed, fit for the future heir to House Montilyet. I cannot wait until Fabiano is old enough to play with it.  

There is so much I need to tell you but firstly, I have heard word that congratulations are in order. I am so happy for the both of you. I will include a few things in this package, which helped me during my pregnancy, and hope they will be of use to you.  

After Thom left for Weisshaupt, I met with Lord Otranto to further discuss our arrangement. Our betrothal would have furthered the influence of our respective families in the trading business. And a marriage to one of the daughters of House Montilyet will continue to do so, though it will not be me.  

Yvette confided in me that she and the Lord had been getting closer during my time with the Inquisition and were in fact quite fond of each other. Unbeknownst to our dear mama and papa, mind you. She would have given up on her happiness for my sake, but I would not have had that. In the summer, they will make their engagement official, and the wedding will be held in Antiva City next year.  

Meanwhile, I will continue my duties to the family business as planned. I have found a lovely nanny hailing from Treviso, to help me with Fabiano.  

Oh, how I wished there was a way to reduce the travel time between our homes. I cherished the chance to see you once again last year.  

All the love for you,
Josephine

***

A few days later, May and her five pups had been moved to the cottage, where they currently occupied one of the guestrooms. While Cullen and Maxwell had helped Titus built a new hut for the mabari family behind the cottage, Morgan was certain that the dogs would most likely end up sleeping in the cottage most of the time anyway. Truthfully, she would dearly miss not being woken up by Mischiefs snoring anymore and in the nights he managed to slip in at the foot end of their bed, she took advantage of his warmth and buried her somehow always freezing feet beneath the dog.

Much like right now. Morgan was sitting on the sofa, legs drawn up to her chest and a book resting on her knees. Mischief was curled up beside her, happily fulfilling his duty as his mistress’s foot warmer in exchange for cuddles and scratches, when Cullen entered through the door separating the adjoined kitchen and living room from the small hallway leading to the lower floor bedrooms. He had taken his paperwork to the cottage to spend time with Morgan, leaving Delrin in charge for the day, and had just taken a short break to check in with May and the pups. He left the doors ajar so they would hear anything unusual or signs of distress.

Cullen went back to the dining table. On his way there he passed by Morgan, who looked up from her book with a warm smile. He took her right hand in his and lifted it up to his lips, brushing a tender kiss against her knuckles. He chuckled when he noticed the blush on her cheeks.

Then there was a knock at the cottage door.

“It’s open”, Morgan responded.

“I hope I am not disturbing you, but I thought I’d pay you a visit, Evvy”, Maxwell said, standing in the open doorway.

Cullen shook his head. “Not at all. Come in, Max.”

“Thank you. And fear not, for I have come not empty handed. I bear aplenty of fine offerings.” Grinning, he held out a plate with six large slices of rich, moist dark chocolate cake. “You know Zerlinda never lets me leave empty handed when she knows I am on my down here. She also packed the children a lunch, Titus and Ellie are having a small picnic at the lake shore with Faren. And of course, we can’t forget our best boy here”, he added as he went over to greet Mischief with a rough scritch behind the ear, trying to decreetly feed him a treat. A task at which he failed miserably, when the dog licked his hand and let out an excited bark in thanks.

Cullen cocked his right eyebrow. “Was that also from Zerlinda?”

“No, that was just from me.”

“Of course.” Cullen shook his head and could feel the corners of his mouth twitch, when he said: “You are just as incorrigible as your sister.”

“Since you married her, I take that as a compliment.” Maxwell placed the plate on the small table next to the sofa and sat down in the armchair next to his sister. “What are you reading, Evvy?”

Morgan held up the battered romance novel, part three of five of a popular series targeted at a younger audience, in her hand. She looked at her brother, slightly embarrassed.

Maxwell laughed affectionately. “You are still reading these? Shouldn’t you know them by heart by now?”

“It brings me comfort, reading them again once in a while”, she explained. “I know exactly what is going to happen, no unwanted surprises. I have had far too many of those for a lifetime.”

Morgan and Maxwell talked for a bit more, sharing one of the pieces of chocolate cake, while Cullen got back to his paperwork.

“Maker, this cannot be right!” he exclaimed after a while, readjusting his reading glasses and frantically flipping through the ledger, comparing it with his notes and papers scattered on the dining table. After going through their correspondence, he had been working through their finances, thoroughly transferring every expense and income related to Villa Reposo in the books. He and Morgan had both accepted only a fraction of the compensation Divine Victoria had wanted to allot them for their time in service of the Inquisition. And it would still have been more than enough to grant them a very comfortable life, despite what they officially called their early retirement. With the estate in Reposo Valley being gifted to them, their private funds in addition to the occasional donation directly from the Chantry were sufficient to maintain the retreat for the former templars free of charge.

Morgan looked over to her husband. “What is it, love? Is everything all right?”

„These numbers are far too high… But according to this writ”, he held up a sheet of sturdy parchment with the official sunburst seal, “the Chantry recently received a rather generous donation, appropriated for future funding of Villa Reposo.”

“This is… unexpected.” Morgan furrowed her brows. “Do we know where it came from?”

Cullen nodded, having found the corresponding note. “I think you should see this for yourself.” He looked at Maxwell. “Both of you.”  

Morgan walked to him, squeezing his shoulder as she bent down over him to study the parchment, Maxwell stood at his other side. The first thing Morgan noticed was the heraldry in the seal on the donation form: an imposing steed with a flaring mane. “Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed”, she whispered automatically. But what caught her off guard was the signature by the person issuing the donation. Bann Seamus Trevelyan of the City of Ostwick. Her father.

Sensing her tense up, Cullen put his hand on hers, which still rested on his right shoulder. “Did you know about this?”, Morgan asked, looking at her brother.

“No, Evvy, I swear. After our visit there I’ve only been writing to Michael once. I asked you and you said you didn’t mind, if I told them that you are…”

Another knock at the door. Mischief shot up from the sofa and was at the door before Cullen could get to it. Alarith and Nola were standing outside. “We are terribly sorry to disturb you, Ser Cullen”, the young elven man said, wiping a few beads of sweat from his forehead. His cousin just smiled shyly, they had never visited them at the cottage before. “But a pretty large delivery arrived at the villa for you and Lady Morgan. We thought it would be faster to bring it down rather than calling you up first.”

Only now Cullen noticed the enormous crate behind them and couldn’t help but be impressed that they must have carried it the fifteen minutes foot walk from the villa to the cottage by themselves. “Yes, thank you”, was all he could say.

“We’ll leave you to it”, Nola said with a curt nod, and the two young elves made their way back.

Morgan and Maxwell joined Cullen outside. Confused, they studied the delivery crate, which according to the papers had been shipped from the Free Marches, most likely Ostwick. Again Ostwick, Morgan thought. Cullen got a pry bar from the tool shack and started lifting the nails fixing the lid to the crate. Once open, Morgan had to steady herself on Cullen’s arm. He supported her, while Maxwell pulled out the excelsior protecting the object inside, revealing a masterfully crafted cot, elegant in its simplicity and adorned with a beautiful floral pattern around the edges.

There was no note. And she didn’t need one. Morgan knew instantly who must have sent it. Tears started trickling down her cheeks. She recognised the design from the furniture in her own childhood bedroom back in Ostwick. This gift said so more much more than all the words in the world ever could.

Chapter Text

Fragments of images flooded her mind. An incoherent, disembodied voice echoed through the empty streets of Haven, the village still liveable, still standing. 

“You continue to surprise me.” 

