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My beloved Alistair,

We are preparing to leave for Denerim as I am writing this. I will most likely arrive home before this letter reaches you, but I could not wait to let you know that I miss you, that I wish I was already home, and that I love you with all my heart. I will see you back at court soon, Alistair. Until then, keep safe.

Always yours,

Solona.

Anora,

The entourage from across the Waking Seas will be arriving tomorrow at dawn. As I will be home past noon due to unforeseen delays, please apologize on my behalf for being late. I may not say this often, but I do appreciate the help you have been giving me these past 5 years that I have been on the throne.

I'll be home soon.

Alistair.

Your Majesty,

The Queen wishes to see you once you are dressed and ready. There will be a formal dinner held in honour of your guests, but she requests your presence before the dinner begins.

P.S: The Warden Commander will be reaching Denerim earlier than expected, our scouts reported seeing her crossing the nearest outpost early this afternoon.

Faithfully,

Teagan

A note on Solona's desk

Sol,

Quick note before dinner. Glad you are home safe. Amaranthine is still keeping in good order. The seneschal is more than capable but we do need someone stationed there to command the wardens there if we want to establish it as a Grey Warden's keep. Will need to discuss this further later, are you still opposed to the idea of becoming the Arlessa of Armanthine? I have consulted Anora on her thoughts and she is as supportive as I had hoped.

Much love, Alistair.

Entry from Solona's journal (torn in half):

It has been an exhausting day. We traveled as quickly as we could just so I would arrive home as early as possible to see Alistair. Our quest was a success, we found the darkspawn crowding some deep roads near a cave in Highever. They were exterminated without trouble. I was feeling jubilant and ready to celebrate, but Alistair was no where to be found. Eamon coldly told me that he was meeting Anora in private, clearly I was not to disturb them. He need not worry, I'm still avoiding Anora like the plague after all these years.

So here I am, writing, still covered in dirt and filth from the road. The bath is steaming and inviting, but I cannot bring myself to relax and enjoy it. I'm worried, and a little frightened. I can hardly write this as I feel my worst fears may come true. It's Alistair.

He used to call her the Ice Queen in his letters, but lately it has been a simple "Anora". It is petty and I am silly to let it bother me - slayer of the Archdemon, Hero of Ferelden. But when it comes to Alistair, maybe I am just a girl, afraid of losing my one and only love to the Queen.

It's not just how he calls her, things are changing little by little. Alistair would always be eagerly awaiting my return in my chambers each time I travel on Warden business, not today. His note seemed indifferent somehow, and he has brought up the issue of Vigil's keep again. It has been happening more and more frequently now, I am slightly confused. Amaranthine is not far, that is true, but the old Alistair I knew would never willingly send me away from him. He used to sulk each time I had to go away for long periods. Maybe he is growing into his role? Am I reading too much into this?

And finally, I've heard them. You know, the whole heir making business. I didn't mean to, I swear I feel dirtier writing this down. I look for him sometimes, when the thunder gets too loud at night. It was worse than the night he spent with Morrigan,because on nights like that, Alistair would always seek me out during the blight. I am no longer used to huddling under my covers alone, the way I did in the circle.

Since he no longer comes to look for me, I went to him instead and twice I heard them through the chamber doors. They were...enjoying themselves and that unsettled me. Yes, I know they are wedded to each other. But is this not my job as his mistress?

Sometimes when he doesn't know I am present, I catch glimpses of his face looking at her. It is too familiar to me. It is how he looks at me - or used to look at me. I do not know anymore. It has been 2 long months since I have seen him, and I have carried these thoughts with me to Highever and back.

Enough, Solona. Stop wallowing in self pity. I need to grow up. I need to stop thinking about this. His letters to me have not changed. Maker help me, I should burn this.

Alistair,

Your performance in court yesterday was impressive. I will be attending the new Marquis' salon this evening, and so will not be joining you for dinner. I hear the Hero is home, all I ask is that you be discreet.

Yours,
Anora

To be continued.

Chapter Text

Alistair's journal

I think I may have given Bann Varyn a heart attack. It was not my fault that the new litter of mabari got out of the pen and went after the cheese in his hands. I have never met a Fereldan with such dislike for dogs. Ever.

Sol is home, finally. It seems like forever since I've seen her. She appeared to be asleep last night after I was done with dinner. Anora wanted to try again for our elusive heir and I consented. I know she yearns for a child of her own under that regal mask she presents to the court each day and it is the least I can do for her after all the help she has given me.

Solona asked me how I was getting along with the Ice Queen this morning. Something has changed her on her travels, I cannot tell what it is. She had always been subtle in her comments regarding Anora before this. She has also been more somber lately. The battle with this new batch of darkspawn must have affected her more than I thought. I hate that she travels alone on these warden matters. I wish I could go with her, it would be like old times. Camp, mud, fire, mabari and not forgetting...stale cheese.