A change of scenery. The holding cells below the Chantry. Empty shackles on the ground.  

“I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor. A magical mark of unknown origin, tied to a unique breach in the Veil. You were a mystery. You still are”, the voice continued. “You have fractured rules of man and nature, and you will shatter more before you are done.” 

Morgan turned to her left, looking the man beside her right in the eyes. Purplish-grey, unreadable. “You’re a good friend, Solas”, she said. “I appreciate that.” 

His gaze softens, only for the fraction of a second. “Thank you. You throw me off so easily.” 

Another moment in time. They were standing on the balcony of the Inquisitor’s quarters at Skyhold, overlooking the golden light of the sun reflect on the frozen, snow-covered mountaintops high up in the Frostback Mountains. 

“So many would use this Inquisition as a blunt instrument in their rise to power.” Solas studied her curiously, a mischievous glimmer in his wise, kind eyes, as if he just figured out a particularly difficult puzzle. “But not you.” 

“So, what does this mean, Solas?”, Morgan asked the mysterious elven mage, who had over time become not only a mentor to her, but whom she counted amongst her closest friends. 

He looked at her, as if he saw – perceived – her for the first time properly. The glint in his eyes extinguished, making way to a sadness she didn’t know yet where to place. “It means that I respect you deeply, Inquisitor.” 

The balcony and the mountains blurred out of existence. Instead, Morgan was standing in a tiny graveyard, kneeling in front of a tombstone, which was bathed in the murky, sickly greenish light of the Fade. She silently mouthed the name and the inscription as she read it: Solas – Dying Alone. 

Once again, her surroundings changed. In midst of ancient elven ruins, she found him again. His revelations washed over her. 

“The mark you bear was bestowed upon you by the Orb of Fen’Harel. My orb… Had I not created the Veil, the Evanuris would have destroyed the entire world... They killed Mythal. A crime for which an eternity of torment is the only fitting punishment... My people fell for what I did to strike the Evanuris down, but still some hope remains for restoration... I will save the elven people, even if it means this world must die…” 

“Solas”, Morgan said, her mind clouded by the pain in her left hand, pleading, locking eyes with him, as she gently grabbed his forearm. “Whatever you want, this world dying is not the answer. You don’t need to destroy this world. I’ll prove it to you.” 

He held her gaze. There was almost something like a sad smile twitching at corners of his mouth. “I would treasure the chance to be wrong once again, my friend.” 

Another sudden shockwave of pain rippled through Morgan, stronger than ever before, bringing her to her knees. She gripped her left forearm, breathing heavily. “It’s getting worse”, she whispered. 

“Yes”, he said quietly. “I’m sorry. And we are almost out of time. The mark will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you… at least for now. Take my hand.” 

Morgan cried out in agony as Solas, slowly, extracted the anchor from her breaking body. She threw up, the nausea caused by the excruciating pain overwhelming her. Then it was over. Her vision blurred around the edges, her breathing shallow but steady. 

“Live well, while time remains.” 

As her eyes went dark, there was only a single thought on her mind...

“Cullen.” Morgan woke up, his name still on her lips. Her nightshirt clung to her body; her forehead and cheeks wet with sweat and tears. The pain was gone. She was laying on her back, staring through the ceiling window. Slowly, she got her breathing under control. The full moon cast its calming, silvery glow into their bedroom in the cottage, illuminating the empty cot next to their bed. Morgan felt someone stirring next to her on the mattress.

“I am here”, Cullen whispered, squeezing her right hand tightly. “I am with you, Morgan. Are you alright?” He moved closer to her, careful not to wake the little girl curled up on his chest, fast asleep. Her short, ink-black curls stood in stark contrast to her rosy skin and her father’s golden-haired, bare chest. Cullen studied Morgan intently, a worried look in his amber eyes.

Morgan nodded. “Just a dream. Or, rather an old memory.” She discarded the nightshirt to the floor, the night was warm enough to just sleep under a blanket anyway. She closed the distance between them, pressing herself against her husband’s side. “Go back to sleep, love”, she said, kissing his temple. He grunted, already half asleep, tenderly stroking her hair. Morgan closed her eyes as well. She drifted off into sleep once more, a soft smile on her face, as she listened to the steady rhythm of Cullen’s heartbeat, gently caressing the sleeping infant’s back.

***  

Later that day, Morgan was strolling through the estate’s premisses in Reposo Valley. Raemie had been a bit restless, and she wanted to tire her out, before she could put her to sleep for the afternoon. The ten months old girl tightly sitting against her hip and holding on to her mother’s side, they had reached the orchard, where Morgan explained in great detail, which fruits grew here and how to distinguish the different trees from one another when they where not bearing fruit. They had already been here yesterday, when Ellie had helped Morgan pick buckets full of fresh cherries from the large tree. Still, Raemie listened intently to her mother’s soothing voice and her eyes darted around, following her finger when she pointed something out to her. As usual, they were accompanied by Spot. The young, playful mabari was by far the smallest of the bunch and had her name given to her by Ellie on account of a singular white spot resembling an upside-down heart-shape on her forehead, standing out from her otherwise immaculate, dark, chocolate brown coat of fur. Spot had been especially attached to the pregnant Morgan from the beginning and now viewed herself as hers and Raemie’s personal guard dog. And Raemie in return adored her furry protector, up to the point that Morgan wouldn’t be surprised if her first real word would be Spot, right after mama or dada, thankfully. But probably simply because those had been much easier to vocalize for the child.

They had just emerged from the orchard to make their way up to the villa, when Morgan spotted a familiar, red-headed dwarven woman a few dozen feet away.

“Hello, Inquisitor!”

“Scout Harding!”, Morgan greeted her with a wide smile, wrapping her arms tighter around her daughter, who was leaning down to inspect Lace Harding with her curious, big, wide amber eyes. “Right on time, as always.”

“Of course”, their visitor nodded, first waving at Raemie, before holding her hands out for Spot to sniff them. “These titles do sound awfully formal now, do they?”, she said with an awkward smile.

“They do”, Morgan agreed with a short laugh. “Considering you are here on official business concerning the Inquisition, disbanded or not, they are uncomfortably appropriate, though. How was your journey, Lace?”

Joined by Harding, Morgan continued her walk up to the villa, while exchanging the latest gossip and catching up with one another, with Raemie happily babbling along with them. The two women hadn’t seen each other since shortly before Morgan’s due date.

They passed by the fountain in the forecourt of the magnificent building, where the sun reflected in the stray droplets cascading through the air like diamonds, foregoing the wide marble staircase leading up the main entrance hall and headed around the corner, straight for vast gardens. Around this time of day, the gardens where the most frequented area of the villa, especially during the summer months. The rose mallow hedges surrounding this part of the gardens were still in full bloom, their pink and white flowers complementing the pale-yellow façade and the ivory-coloured columns of the imposing villa. Comfortable benches, chairs and small tables invited those who came here to linger.

Morgan saw Delrin and Mia deep in a game of chess, surrounded by a small group of spectators, one of them taking bets against one or the other. Although there were no coins involved, it was simply for entertainment. A regular occurrence, whenever Cullen’s eldest sister visited, with either him or Delrin as her opponent. Then she spotted Maxwell, who was leading a young, but nonetheless fragile looking, woman out of the double-winged glass door of the villa and down the stairs leading to the gardens. There he helped her make herself comfortable on a chair, putting her feet on a cushioned stool. Ginny was already waiting there for them. Just like hers and Spot’s three brothers Lucky, Trix and Dusty, the proud mabari, with the almost cream-coloured coat of fur, kept the guests of Villa Reposo company on most days, instinctively searching out those in need of companionship the most. Despite her young age she was already at least as tall as her mother, while also being exceptionally gentle. The other three young mabari where nowhere to been seen, which most likely meant they were with some of their guests who preferred the quiet and solitude of the darker, cooler rooms in the villa. She knew Rosalie was here as well, doing her bi-weekly check-ups.