I'll just be sure to tell more jokes around her, that should get her back to her old self. She always said there was nothing laughter couldn't cure. Or maybe she was referring to my jokes making her feel better when she had that burning fever two days out of Lothering? The Blight days seem so far behind me now. It's getting harder to remember. Maybe I'll pick some roses from the garden for her.

Anora is trusting me more and more in court. I did not realise this before, I wonder when this started. She lets me have my say most of the time, and surprises me each time she concurs with my decisions. Perhaps I am getting better at being kingly. She left me a note before her salon, complimenting me on my performance in court. I must say, it feels good to be doing something right in her eyes for a change.

She also left a personal note, commenting on my performance in our chambers. Not sure how to feel about that.

Need to stop now, Eamon has been breathing down my neck - almost literally. I keep thinking he will be right behind when I turn, even right now. I felt a chill down my spine. I hope he is not reading my personal journal.

Dearest Leliana,

How is the Divine? I hope you are doing as well as you say, I never can tell the truth from lies with you Orlesians, sweetest friend of mine. You were supposed to come down to Denerim for a visit but I suppose the Left Hand of the Divine needs to be readily available to her network. I am missing you too much down at the palace. Perhaps, I may find that my next quest brings me closer to where you are. I am to visit Redcliffe before Firstfall to be in time for their annual Satinalia festival. I will do all I can to make a detour to Haven, if you would have me, of course.

I am thinking of heading north to Amaranthine for the Grey Wardens. Alistair is insistent that no one will oversee Vigil's Keep as well as I will. I was under the impression I left the place in Varel and Nathaniel's hands, the best Seneschal I know (do not tell Alistair I said so, he half worships his own seneschal) and the most competent warden we have. Anora supports this idea, of course. Anything to get me out of Denerim.

It does not bring me closer to you or Zevran, I'm afraid. Maker, do I miss the two of you!

P.S: I do remember Cullen, please send him my regards. I am so glad to hear he is doing well.

Yours always,

Solona Amell.

Entry from Solona's journal

I spent the past week with Alistair. It felt almost like the old days. The Wardens are growing in numbers without having to employ the Rite of Conscription. It seems the after effects of the Wardens' victory during the Blight have not waned. Everything is moving along as it should.

Until my jealousy took hold of my self control and I had to ask Alistair what he felt for Anora.

He has become fond of her, in his own words. I had to turn away, I was afraid he would take one look at my face and know what I was thinking. I was always horrible at masking my expressions. That is why I would have made a horrible queen, aside from the fact that I am a mage, which should not be an "aside" as it was actually the biggest factor in crowning Anora, in losing Alistair. Yes, I have thought long and hard about this, over many sleepless nights. I have decided to go to Vigil's Keep.

(This part of the letter has been smeared and dotted with drops of water)

They are married. Whatever we shared in the past, I cannot be selfish. I cannot stand in the way of a true marriage between the monarchs of Ferelden if there was a chance it could happen. I know my Alistair too well, and he is not merely fond of her. Perhaps he has yet to realise the depths of his feelings for Anora. I think he is too afraid of change, of hurting me.

I need to take myself out of this equation for a while. If my fears are not unfounded, then so be it. Andraste preserve me, do I dare hope?

(Folded note - slipped to Anora in court)

My Queen,

The Hero has departed for Amaranthine. I have requested that the special shipment of fine cheese from Orlais be served tonight, as you wished.

His Majesty has retired to his office but he seems well and has agreed to join you for dinner tonight.

Your servant,
Erlina.

Chapter Text

Entry from Alistair's Journal:

My days seem to melt into each other now.

Solona has been gone for a month - there is not much to look forward to each day. I await the daily post with more enthusiasm than is fit for a King - thank the Maker Solona has been rather good at keeping up correspondences with me. She never liked writing letters much.

The only bright side is that Anora has warmed up considerably and we have had a handful of conversations that miraculously did not end with an argument.

I think I even saw her crack a smile at one of my awful jokes!

Meals are the best part of the day. I think Solona's pitiful Mabari will agree. Maker, I was hoping a Warden's appetite would diminish as the taint sets in. It has been 5 years - without being on the move like a normal Warden, I'm afraid I may be getting rounder than I'd like to be.

I think the Mabari is taking Solona's departure harder than I am. I'll try to head down to the kitchens and give old cook a scare and bribe a large bone for him.

Also, will need to find a sparring partner to stay in shape.

Dearest Solona,

How are you faring up there in the Keep? It seems like we barely spent enough time together before you decided to leave.

I wish you had listened to me and delayed your departure by month or so, maybe a year. Yes, I know...duties to do and so on. I can hear your voice so clearly in my mind sometimes.

My schedule seems fairly busy for the next few months. I know it will be exhausting, love, but I need to see you before then. Please do consider travelling down to Denerim in a few weeks' time, and maybe every fortnight? No one will talk as you are the Warden Commander.

Let me know.

Love,

Your Alistair

To the King of Ferelden, Alistair Theirin,

We had three participate in the Joining last week. I am pleased to report it was a resounding success. We now have enough Grey Wardens to send a party to Orzammar to keep guard for any emerging darkspawn activity. They will depart once all preparations are in place.

Amaranthine looks to be doing well this harvest. The people will not go hungry next winter.

Warden Commander of the Grey,

Solona Amell

(A note from the Queen to the King):

Alistair,

My gracious thanks for the cheese tarts. I assure you, however, that they will taste much better if you would stop including notes about the beautiful sights and lovely things to do in Amaranthine. As Eamon would have reminded you time and time again, we will be too busy in the foreseeable future.

Do me a favour, and try not to disrupt the kitchen staff too often. Erlina has run into some of the maidservants swooning at the bottom of the stairway more than once.

Sincerely,

Anora.

Dearest Solona,

Did you forget to send the other half of your letter? I'm trying to persuade Anora to accompany me on a trip to visit Amaranthine. She is not quite convinced that the people need to see her in person so soon after our last royal tour. But I will persevere.

If you will not come to me, I will go to you, Sol. We have been apart more than we have been together this year and as king, I deem that to be unacceptable.

Now send me the other half of your letter or I will begin to suspect that Nathaniel is keeping you a prisoner.

Keep safe,

Alistair.

Alistair,

Please do not bring the Queen to my keep. Yes, I know, she is Queen of Ferelden, but you can't expect us to welcome each other with open arms, Alistair.

There was no other letter, and no - I am not being imprisoned. It was a report I had to write quickly because another rumour of the cure surfaced in the  Brecilian Forest. I had no time to stop at Denerim on the way. Forgive me, Alistair, but the lead could not wait.

Fortunately, it was not a dead end. I will be travelling to Lothering to search further.

Yes, I do miss you - do you even need to ask? Expect to hear from me only sporadically during my travels. Any letters you have for me can be forwarded from Amaranthine.

Keep safe, Alistair, while I search for a way to end this taint.

Love,

Solona

Sol,

I know you may not read this until weeks have passed, but I need to get this off my chest. Anora is being horrendously stubborn. She cannot be dissuaded from doing a royal walk down in the Poor Quarter. I know why she wants to take the risk, but she wouldn't listen to me when I offered to go alone.

She does not even know how to wield a sword, for Maker's sake! Right..maybe she knows how to wield one, but has she ever used it in a real battle?

I'm concerned, Sol. She is so preoccupied with becoming the people's queen that she is ignoring the risks to her own safety. What do I do? I need you here more than ever to talk to me. I miss your words of wisdom, however much you say that it is all nonsense.

Even cheese has lost its shine. And you know that's when I'm being serious, love.

Please come to Denerim as soon as you can.

Alistair.

Dear Alistair,

Are you asking me for advice on how to handle the Ice Queen?

Here's a figurine for you - it was a gift from one of the Banns who visited Vigil's Keep. I thought you might like it. As for your Queen, gift her a little present or two. I'm sure it will work wonders.

Entry from Solona's journal:

It has been pretty quiet lately. It is a blessed silence after all we have been through.

Lothering yielded nothing. I feel as if I am back to square one, lost, without a clue where to begin looking for the answers. The sooner we get rid of this taint, the sooner Alistair will get his heir, and the sooner I will know what is to become of us.

I cannot imagine Anora being anything but cold and regal all the time, but motherhood has a way of changing people. Fatherhood has a way of...opening doors that otherwise may have been tightly shut.

I've tried again and again to encourage Alistair to grow closer to Anora, but the words just wouldn't come. I can only hope that our distance from each other will weaken his feelings for me, and that Eamon's incessant lecturing will nudge him in the right direction.

I just need to know where I will stand. For all the fear and uncertainty this is causing me, my curiosity will again get the better of me.

Maker, Sol!

Which Bann presented you with this thing? It's hideously gory. Is it some kind of hidden message? We may need to keep an eye on this person.

Anora squealed (although she continues to deny it) when she saw this thing decorating my desk and almost had it thrown out.

I did enjoy that scene more than I should have!

Are you back in Amaranthine yet? I'm still missing you dreadfully.

Love,

Alistair.

Entry from Anora's journal:

There is this..thing..sitting on the King's desk. He said it was a gift from the Hero. I can't help but wonder if it is some sort of personal threat to me in her absence, as Griffons represent Grey Wardens and the beheaded hurlock could mean-

Well, it doesn't do to dwell on these morbid thoughts.