Zerlinda and Faren were setting up trays with biscuits, tiny sandwiches and bowls with pickled eggs at one of the tables in preparation for afternoon tea. Morgan greeted them with a nod when they saw her. Some of the men and women here had served in the Inquisition under Cullen’s command and those who recognized the head scout accompanying Morgan acknowledged the two women with a curt, formal salute, which Harding responded with an awkward smile.

Muted cheers came from the table were Delrin and Mia had been playing. “It was a pleasure as always, dear Mia”, Delrin bowed in front of her, a cheeky grin on his face.

Mia snorted. “You only say that on the days you bested me, my love. Could I persuade you into a rematch?”

“Not today, I am afraid”, Delrin shook his head. He had spotted Morgan and Harding. “Duty calls.”

Mia followed his gaze. “I see. I’ll get my brother and see if Ro might need something off me.”

Shortly after, Cullen stepped out into the gardens, Mischief ever dutiful at his masters heels. His eyes lit up when he found Morgan and Raemie. He exchanged a few quick words with Delrin and came over to them, while they waited behind the rose mallow hedges.

“Da!”, Raemie squealed, reaching for him and making grabby hands into thin air.

“Yes Raemie, that is you papa”, Morgan whispered in her ear, her daughter’s soft, black curls tickling her nose as she kissed her in her rosy, apple cheeks.

“Hey there, little cub!” Cullen said softly, taking the girl from Morgan. He lifted Raemie up to his head and buried his nose against his daughter’s belly, before proceeding to gently blow a raspberry. She rewarded his tickles with delighted squirms and giggles. “Have you been keeping mama busy?”, he asked her. Prompted by the word, Raemie turned to Morgan, pointing at her. “Mama!”, she exclaimed.

Morgan felt her whole body ache from adoration and love flooding through her, as she watched the two of them. Cullen stepped closer to greet her with a kiss. Grabbing the fabric of his tunic, which was considerably loser around his waist then a few months ago, she pulled him in, deepening their kiss.

“Commander”, Harding greeted him, trying her best to keep a straight face.

Cullen’s cheeks flushed red hot and he cleared his throat, as he pulled away from Morgan. Immediately, his voice dropped approximately two octaves when he said with a curt nod: “Scout Harding.”

“Oh, before I forget”, the dwarven woman nestled on her pack, “my mother insisted I bring you some of the tea she used to send us.” She held out a small satchel smelling of dried ginger, cinnamon and pepper corns.

“That is very kind of her”, Cullen took it from her, after handing Raemie back to Morgan. “But that really was not necessary.”

“Na, I know”, Harding said, shrugging her shoulders. “But it’s hard to argue with her about things like that. It is actually tasty and keeps you warm. Just be grateful I could talk her out of sending you a wheel of Revered Mother's Knickers as well.”

“How fares the search?”, Morgan asked Harding, once they had walked several feet away from the villa.

“You tell me”, Harding scoffed. “You are the only ones who’ve knowingly encountered one of Solas’ agents and actually made contact with them.”

“Actually, it was her who approached us”, Morgan explained. “M came here a few weeks ago.”

“That’s her name?”

“That is what she goes by. She said it’s an abbreviation for her human mother’s surname. Mercar.”

Morgan and Cullen than proceeded to fill Harding in on what they had learned from their meeting with the read-headed woman, whom they had suspected to be in liaison with the Dread Wolf for some time now, but their contacts had been unable to get a hold of.

The young woman, who had introduced herself as M, had grown up amongst the Dalish and despite being half-blooded had been a fully accepted member of her clan. She even bore a vallaslin at one point, until she met Fen’Harel. Having grown up with the tales of the Lord of Tricksters she was fascinated by him and humbled that he would seek her out to carry out a seemingly harmless assignment for him: to keep an eye on the Inquisitor, once she had left Skyhold. And if necessary, to keep her safe.

“To what end?”, Harding asked sceptically.

“To make sure I was alright. He wanted to know how I was coping after…”, Morgan held up her prosthetic arm. “If the loss of the anchor would have any repercussions on my health. Or my magic. At least, that is what she told us and what she chose to believe. She is either a very good actor or didn’t know any better. Truth is, I was an accident. And a precedence. No mortal, let alone a human, was ever meant to wield the power bestowed upon them by the orb and be exposed to the Fade in such a manner as I have.”

“Fine. But after a while he must have been willing to accept that you where fine… You are fine, aren’t you?”

“I am. And he did.”

“And then what?”

Cullen uncomfortably shifted his wight from one foot to another, looking from his wife to his daughter, who had fallen asleep in her mother’s arms. “Then, Morgan got pregnant.”

After a year or so, M had started checking in with them less frequently. That was about the time when Morgan stopped seeing her around whenever they were traveling longer distances, which was not the case all too often in the first place. And a few weeks ago, M had approached them. Not in secret, out in the open on the estate, for everyone to see. She had told them that her time in service of Fen’Harel had come to an end. She would give him one last report, telling him that both mother and daughter are safe and in good health, and that she would then leaving, finding a new purpose. When asked how she stayed in contact with him, she explained that it was always Solas who reached out to her, inquiring information or giving assignments, never her.

Harding nodded. “Your raven had arrived in time and Charter was able to send Fisher and Miller after her. They lost her trail only after a couple of days, though”, she said, sounding both impressed and frustrated. “It has always been like that. How does she do it?”

“Solas might have given her limited access to the Crossroads”, Morgan mused. “During our whole conversation, she always seemed genuine. And so far, she has kept her word to us. I spoke with Dorian late at night yesterday. She has already arrived in Minrathous, which would have been impossible by the traditional means of travel. There, the Shadow Dragons will keep an eye on her. And for what comes next, I’ve heard you are teaming up with Varric to continue the search for Solas.”

“Yeah. He is getting bored as Viscount of Kirkwall and to be fair, he has a talent for getting into people’s heads. Guess that comes with the territory. Plus, he knows Solas better than most of those who remain of the Inquisition.” Harding sighs. “I just wish we would have already made some progress. Every lead so far has turned into a dead end. He is always one step ahead of us.”

***

They had extended their walk back to the cottage. By the time they arrived they had finished their impromptu council meeting, just in time to hear the last, not yet perfect, chords of piano music through one of the open windows. Shortly after, Ellie opened the door for Rylien, bidding the former templar turned piano teacher goodbye.

“How was you lesson, little one?”, Morgan asked, stroking Ellies head, when the girl came to give her a hug.

“Good! Miss Rylien said I made a lot of progress today”, she said with a proud, tooth-gappy grin.

The woman nodded, ruffling her own short, brown hair and rolling her shoulders. She wasn’t used to sitting in the same position for this long anymore. “She is a quick learner”, she said, looking at Ellie with a cocked eyebrow, “if she wants to be, that is. I’ll see you next week, Ells. And keep practicing that piece, you chose it yourself, after all.”

Cullen took the still sleeping Raemie off Morgan and went inside to put her to bed, Spot vigilantly observing his every move to ensure the little girl was well taken care of.

“Miss Lace! I didn’t know you were coming”, Ellie was elated to see the dwarven woman again.