On the other hand, Alistair gifted me with this lovely pillbox. He said that the precious gems adorning it are unique to the mines of Gwaren - so I would have a little something of home close by.

That man..just when I think there is nothing he can do to surprise me anymore.

Chapter Text

Entry from Alistair's journal:

Arl Eamon has been cornering me after our daily discussions. Heirs, issue, princes, bloodline...blast him! I have a feeling he will bring up some uncomfortable “solutions” soon. Marrying another is not something I am willing to do, to introduce another woman into this mess?

He seems to think it will be easy since this is nothing but a political marriage, with no feelings involved. But Anora has become a friend, and she is a capable ruler, more so than me.

Eamon is a meddling old man...but he has been a good mentor to me. I will need to practise reining in my temper better.

Entry from Solona's journal

I am two weeks away from Amaranthine, with a detour to avoid Denerim. We have made camp in this forested area which reminds me of the Dalish Camp we visited before. Sigrun's watch is almost over and it is my turn next, so this will be a short entry.

It has been so so hard to even put these words down in paper. I never imagined - during those Blighted days, when waking up to Alistair every morning made the days worth living - that I will ever consider leaving him (Morrigan aside, of course - extenuating circumstances and all).

I just - I don't know what else to do. I am being cowardly - Maferath knows what Morrigan would say to me if she was still around. I have not been able to bring myself to openly discuss his marriage, nor to keep up pretences that everything is the same between us. So I’ve been doing the next best thing – avoiding him, which I find I am rather good at. Right now it feels like a giant ticking bomb, just waiting to go off.

And this fruitless search, it feels like every clue or hint I find opens up another can of worms. I think I was actually happier during the Blight, before the consequences of all the decisions I made caught up with me.

Entry from Anora's journal

It finally happened. I have been waiting years for this. Alistair finally lost it with Eamon. I was just returning from court when I heard him yelling through the doors and some things being thrown against the door. I hope it was that horrible griffon.

He was raving on continuously but then he said “You have no right to shove her aside!” - and that had me standing right in the middle of the hallway in horror, before Erlina gently led me back to my chambers. I do not know what I would do without her.

I see that the cycle has begun again. I was hoping Eamon would not do a repeat of what he tried to do with Cailan so soon, but it seems like the nobles are running out of patience.

Alistair stomped into our bedroom soon after that. I fear he might have seen my eyes filled with tears because he stopped short and stared at me aghast for a couple of minutes. Then he stuttered about how the rugs needed a good clean, and would I like some flowers or a new gown or something?

I couldn't help myself and smiled at that. I asked him blankly if Eamon was planning to marry him off to a new queen - one who would be capable of bearing him a child.

True to his nature, he did not try to lie to me. Honest, upright Alistair. So much like his brother and yet so solid in his ways.

He said Eamon needed to see that our marriage was not a farce, and paused for a long while. I kept quiet, feeling that he had something more to add. He ran a hand over his face and plopped down onto our bed.

When he looked at me, it was as if I was seeing him for the first time. His face was lined with worry and despair, and he asked me if I thought we needed to see if we could work our relationship into a real marriage. I am ashamed to admit it - but I think I may have stared at him with my mouth open in an unbecoming way.

I am not sure what brought this on. The Alistair I knew would never have even given this idea any thought - not with his overwhelming love for Warden Amell in the way. I told him what I knew to be true in my heart - that he would do whatever he feels to be right. There was not enough courage in the world to convince me to ask him about Amell – for fear the mere mention of her name would bring him back to his senses.

He nodded once and paced the room with his hands clasped behind his back - looking as regal and composed as any king could. I could see his jaw clench and the wheels turning in his head. That was how I left him, and fled to my study to write all these down so that I can examine these events later when my heart has calmed down.

Entry from Alistair's journal:

Alistair reporting in. I failed to keep my temper in check.

Maker's breath - everything is a mess. I told Eamon if I were to hear one more word about Anora being barren - I would send him back to Redcliffe.

I feel terrible that everything is being pinned on Anora. We do not know for sure if she is barren (all those years married to Cailan) - and the taint in my blood is not helping matters. Since no one is allowed to know of this taint, Anora is left to bear the brunt of the gossip.

I think she may have overheard us and my eyes could have been deceiving me, but was she crying? I never knew what to do when Solona cried, other than hold her and listen, but this is Anora. She might scream and have the King thrown into prison for harrassment if I even tried to touch her.

She told me to do what was right. What is right?

Setting her aside is not something my conscience will allow me to do. Even if Eamon seems convinced that I am ready to run this country without her help - I will not just use her and throw her away. I may be a bastard, but I will not be a heartless one.

I have come to terms that King Calenhad's bloodline may very well end with my death. Anora and Solona both agreed that if and when the time comes, we could select an heir from among the higher echelons of nobility. Any future son from Cousland's line will be groomed with this in mind.

So here we are - Eamon is pushing for a new Queen as openly as he can without crossing the line of treason, pressured by the lesser nobles in Ferelden; Anora is visibly upset; Solona is not in Denerim.

The only solution I can think of is to convince the nobles that our marriage is not purely political. After all, they will be less blatant about setting Anora aside if they were of the opinion that her own King was actually in love with her.

I need to write to Solona. This would hurt her, as it does for me – but she will understand the necessities of this game.

Dearest Alistair,

I am back in Amaranthine but will be leaving again soon in a few weeks. The earliest I will travel to Denerim may be just in time for the Landsmeet. That should be three months away, and I do miss you too much already.

Don't worry too much about Eamon - he knows he is risking your temper each time he confronts you about this blasted issue. He is stronger than he looks and understands the pressure you are under all too well. I am certain he will forgive you taking it out on him from time to time.

I won't lie to you, Alistair - it hurts to know you are doing this although I fully understand the reason. We have run out of avenues and places to hide. With the Blight over, Orlais no longer a threat, and Ferelden almost rebuilt - the nobles have nothing to occupy themselves with. The rumours and gossip will not lessen.

My absence from Denerim will help convince the meddling nobles that we have parted ways. I will ensure my letters appear to be purely official Warden business and I am sure you will do the same.

Sincerely yours,

Solona

Solona darling,

I knew you would understand. I am fond of Anora and she has become a dear friend to me, and I owe it to her, to our marriage – arranged or not, to protect her from the politicking of the nobles.

I would never hurt you willingly, and I am truly sorry that it has come to this. That was the hardest letter I ever wrote. You are the most wonderful and selfless woman I have ever met. What would I have done without you in my life?

Eamon advises that it may be best if you do not return to Denerim for the Landsmeet, either. He does not like this plan much but he agrees it will quieten the whispers around the court and your absence will strengthen our point even more if it is prolonged.

With love,

Alistair

Chapter Text

The Hero of Ferelden made her way past the main gates of the Royal Palace and down the side alleys leading to the secret entrance she always used to move around unnoticed. She had left her horse stabled in a cottage just outside the city and only carried her staff and her pack of Warden reports meant for the King.

Solona could not bring herself to stay put in Vigil's Keep after Alistair's last letter. Her mind and heart were struggling to accept what was happening. Whatever strength she thought she possessed to see her initial plan through had disappeared the moment she read his letter, and she had spent the night sobbing her heart dry. There was such a strong air of finality to it, and for a heart stopping moment, she wondered if he was truly pushing her aside for good.

Without giving herself time to think, she packed a light meal and made for Denerim at the break of dawn. She just needed to see him, and touch him to remind herself he was real, and that he still loves her.

She removed her hood and adjusted her light robes. The guards would be surprised to see her but she could count on them to keep her presence a secret from the Queen and the Arl. Her softly padded feet made no noise as she hurried down the corridors to Alistair's office. Listening at the door, she ensured that he was not entertaining any audience before slipping in silently.

Alistair gaped at her for a moment before regaining leave of his senses. He stood up in a hurry and made his way to her.

"Sol? What are you doing here? Did something happen?" He reached out his arms to turn her around, checking if she was hurt or injured in any way.

"No, no. Alistair - I just wanted to see you. What you wrote to me - about Anora, I -" She turned to him and peered into his eyes.

He trailed his hands up to cup her cheeks, "Oh Sol," his eyes clouded over in pain for a few moments before he dropped his hands and stepped away from her.

"Alistair?" Solona hesitantly reached out to him but faltered when he shook his head sadly.

"You should not have come. It was just like you said, Sol. This - " Alistair gestured vaguely in despair, "This will only be possible only because you are not here. I could not do this if I were to see you every day."

"Are you saying that we should not meet in person until then? When will this stop, Alistair? The Landsmeet is three months away – I thought that would have been more than enough time apart,” she said.

 Solona felt a sense of deja-vu wash through her. This felt too much like the time Alistair tried to break it off after the Landsmeet right before the battle against the Archdemon.

"Of course I am not saying we should not meet, Solona. You will always be welcome here. It's just that Anora and I - we need some time to settle down, to figure out how to present ourselves to court. Your presence here so soon will disrupt all of that," he said, running his hands through his hair in frustration, "I'm saying this all wrong."

"I wasn't aware that this arrangement includes putting a halt to whatever was between us, and definitely not for such a long time." Solona narrowed her eyes at him; she was frozen to the spot. Icy heartache flooded her, and her fingers clenched into a fist so hard she could feel her nails digging into her flesh.