“Hi, Ells. Man, you’ve grown. Last time I saw you, you only went me up to here”, Harding held her hand up to her chin. “Now you are nearly as tall as me.”

“Has Titus come back yet?”, Morgan asked her eldest daughter.

“No, him and Lowri went horseriding. But he promised they’d be back for tea.”

After some convincing, Harding agreed to stay for tea as well, when Ellie had prized the cherry galette, which she had helped Morgan make this morning, and insisted Harding had to try it.

It didn’t take to long for Titus and Lowri to arrive with May in tow. The two adolescents were holding hands and Lowri was whispering something in Titus’s ear which made the boys complexion turn from its ochre-brown to a deep maroon, almost matching the colour of his hair, as his lips curled into a coy smile.

Halfway through her piece of galette, Harding put down her fork. She looked at Titus, a wide grin on her face. “So, Titus. I’ve heard I am sitting next to one of the aspirants for the post of Professor Bram Kenric’s new research assistant.” The professor’s former research assistant, Colette, had recently become the first elf to receive a universally recognized doctorate at the University of Orlais and he was now in search of a replacement.

Raemie had woken up again in the meantime and was sitting in Cullen’s lap, humming contentedly as she was lapping some of her sweet cherry compote off her tiny fingers. Curiously, she looked at her older brother, when she recognized his name being called.

“Maker, how did you know?”, the boy asked sheepishly. He didn’t enjoy being the centre of attention. “Did mum tell you?” He looked quizzically at Morgan while Lowri squeezed his hand under the table.

“Na, she didn’t have to. Your mum and I have been escorting Bram- I mean Professor Kenric, on one of his expeditions through the Frostback Basin. We’ve kept in touch.”

“I remember”, Titus nodded. “Yes, it is true. But I still need to hand in a few assignments by the end of the year to qualify for the position.”

Cullen gave him a fatherly pat on the back. “True, but your scholarship does not depend on it, that one you have earned already.”

Ellie had gone suspiciously quiet during the conversation, picking apart the remnants of the galette on her plate. Morgan wrapped her in her arms. “I know you will miss him, little one.”

“Just make sure to visit as often as possible”, she sniffled. “And we have to write each other at least once a week. And don’t you dare leave before we have celebrated my tenth name day. You promised.”

“We have talked about this, Ells. And I will keep my promises, I always do, you know that”, Titus said. He stood up and walked around the table, crouching down in front of her. “Maybe you can even come visit me in Val Royeaux some time.”

“Of course”, Cullen agreed stiffly, shifting ever so slightly in his seat. Morgan had to hold herself together to not burst out laughing thinking about what this must have cost her husband to agree to set even a single foot over the Orlesian border. He had never been very fond of the neighbouring country and its affinity for pomp and political intrigue. Still, their university in the capital was the most renowned in all of Thedas.

“And don’t forget, while I am gone, you will be the eldest sibling at home. Someone has to help those two”, he winked at Morgan and Cullen, “look after Raemie. There are so many things she can only learn from her big sister. Besides, we still have nearly a whole year together before I have to leave.”

Ellie flung her arms around her brother’s neck, looking into his eyes with a boring gaze. “At least once a week”, she intently repeated her wish.

Chapter Text

The second half of Cloudreach had brought hail and thunderstorms over the Orlesian coast. With Summerday approaching fast, the weather was finally improving. The mornings where still chilly, but once the sun broke through the clouds the cobbled streets of Val Royeaux would soon warm up and people would stream outside, sauntering along boulevards and over marketplaces surrounded by the magnificent buildings made of white hewn sandstone and polished marvel, often in contrast to their azure blue façade and golden-yellow decorative elements. Masterfully maintained shrubs and greenery were ever-present throughout the capital, with ivy vines climbing up the walls and small patches of colourful flowers breaking the heaviness of the stone structures and creating small areas of respite.

Cullen, Morgan and Raemie were sitting at a table on the terrace in front of Café Le Soir, with Mischief at their feet. The tavern was part of the La Nuit Étoilée Hôtel, where they would be staying at the next couple of days. They had arrived by ship late in the afternoon the day before and had been walking through the alleys adjoined to Rue Lumière, the long avenue leading to the University of Orlais, for the better part of the morning. At one point, their small group had decided to split up. While Titus had promised to show Ellie where he had been living the past year, Mia had dragged Lowri off to a nearby fabric vendor. The passionate seamstress was beyond joy to be able to draw some firsthand inspiration from the Orlesian haute couture, all the while mourning that the vibrant, form fitting garments tailored from embroidered heavy brocades and soft, smooth silks would not garner much attention from her clientele back in South Reach. There, the people usually preferred sturdy wools and robust leathers in their attire.

With all its aw-invoking beauty and elegance Val Royeaux displayed, there was one aspect which intimated the rather quiet and shy two-year-old Raemie: the masks many chose to adorn themselves with and which through the eyes of a child must have something rather eery about them. Besides being a fashion choice, the masks were a traditional element, each house represented by its own unique design – and conveniently hid the largest part of the wearer’s face and therefore, more often than not, their true intentions. An advantage for those participating in the Great Game of political intrigue and struggle for power.

Cullen and Morgan had explained it to her, with not so many words, that they were just people, wearing masks as Raemie would wear a bow in her hair. She had still been eying the locals suspiciously, when Morgan had found a small market stall selling cute animal masks for children made of a colourful, sturdy parchment. Adorned with a lion’s mask, chosen by Raemie herself, she was now sitting in her mother’s lap, spooning the Blancmange with red grape compote they were sharing into her mouth and listened curiously, while Morgan had been telling her a story.

“And that's”, Morgan concluded, taking a sip of her café au lait, “why they called your papa the Lion of Skyhold. Their fierce protector and the bravest man they had ever met.”

Cullen had listened to his wife in astonishment. “Did you-“, he cleared his throat. “Did you just make up on the spot an entire child appropriate story to cover up the fact that Varric created that moniker for me on an especially libatious evening at the Herald’s Rest in a rather lewd context a few days after our infamous Wicked Grace game?”, he asked in disbelief.

Morgan blushed. “Possibly. Is that a bad thing?”

Cullen let out a hearty laugh, prompting some of the other patrons on the tables next to them to turn their heads. “Maker’s breath”, he lowered his voice, giving her an adoring look, “and here I was, thinking it was not possible for me to love you even more than I already did… I stand corrected.”

Morgan cast her gaze down, the flush spreading up towards her ears. “It does hold a lot of truth to it, you know…”, she said quietly.

Cullen leaned over to give her quick kiss on the cheek.

Raemie had been observing her parents with her big amber eyes. When Cullen pulled back again, her tiny hand grabbed for his arm. “You want a kiss, too, little cub?”, he asked, stroking a few strands of the ink-black curls out of her forehead. The girl shook her head. “No. Papa, you want to try?”

Without hesitation, Cullen took the sticky spoon with creamy almond dessert she offered him and licked it clean. “Hm, it’s pretty good,” he nodded.

His daughter beamed at him, before she finished scraping the last remnants from the small silver bowl and put it in her mouth.

A server came to their table and discreetly handed Morgan a damp cloth. She accepted it with a grateful smile. “I can’t thank Mia enough”, Morgan said, helping Raemie clean her hands and face with it. “I feel much better knowing she is looking after the girls while we attend our meetings over the next few days.”

“She adores them”, Cullen nodded. “And I am sure she can make the stay here worth her while. We might have to book additional cargo space on the ship back to Ferelden”, he grinned. “Is there something you would like to do before tomorrow?”

“I thought it might be nice for Raemie if we showed her the Grand Cathedral, so she will know where we are while she is with your sister”, Morgan contemplated. “After that, I had hoped we might go to see the opening ceremony of the Summerday Tournament in the Jardins Impériaux. The others will probably be there as well.”

“Have you ever been to one? A proper tournament, I mean.”

“Just once. When Michael had entered for the first time to court a young woman he fancied.”

“Was she the one…?”

“No”, Morgan shook her head, a pitiful expression on her face. “She was already promised to a noble’s son in Wycome, but her parents hadn’t told anyone yet. He was devasted. Marcella consolidated him and Max, well, was being Max”, she snorted. “He tried cheering him up by saying she looked like she was an ugly snorer, and he would have never gotten a good night’s sleep for the rest of his life had he married her.”

“Morgan”, Cullen took her hand in his. “Was it- uhm, do you still miss the life you could have had?”

“I did”, Morgan admitted. “At first. But it wasn’t really a matter of choice back then. And it was never so much the life of noble Lady Trevelyan I missed. It was my family. My brother. Did I dream about a knight in shining armour who would come and take me away and we would live happily ever after? Longer than I care to admit. There is a reason why I have a soft spot for these kinds of stories, as horrendous as some of them might be”, she chuckled. “But at least that wish came kind of true.” She squeezed his hand tightly, as she looked her husband deep in the eyes.

“Just…” Cullen cleared his throat. “Just kind of?”, he teased, feeling the hotness in cheeks and the fluttering sensation in his stomach as she drank him in with her plum-coloured, gold-speckled eyes.

“Yes. Because meeting someone like you, I would not have dared to imagine in my wildest dreams."

They left the café to make their way towards the Grand Cathedral. The complex was formidable, a giant stone structure covering the area of a mid-sized Fereldan village with at least two or three times as many inhabitants. Banners depicting the sunburst symbol adorned the grey stone walls, alternating with round stained-glass windows.

“Would you like to go inside?”, Morgan asked, correctly reading Cullen’s silence.

He shook his head. “Thank you, but we should head back if we want to make it to the ceremony.”

From outside, Cullen pointed out the wing housing the audience chamber to Raemie, who was sitting on her mother’s hip, and he got the impression that the girl was glad she did not have to go inside the intimidatingly large building as well, when she nervously started tugging Morgan’s necklace.

The tournament grounds were set up in the imperial gardens on the other side of the city. As evening drew nearer, the streets filled with more and more people and music was ever present throughout Val Royeaux. From an open window here, from a group of buskers there. And as a testament to the changing times they lived in, a group performing by one of the many lion statue fountains, the national symbol of Orlais, had a mage with them.

“Papa, look!”, Raemie whispered excitedly in Cullen’s ear. The girl was sitting on his shoulders to have a better view over the bustling streets of the city. Cullen looked over his right shoulder to follow the direction she was pointing. The mage had just conjured the image of tiny dog chasing its tail, as the musicians switched from the song they had been playing to a more cheerful version of Andraste’s Mabari. He turned around and stepped closer, so they could follow the performance. Morgan rummaged in her purse and handed her daughter a few pennies and a crown which she could toss in the hat lain out in front of buskers. One of the dancers, a curvy elven woman whose outfit left nothing to the imagination, thanked her with a curtsey and a kind smile.

“We should be there soon”, Morgan remarked, studying the street signs. “With plenty of time to spare to-“

“Spot!”, Raemie interrupted her, her eyes wide in surprise.

“Spot is back at home with May and her siblings, little cub”, Cullen said. “I am sure she misses you, too.”

“Yes. Not Spot, spot”, she said, patting him on the shoulder, a bit frustrated why her father didn’t seem to understand what she meant. “On your shoulder, papa!”

Then they all felt it. Drops, not spots. Within seconds the rain was pouring heavily from the sky, thoroughly soaking the outer layers of their clothes. Cullen lifted Raemie from his shoulders to carry her in his arms instead and they ran, seeking shelter under the canopée of a nearby café.

“What was that old Ostwick saying?”, Morgan laughed, running her hands through her wet hair and wiping the rain off her face, “Cloudreach is when the clouds leach. Very fitting.”

“Papa, let me down”, Raemie demanded, pulling a face. “You are wet.”

“So are you”, Cullen bobbed the tip of his index finger against her nose but let her down regardless.

Morgan tugged at her shirtsleeve, which clung to her arm like a second skin, heavy with rainwater. “Looks like we need to go back to the inn and change first.”

Once the rain had subdued to a soft drizzle, they walked back to their accommodations. On their way there, the streets where still rather empty and Raemie walked on her own, Mischief next to her, who did not even flinch when the girl jumped with a joyful glint in her eyes her in every other puddle, splashing them with water.

Morgan only shrugged her shoulders when Cullen looked at her. “She can’t get any wetter than this anyway.” Her husband just shook his head, laid an arm around her back and pulled her to his side.

***

“These people sure like to make a spectacle of themselves”, Lowri commented the scene playing out before them. Morgan only nodded, carefully adjusting Raemie’s weight on her shoulders, as the girl leaned over, trying to figure out what Lowri meant. Ellie and Mia stood next to them in the chattering crowd behind the bannisters.

The sun was setting over the festively decorated tournament grounds, already illuminated by several torches and braziers to battle the approaching darkness of the falling night, set up in the vast imperial gardens in the northern parts of the capital. In a circle around them where additional booths and stalls offering all kinds of games for those not competing in the tournament like ring tossing, tug-of-war and feed-the-dragon, where a small ball clad in fleece had to be thrown through the mouth of a dragon painted on a wooden wall from a certain distance. Additionally, the archery range and the axe tossing rink as well the obstacle course could be used when the combatants weren’t currently competing there.

Empress Celine herself had held the speech at the opening ceremony for the Summerday Tournament. Subsequently, the first symbolic joust of the festivities was announced. Accompanied by the music of an entire orchestra, the two knights on their horses waited on either side of the tilt, waiting for their command. What had prompted Lowri’s comment however, were the large, feathered and incredibly impractical looking hats both contestants wore, tailored especially to fit on their visored helmets.

On the empresses’ command, the two squires each dropped a satchel in one of the braziers. Shortly after, the flames turned green and shot up several feet high, giving the competitors their visual starting signal. Quickly, the clatter of hooves went from a slow trot to a fast gallop. It took the knight with the blue-feathered hat the fraction of a second to determine his opponent’s weakness. Using the element of surprise to his advantage, he rebalanced his lance slightly in hand and with one well aimed thrust had pushed the other off his horse, the lance still intact. The crowd cheered, as the blue-feathered man was announced the winner.

“You missed it!”, Ellie greeted her brother, pouting. Titus had asked to speak with Cullen before the opening ceremony had started and the two of them had only now returned to the others.

“I know, I am sorry, Ells. But we will have plenty of opportunity to watch the real competitors over the next two days.”

Morgan gave her husband an inquiring look. Cullen nodded in response. “As was to be expected”, she sighed quietly, so only he could hear her.

***

After the opening ceremony, their little group had spent some time together. Titus successfully proved his skill at the archery range, winning a plush lion which Ellie generously, while a bit reluctantly, gifted to Raemie who happily took it from her big sister, giving her a tight hug in thanks. The proud look Titus gave Ellie in that moment was all the older girl needed to.

Later, Cullen and Morgan said their goodbyes to bring the girls to bed. Titus, on the other hand, had asked Lowri if she would like to stay for the dance, offering Mia to accompany them.