"No, I never meant there was to be an end between us! Maker, Sol, there is nothing to put a halt to. Please just listen - everything about you overwhelms me. When you are around, I barely focus on anything else. With you away, it will be easier for me to pay attention to Anora and for the nobles to believe us."

"What happens after, Alistair? When will it ever be safe for me to return? The moment I arrive in Denerim, all the speculation will begin again, and all your efforts will be for naught. Am I to be treated like a stranger each time we are in the same vicinity?" Solona asked.

"We just need to keep up appearances. Once their focus is no longer on this issue…No one is saying anything about being a stranger - "

Solona felt her vision go red in anger at the futility and hopelessness of it all and lashed out at him.“What do you expect will happen? If the nobles were to buy into your plan, there cannot be a place for me here anymore! I cannot stand aside and watch you with herduring the day,and sneak around at night just to be together!"

Her heart was breaking; her head was pounding in fear of everything he had said. She was losing him - after everything she had planned to do, she never expected to lose him this completely. She looked up to Alistair, tears brimming despite her willing them to stay in.

He snapped, "Then what do you propose? I have no idea what I'm supposed to do - between you and Anora - I never asked for this! You were the one who suggested - no, cemented this outcome during the Landsmeet!"

She was shocked into silence. He had never raised his voice at her like that. Being the hot-headed, temperamental mage that she is, it only took a couple of seconds for the rage to build up in her and crowd out any semblance of reason left in her.

She rose up on the tip of her toes and literally growled at Alistair. "Between me and Anora? It was supposed to be a political marriage! Everyone knew it was to be one. I never expected this to happen...I never thought that far in advance. We were just trying to survive the damned Blight!" She punctuated the end of her sentence with a hard shove against his chest.

Alistair snarled and pushed her hand away. "Stop it! Maybe we just need some time apart, alright? Neither of us are thinking clearly now. You should go back to the Keep. I will come - once this settles down, and we will figure out a way to fix this mess!"

She choked on a sob, "And wait for you to decide if you even want me? Wait in silence while you try to make it work with Anora? I think not, Alistair."

"What do you want me to say, Sol? You agreed with me. I am not willing to lose you, but for Maker’s sake – if you have a better idea, I am all for it!"

"I- I don't know! You know very well that the issue of your bloodline did not even cross my mind during the Landsmeet, since you were the one who brought it up after!”

Alistair flinched. That was a low blow, he knew after all this time that Solona would not forget his impromptu speech after the Landsmeet.

Solona continued her rant, “I thought you could be friends - maybe a friendly marriage, not... I never meant for you to fall in love! Maybe…down the road, if it was inevitable, but I did not want to think of it, Alistair! I just - I looked for the quickest solution...and shoved all the unpleasant outcomes away from my mind.”

Her tears started falling against her will, and she forcefully wiped them away. “I know - it makes me irrational and cowardly! But nothing will be able to prepare me for this…to lose you!"

Solona’s voice had escalated into a wail – she gave up all hope of maintaining any semblance of dignity in front of him.

Alistair visibly calmed down. He sighed heavily and gently wrapped her tear-stained hands in his large ones, "I'm nowhere close to falling in love with her, Solona. I was hoping to reach an understanding, maybe, if that's what you call it - with Anora. One borne out of love, yes, but not in the way I love you...never the way I love you. Any affection we can show at court will help diminish the pressure. That's the ultimate aim. And I am an idiot. I have no idea how to tell you this the right way. But it doesn't change the fact that your presence here will hurt any progress we've made."

She snorted and snatched her hands back. The tears still wouldn’t stop brimming over, "A friendly marriage - what in the void was I thinking, and it sounds ridiculous. Do I even dare ask what "progress" you've made?"

She held out a palm to halt any further explanation from him. "No. I actually, really do not want to hear it. You're right. Some time apart will do us some good." She was still sobbing so hard that she was finding it hard to breathe.

"Solona -!"

She grabbed her staff and whirled around, too fast for him as he reached out and tried to catch her arm.

Somewhere deep down, she knew she would come to regret losing her temper like this but anger and jealousy burnt and coursed through her relentlessly. All logic and restraint had flown out the window.

She slammed the door behind her, and heard Alistair yelp as it crashed into him. She raced down the hallway and through the courtyard, making it to the stables before she collapsed and panted for air. Alistair was no longer coming after her - he would not be able to sneak out of the palace the way she could. Angrily wiping away her tears, she crept out of the palace grounds to her horse and rode away into the night, back to the Keep.

Chapter Text

Entry from Solona's journal

I was so childish. The shame started sinking in two miles out of Denerim right when my tears finally stopped coming, but my pride would not allow me to turn back. Not after he practically told me I was unwelcome in his palace.