Now they were sitting on the chaise longue in their room, letting in the fresh night air through the opened balcony doors. From here they could overlook the giant reflecting pool of water constructed on behalf of one the former Emperors. The water’s surface perfectly mirrored the moon and the stars in the dark night sky, giving the inn its name. In the distance, on the other side of the Miroir de la Mère and separated from this part of Val Royeaux, the gilded spires of the magnificent buildings surrounding the Summer Bazaar stood out against the dark blue sky, faintly gleaming in the moon light. A long stone pier connected the two largest districts of the Orlesian capital. Crimson and gold adorned gondolas bobbed on either side of it on the water, patiently waiting for the night to pass.

Raemie and Ellie were already sound asleep in the large fourposter bed, big enough that the four of them could comfortably sleep in it together during their stay here. Mischief’s bulk rose and fell with the rhythm of his snoring at the foot of the bed.

Morgan sat on the long side of the chaise longue with her bare feet in Cullen’s lap. “That tickles”, she giggled quietly. After years of practice, they had found the perfect volume to speak in, that would not wake up any of the sleeping children.

“Shall I stop massaging your feet than, love?”, he asked provocatively.

“I didn’t say that.” She wiggled her toes. “Would you please continue? It still feels nice.”

“Certainly.” Cullen smirked. He lifted her left foot and pressed a tender kiss to her instep, before he continued his massage.

“Our first order of business tomorrow will be the meeting with Grand Cleric Marcelline”, Morgan said, symbolically raising the thumb on her right hand. “I am glad the Chantry’s Charité approved Rosalie's treatment plan and has agreed to provide treatment to those affected by lyrium in the clinics around Orlais and Ferelden which have mages amongst their healers.”

“After that is dealt with, the unofficial part of our visit here will start. Will you be alright? This will be the first time we will be holding council with Leliana and Cassandra since…”

Morgan instinctively grabbed her left upper arm, squeezing it tightly until it hurt. “I know. Good old times… Too bad Josie couldn’t make it. She will miss all the fun.”

“At least you can joke about it now.”

“Brooding about it won’t change anything.”

“I know”, he sighed. “Maker willing, this time it will be much quieter.”

“We are closer than ever before. We will find him. And we will stop him”, Morgan said determinedly. “All these clues and hints we kept finding the past months… they seemed almost deliberate in their frequency and carelessness.”

“You still think he wants to be found? Wants to be stopped?”

“I like to think so, yes. On that day, I could see it in his eyes, Cullen.”

“Have you heard from Ellana?”

Morgan nodded. “She gathered a small group of mages from other Dalish clans all over the Free Marches and Antiva to investigate these strange anomalies in Arlathan Forest we keep hearing about. If this turns out to be a promising lead, we will send Varric and Harding for support.”

The soft sound of rustling sheets came from the bed, as one of the girls moved in her sleep. “I think we should go to bed, too”, Cullen said, giving his wife’s feet one last squeeze.

“Well, that is going to be an issue.” Morgan said, as she looked over to their bed. Both children were lying crisscrossed on the mattress, all four limbs stretched out to full capacity in every direction.

“Don’t worry, I will sleep on the chaise longue”, Cullen offered.

Morgan looked from the tall, broad frame of her husband to the comparatively short and narrow piece of furniture. “That would not be very comfortable for you… Well, for neither of us.”

“Please, I insist. I have had worse.”

“Alright. Thank you, love.”

“Don’t thank me”, he winked. “I am not the one who will get arms and legs flailing about slapped in their face while trying to sleep.”

Morgan nudged him in the side and kissed him good night.

***

Later that night, Cullen heard someone sliding down the bed and small feet pitter-pattered towards his admittedly rather challenging sleeping arrangement. A tiny hand tugged at his nightshirt. Ink-black curls tussled from sleep and her amber eyes round and wide in the dim moonlight, Raemie stood next to the chaise longue.

“You alright, little cub?”, he whispered.

“Papa, come sleep with us.” She slipped her hand in his. Unresisting, he let himself be pulled off the sofa and led back to their bed. Laying on his side, with Raemie tightly curled up against his chest, he finally found some sleep.

Chapter Text

Haven, 9:41 Dragon

Cullen was waiting. Grit grinding under the soles of his heavy boots, he paced up and down on the platform overlooking the frozen lake, one hand resting on his lower back, the other ever vigilant on the hilt of his sword. The sounds of his training recruits, clanking swords and shouting of commands, where barely audible in the distance. He had offered to meet her here, away from prying eyes but close enough should he be needed. Ser Rylen was instructed to only approach them if necessary. The parts of the deconstructed trebuchet scattered around the plateau allowed for perfect use in half and full cover practice manoeuvres.

A sudden dull throb behind his eyes announced the piercing headache that soon followed. A wave of nausea and fatigue flooded over him. He stopped in his tracks, taking in a few deep breaths. Rubbing his hands over his face and the back of his neck, he tried relieving some of the tension. Then steadied himself, straightening his back and shoulders to resume his posture. Now was not the time.

He heard footsteps behind him drawing nearer, hesitant and a bit clunky, accentuated by the telling creaky sound of fresh leather boots and armour pieces in need of being broken in. “Good morning, Herald”, he greeted her formally, without turning around. He didn’t need to. “When you travel to the Hinterlands tomorrow to meet with Mother Giselle, encounters with apostates and renegade templars will be unavoidable.” His tone is curt and matter-of-factly with a sharp bark to it, yet not unkind; developed and refined in the line of duty in service to the Templar Order. “I know it is a lot we ask of you. Which is why we would not send you on your mission without giving you best possible chance of success. Lady Montilyet is here to make sure no one takes advantage of you. Sister Nightingale ensures that we always have the advantage. That leaves me”, Cullen turned around, “in charge of guaranteeing your survival.”

He had not expected to be confronted with the image in front of him, which ironically seemed to prove his point. He could feel the corners of his mouth twitch. He quickly cast his glance away and cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. In his experience, donning armour usually was a boost in confidence for people, impacting their stride and attitude immensely. And yet, never in his years in service had he ever seen someone look so out of place and miserable wearing well-crafted and perfectly fitted armour. And had he not seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t believe that this was the woman who had simultaneously shielded the both of them against the claw attack of a terror demon to their right, while striking down the already weakened shade to their left with a single, well aimed frost bolt during their first encounter.  

Trevelyan had quietly listened until the end of his speech, while uncomfortably shifting her weight from one foot to the other in her new gear, giving him an awkward smile. The piercing pain behind Cullen’s eyes started to fade away. Once again, as many times during their council meetings in the impromptu war room in Haven’s chantry, Cullen was amazed by how expressive her features where. It seemed impossible for her to hide her thoughts about just about anything; a glint in her eyes, a downcast glance, a furrow of her strong brow, a clenched jaw or a scrunch of her prominent nose always betraying her true emotions. And he appreciated that. So far, he had yet to see even the smallest traces of malintent and corruption in her demeanour, all she ever showed were genuine concerns, kindness and compassion as well as highly respecting them in regard to their roles as her advisors. And a healthy portion of humbleness and scepticism.

“You expect me to make these decisions? To lead the charge? What sets me apart and makes me more qualified than any of you or, let’s say, Cassandra?” 

“Lady Trevelyan, the people have named you the Herald of Andraste. We just serve as your advisors so you can make the best possible informed decision.” 