And I cannot face Alistair after that irrational outburst. Maferath! How could I have lost control like this?

My worst fear has come to pass, yet I cannot say this was wholly unexpected. The little girl in me still cannot believe the King of Ferelden, my sweet Warden Alistair, could ever feel the way he felt for me. Uncouth, mage, plain Solona. But he did. And the years during the Blight will always be the best memories I have in my life.

Maybe this is a form of payback – for being the coward that I was by allowing Morrigan to perform the ritual. One of us was supposed to be dead. But we took the easy way out, but it turns out that this way isn’t so easy after all.

There is no way I will be able to compete with a beautiful, elegant, poised, smart, level headed queen like Anora. I don't stand a chance if Alistair is willing to open himself up to another woman.

I am still being childish, aren’t I? Oh well.

I will be leaving for Haven tomorrow at dawn. Leliana may be the Left Hand of the Divine, but to me she will always be the slightly insane cloistered sister I met on the road.

Varel and Nathaniel will have to cover for my absence, spreading word that I will be travelling to Anderfels – a thousand miles away. The Hero needs a break from being one.

At least now I have a reason to head to Haven. A detour to Ostagar to follow up on the latest lead, and then straight through the Hinterlands to Redcliffe. I think I will get her a new pair of shoes at the village. I need to get my mind off Alistair and this seemingly fruitless search for just one evening.

Alistair stirred and blinked sleepily, slowly registering the bright daylight that was streaming through the windows. His shoulders strained from holding him up the whole night. It seemed he had fallen asleep on his desk.

The feeling of dread kicked in, sharp and deep in his heart. The remnants of a nightmare were slowly slipping away, leaving him grasping at his memories. There was a shattering roar; everything was burning up in searing flames - the archdemon. Alistair had dreamt that it was the final battle all over again. He shook his head, swallowing down the bile in his throat, no, Solona was safe. He was alive. They both survived.

He buried his head in his hands as the memory of the previous night flooded back. How could he have let her leave the palace so late in the evening? The roads were not safe, and she had been alone.

Yelling for his guards, he dragged the inkwell to him and desperately started to pen a swift message to her.

(Left with the King's Calvary Scout with instructions to ride ahead to Amaranthine)

Solona,

I am truly an idiot. What was I thinking letting you travel back in the middle of the night? I am on my way to Vigil’s Keep … now three outposts away.

Please send a message once you receive this to let me know you are safe.

Love, Alistair.

Entry from Alistair's journal

She is gone. Varel said she left barely hours after returning to the Keep - to Weisshaupt Fortress on top secret Warden's business. What have I done?

Teagan just shot me a pitying glance when he found out what happened. He was the only one I could confide in, and he pointed out – none too gently – that Solona was probably just looking for reassurance, which I, of course, failed to give. Her infamous temper did little to help, but I should have expected that. Now she has left, believing that I have given up on us. Maker preserve me, but I do still love that hot headed girl and cannot leave things as they are.

Eamon instructed that I was to return to Denerim immediately to prepare for the Landsmeet. The Arls and Teryn Cousland have begun to descend upon Denerim for their pre-Landsmeet audiences and bannorn matters even as I write.

The King’s Guard is not likely to force me, but Eamon was right. I cannot miss the most important event in Ferelden. Anora would murder me.

To the Void with Anora, actually! Solona would kill me if I behave this way.

What have I done?! I cannot go after her – Anderfels is too far. None of my letters will reach her in time. Why couldn’t she have fled to Highever instead?

This is what trying to be responsible and kingly gets you, Alistair.

(A crumpled note floating to the bottom of the chantry's well in Varel's handwriting)

Andraste forgive me. I have lied to the King.

Beloved,

Weisshaupt, really? Are you running away from me already, Sol? Turn around and come back. That is an order. Whatever top secret warden business you have – we will face it together. We need to work this out because I am not letting you go again. The fright you gave me when you slew the archdemon was enough to last me a lifetime.

Solona – I really mean it this time. Do not make me come after you.

Are you safe? Are you alone? Please tell me you brought half the warden force with you, at least.

Entry from Anora's journal

The blasted Theirin has been skulking around the corridors ever since his impromptu trip to Amaranthine. I am not sure what transpired between the two of them but it seems like they have fallen apart. She is not attending the Landsmeet, which is a first ever since Alistair took the throne. I keep expecting him to take off in the middle of the night to find her, but from what I have heard from the servants' gossip, she has traveled too far west, beyond Ferelden.

Part of me feels glad about this – it will be easier to focus on our marriage as we've discussed. Eamon has set aside time for us to just be together and spend time alone in the evenings - to talk, play chess, read, whatever tickles our fancy, anything to nurture this effort at bonding with each other. Although Alistair will need to snap out of his misery so that we can resume our attempts at conceiving an heir.