“Let me rephrase that, Lady Ambassador: Don’t get me wrong. I do want to help wherever I can. But what makes you think a mysterious mark on my hand and some ludicrous tale that makes people want to either put me on a pedestal or on a pyre qualifies me for any of this? I am a recluse circle mage who dabbled a bit in alchemy. There is nothing special about me. And I am nobody’s herald, not Andraste’s, not the Maker’s or perhaps whatever elven creator you’d like to name. For pity’s sake, I wasn’t even supposed to be at the conclave initially… I’d rather not draw any attention to myself.” 

“It is a bit late for that, don’t you think? We’ve received a number of recruits – locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None made quite the entrance you did.” 

“That certainly wasn’t my idea!” 

“I’d be concerned if it was.”

“I’ve seen you ward off demons.” Cullen picked up his shield and fastened it to his left forearm. “But you told me you have never actually fought a templar before.”

“No”, she shook her head, “our delegation was very careful during our travels. And, um, when there were any encounters requiring fighting I, um, just stayed in the back, as support rather than in the offense…”

“Then it is about time we change that. Your spells are very precise, but your strikes need to come in quicker succession.”

“I am not sure about this”, she said, her warm eyes wide and soft, displaying genuine worry. She tightened the grip around her staff. “I am not- I cannot- Commander, what if I hurt you?”

This time, Cullen didn’t even try to hold in the tiny chuckle escaping him. “Lady Trevelyan”, he said with a confident smirk, drawing his sword and angling his shield slightly downwards, “to hurt me, you would first have to hit me.”

***

“I see you have picked up a few new tricks, Herald. Impressive.”

“Less talking, more training, Commander!”, Trevelyan retorted, huffing from exertion. They had been sparring for more than two hours now. Their longest training session yet.

“Why? Am I distracting you?”, he teased, swiftly wiping his gloved hand over his clammy forehead.

Brusquely, Trevelyan shook her head to free her vision from the strands of silver-streaked, ink-black hair which had freed themselves from her simple ponytail. “I just wouldn’t want you to lose your focus.”

“Don’t worry about me. You should be more concerned with yourself. You are certainly quicker now.” Cullen pulled his focus towards Trevelyan, commanding reality to manifest around her by sheer willpower, unyielding against her magic. “But not quick enough.”

Trevelyan had been flitting around him, using a combination of ice and wind spells to change her position in the blink of an eye, as if she had simply stepped through the Fade in one place and remerged from it several feet away. Her magic disrupted by the Commander, the momentum carried her further, making her crash against his chest plate.

Cullen had been anticipating this and adjusted his stance accordingly, keeping them both on their feet on the impact. “Maker’s breath, are you alright?” He plucked her from his cuirass, worriedly looking her up and down and searching for injuries.

“I am fine”, Trevelyan said in a quiet tone, avoiding his gaze. She pulled away from his grasp, quicker and more forcefully than necessary, and took a step backwards.

Cullen let his arms fall to his side. “I think we are done for today. Go get some rest.” He walked over to his shield, which he had placed against a boulder during their final rounds. He arrived there just in time, hoping he successfully masked his knees giving out as he pretended to crouch down to inspect something next to his feet.

“Hey Boss, I was just looking for you”, the deep voice of the Iron Bull boomed in their direction. “No wonder you handle yourself so well in the field, if your Commander is the one training you. I’ve seen how he works his recruits.” He offered a respectful nod towards Cullen, which he returned.

“How can I help you, Bull? We just finished anyway.”

“I wanted to discuss some details of our arrangement. I will need to send some, um, reports soon.”

“Of course. Commander”, Trevelyan turned towards Cullen, “I would have wanted your opinion on something. Would you mind if I stopped by your tent later?”

“Not at all. Just let me know when you will need me.” He followed the Herald and the leader of the Chargers back to the village.

The woman was by no means of a short build, Cullen himself was only about three inches taller than her. He had noticed this standing next to her during the council meeting earlier this day. But even so, she was easily dwarfed by the towering, grey bulk of the mercenary captain. And yet, as they walked side by side, Cullen noticed how she didn’t show any signs of being intimated by the massive Qunari. She walked tall, shoulders straightened, her stride firm and emitting confidence, as she listened intently to the Bulls proposal. As always keeping her distance, at least an arm’s length between her and others, her hands behind her back, crossed at the wrists.

Her demeanour changed within seconds, when one especially fearless and curious nug of those roaming the area scuttled towards her. “Oh, who are you?”, she said delighted, and Cullen didn’t need to see her face to know the way her eyes must be lighting up in that moment. Bull all but forgotten, she crouched down to the hairless creature, holding out her hand for it to sniff it.

Bull smacked his lips. “Varric says they make a decent roast with deep mushroom cream sauce from those in Orzammar.”

“Bull!”, Trevelyan exclaimed, torn between indignance and amusement. “Don’t let Leliana hear you say that. Although, our spymaster has her eyes and ears everywhere. If she glares at you funny when we return, this time we at least know why.”

Back in his tent, Cullen had a quick wash and put on some dry clothes. The nights in the Frostback Mountains where especially unpleasant this time of year and the last thing he needed on top of everything else was hypothermia.

A palm-sized, round plate of polished metal hung from one of the tent poles. Sitting on his camp bed, which was buried under furs and blankets, he took the small tub with wax from the stool doubling as his nightstand. While holding the metal mirror with one hand, he used his other hand to style his blonde curls with practiced brushes. Meanwhile, he tried to ignore the dark shadows under his tired eyes and the gauntness sharpening his cheekbones and jawline.

Cullen had been back at supervising his men’s training activities, taking notes and going through reports handed to him by a runner, until sundown. Only then, Trevelyan came back, carrying a steaming kettle and two clay mugs.

“I am terribly sorry, Commander”, she apologized. “After I dealt with Bull, Adan requested my assistance in the apothecary. We were running low on- And then Solas-”

“You are in high demand during the few days you spend here between your missions. I understand. I was just about to start my patrol-“

“If this is a bad time, we could always reschedule. I would not want to take up your time and cause you any inconvenience…”

“I was simply going to ask if you would like to accompany me, so we can talk then. If you don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your well-deserved evening rest, though.”

“No, that's alright. You’re not wrong, but I don’t mind your company- I mean, accompanying you… Let me just…” Trevelyan put down the mugs and poured some of the steaming, honey-coloured liquid in them. “Here, we should drink it, while its still hot.” She handed him one of the mugs.

“Thank you.” Hesitantly, he took it from her, their hands slightly touching in the process. A sudden warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the tea. Cullen pushed that feeling far away from him. “What is it?”, he asked, as they started their patrol along the tree lines.

“Tea. A blend of bramble leaves and aven wood roots. They grow basically everywhere along the track from here to the Storm Coast. As a whole, the latter is said to fend off evil spirits…”

Cullen looked at her sceptically, raising an eyebrow.

“Utter nonsense, if you ask me”, Trevelyan continued, looking down in her mug as they walked. “Not on its own, anyway. But I’ve seen it used as a ritual component. And if you make an extract from it and combine it with-“ She stopped herself, eyes wide in horror. “Oh dear… I am terribly sorry. I am rambling again. I know I talk too much and tend to overexplain when I get excited…”

In the shine of his lantern, Cullen could make out the blush rising in her cheeks. “Not at all. There is no need to apologize,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He cleared his throat. “Just, hm, just maybe a bit slower next time. So I can keep up with you.” Cullen could feel the corner of his mouth curl into a genuine smile.    

“That is… very kind, Commander. I hope I don’t offend you if I say that I consider you a good friend… I haven’t had many of those in the past, you know”, she added in a barely audible whisper.

This caught him by surprise. Such an innocent thing to say, he thought. He wondered how long it took her to muster the courage to utter those words. When she looked at him, there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. He could not remember when it was the last time someone had looked at him in such a way. Her gaze drew him in, those deep purplish-blue eyes of hers… Like… blackberries?, he thought. No, more like the prune plums growing in the trees behind his family home, he decided.

“Commander? I am sorry, I should not have…”

Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts. How long hadn’t he said anything? “I feel honoured, Lady Trevelyan, that you can see something like that in me.” If his friendship was something she needed, then he would gladly give it to her.

***

With support from the Templars the Herald had succeeded. The Breach was sealed, and the heavens were scarred but calm. The people of Haven rejoiced in a night of well-deserved revelry after their victory, celebrating and dancing. Most of them, at least.

Cullen was making his usual rounds. The mountains around Haven lay quiet, draped under a cloak of darkness by the clouded night sky and guarding the village like sleeping giants. Lakeside trebuchet needs recalibrating, he wrote down on his pad, before he returned. He let his gaze wander, unsure if he should join the crowd. He didn’t drink and certainly did not dance.

Varric was the one making that decision for him. “Who would have thought it could be that easy.” The dwarf stepped next him, taking a huge gulp of ale from his tankard. “After Kirkwall, I’d feared the Order had gone to seed as a whole. Glad to see you aren’t the only Templar left who isn’t crazy, Curly.”

Cullen responded with a non-committal hum. “It is not over yet. Whoever this Elder One is, they are still out there. And the disappearance of the rebel mages is concerning. Redcliffe Castle has gone quiet. The Chargers investigated, but the witness reports were decidedly contradictory.” They passed by a group of soldiers, who were improvising lewd lyrics to well-known songs, clanking their mugs together in rhythm.

Cullen looked up to the Chantry forecourt. Cassandra was talking to Trevelyan, who had her arms wrapped self-consciously around herself and shook her head in response to whatever the Seeker was telling her. “What happened at Therinfal was appalling”, Cullen said, more to himself. “To have a demon try to take your mind...  It takes a strong person to walk away from that. It's good to see her... well.” He realized that since Trevelyan’s return from the fortress nearly two weeks ago he hadn’t spoken to her about anything that was not in relation to the preparations about the assault on the Breach. Apart from their short-lived spat whether allowing Cole to stay was a wise choice or not.

“Oh, you should have seen her, Commander. Twinkles held a whole speech about why they should join us as our allies and everything. Really impressive.”

“I can imagine”, he said, still following her with his eyes. He noticed how the silvery-white streaks in her dark hair twinkled in the flickering light of the campfire beside her. “Many people lack in empathy. That is the main reason Thedas is in its current state. Not her, though. I trust Trevelyan’s judgement. And, for what it’s worth, if someone had to take up the mantle of Andraste’s Herold, I am glad it’s her. This world would be a much better place if there were more people like her... By the Maker, why am I telling you that?” He turned to Varric, as if he only just remembered that he was there.

The dwarf gave him a wicked smirk. “I’ve just got one of those faces. And you are right, Curly. I am not the one you should be telling this.”

“Commander Cullen!”, a breathless watchman came running towards them, terror in his eyes. “You need to see that!”

Instantly, Cullen’s gaze followed the soldiers outstretched hand. Where only minutes ago the mountains in the distance had been dark and quiet, he could make out hundreds of torches lighting the way for the masses of armed forces approaching the village.

“Shit”, was all Varric could comment. “I knew it was too easy.”

“Rylen!” Cullen commanded the man a few feet away from him. “Sound the alarm!” He rushed up the stairs, many gazes turned his way, detecting the urgency in his appearance. “Forces approaching! To arms!”, he shouted. For the briefest moment, he locked eyes with Trevelyan. She nodded and grabbed her staff. Without hesitating, Cullen went back to the gate to join his soldiers.

“Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the chantry! Move!” 

“Cole, look after the Chancellor. See him through.” 

“Herald… if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you.” 

“You, what was your name again?” 

“Dorian Pavus.” 

“Ok, Dorian Pavus. Can you fight? You seem to know enough about what we are dealing with that I'd like you to be by my side.” 

“Most certainly!” 

“Splendid. Dorian, Bull, Sera - you are with me. Varric, you’ll help Leliana and her scouts navigate you through the tunnels. Cassandra, you are with them. Solas, Madame de Fer, one of you should be at the front of the line as well, to quickly remove possible blockages in your path. Warden Blackwall, make sure no one gets left behind. And keep an eye on Josephine.” 

“I’ll take care of the rest. My men are loading the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line. If we are to have a chance – if you are to have a chance – let that thing hear you.”

Three days had passed, and when Cullen closed his eyes, he could still hear the echo of the final landslide rushing down. The snow and debris burying Haven beneath it and extinguishing every source of light and warmth along its way.

The procession of the survivors of the attack on Haven had made camp for the night sheltered from the icy winds behind a mountain spur high up in the Frostbacks. Chancellor Roderick had let them through a labyrinth of tunnels below the village, abandoned mineshafts by the looks of it, which had allowed them to escape unnoticed.

Cullen had noticed that he had developed the habit of looking over his shoulder every now and then. Sera, Bull and the Tevinter mage had found them safely soon after the attack. But there was still no sign of Trevelyan. He prayed every night, but with each passing day, the chances of her return grew slimmer.

It had developed gradually. There had been no burning hot desire, that consumed everything in its path like a wildfire and would leave one scarred and burnt in the end. It was a feeling of warmth and comfort that had drawn him to her, like coming home to a crackling hearth and a steaming hot cup of tea after a long day in the cold. It held the promise of consistency and stability – of certainty.

But there was no certainty anymore. No warmth. He kept himself busy, making himself useful to suppress the ache in his chest and the sinking feeling in his stomach. Currently, he was going through their supplies, everything they managed to selvage from the burning huts and the Chantry’s cellars on their way out. Then he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He turned around, looking past a pile of furs and blankets towards the edge of the mountain spur. Someone was there. A person. The pulsating, bright green light on their left hand unmistakable. Could it really be…? “There!” He pointed upwards, catching Cassandra’s attention. “It’s her!” He started running towards Trevelyan, not waiting for anyone.

“Thank the Maker!”, Cassandra exclaimed, following closely behind him.

Before they could reach Trevelyan, the woman’s legs gave out, and she collapsed. She was already unconscious by the time she hit the thankfully knee-deep, pillowy snow.

Without hesitating, Cullen ripped his thick, fur-lined coat off his back and wrapped it around her, lifted her in his arms and carried her towards the nearest campfire. People rushed towards them, bringing more blankets and furs for their Herald.

Cullen looked down at the woman in his arms. Pale skin, lips already turning blue. Her breathing was shallow, but steady and he could make out her eyes moving behind their closed lids. There was a fresh, open gash along her face, splitting her left eyebrow and went down to her cheekbone. He also could have sworn that the mark on her hand glowed brighter than before… Was that the reason her hair had now turned silvery-white completely, with the exception of a few singular still ink-black strands? What is that thing?

“She is hurt”, Cullen remarked. Mother Giselle ushered the onlookers away and led Cullen to a sheltered cot she had set up hastily, with a brazier crackling next to it.

Carefully, he laid her down. Her hand caught on his metal bracer. For a moment it almost felt like she would not want him to leave her side. He gently placed her hand down and let Mother Giselle fuss over her. He would come back later. Despite the cold, Cullen could feel warmth spreading through his entire body, as he gave her one last glance over his shoulder.