Yet, a very small part of me feels like they have thrown away something precious few are able to find in their lifetime. Was it because of me? I do wonder. As difficult as it has been for me, knowing the King has a mistress, I suppose I never thought it would be even harder for her to watch the one she loves being with another woman.

I had hoped, briefly, that Alistair would feel for me the way he does for her. But that was never to be. All we can hope is to love each other with the same respect afforded within a family.

(The ink is blotched as if the writer was lost in her thoughts and held the quill to paper for too long)

Chapter Text

 (A short note left with one of Leliana’s agents)

Zevran,

My soul, my friend. Where are you? I will be staying in Haven for the next few months if you do return. Look for me there.

Yours,

Solona

 Entry from Solona's journal

Haven is surprisingly…delightful. Much more welcoming than the last time I was here in search of Andraste’s ashes, at least. I remembered grey everywhere – wet skies, wet land, deserted huts…but now it is brimming with life. The sun casts a golden glow on everything and the grounds are filled with the clanking swords and shields of the training troops.

It is always freezing here though, and I miss the light breeze and warm sun in Denerim. For the first few days, I could barely feel my nose and went about paranoid that it was running continuously.

Tomorrow, I will be learning to bake. Can you believe it? Solona in the kitchens! The baker is a crotchety man, and insisted on warning me that it is not an easy job, but with Leliana glowering behind me, I think he was not able to refuse. She is fully supportive of finding new interests to keep me busy.

Since arriving, I have sat myself down many times, trying to draft an apology to Alistair. Each time, the words would not come. I have no idea what to write, or where to even begin saying the words I want him to hear. I acted so rashly, so childishly. Would he even want to hear from me?

Alistair is a kind man, and he has been impossibly patient with me through the years, but I fear that I may have overstepped my boundaries this time. After all, he is the King. One does not yell at him, shove him, accuse him, and then expect an apology to wash the slate clean. Especially not after he told me outright to stay away from his palace. I suppose marching in there, disobeying a direct order, and then insulting the country's well-loved King is somehow a punishable offense?

Maker, I hope I have not become a refugee in Ferelden!

Lady Cassandra brought a dwarf back with her. He reminds me of Oghren, even though they are nothing alike in character. It must be the gruffness. He took to me quite well considering the overwhelmingly delighted welcome I gave him. It is nice to have someone to discover new things with, and in a way he makes me miss Oghren even more!

Now, I am signing off to help the Chantry sisters skin nugs to make us warmer blankets. Leliana swears off this task, and I cannot say I am looking forward to it. Eugh.

 (A letter from the Commander to the Seeker)

Lady Cassandra and Spymaster,

More and more recruits are enlisting and the troops are beginning to number in the hundreds. I suggest we look into setting up an encampment and larger training grounds to accommodate them just outside of Haven. Quarters are currently rather cramped.

Divine Justinia will be accompanied by 10 of the best veterans in our ranks. However, they will be ill-prepared against the mages and templars that are convening for the conclave. Request for the seeker to speak to the Divine again on allowing a larger guard contingent to accompany her, myself included.

Commander Cullen

 Commander,

The answer is still no. The Divine insists on presenting a united front and the presence of too many guards (including the Commander of her troops and myself) would be giving a wrong impression.

Trust me, there was a long debate.

Cassandra

Entry from Cullen’s journal

This marks the third month of complete abstinence from lyrium. The Seeker has me recording down the symptoms to aid those who wish to follow in my footsteps in the future, but the first two months were more than I could bear, and this journal has been left empty.

I started reducing my dosage of lyrium months before leaving Kirkwall. On hindsight, it was not the best idea to suffer from withdrawal at sea.

The withdrawals began with nightmares. I was not aware of my surroundings.  Lady Cassandra reported that I was feverish and delusional most of the time.

Three weeks later, there was a marked improvement. The fever receded and this was when the urge to take lyrium was at its strongest. I would have failed repeatedly had Lady Cassandra not been there. Physically, I was weak. Weeks of being restricted to bed took away most of my form. Training resumed 6 weeks after stopping lyrium.

Cassandra started on light exercises, gradually easing me back into swordplay. It was not possible to carry a shield or a real sword in the beginning. Only now – 6 months after abstaining – have I started training with my usual gear and it leaves me exhausted at the end. But training does wonders as often I would be too tired to have nightmares at night.

I am slowly taking over supervising the troops from Cassandra. The symptoms continue to persist, coming in unexpected bursts. It feels like it is constantly on the verge of flaring up. Elfroot tea with honey helps with the milder symptoms.

Commander Cullen was just done recording in his journal, when he looked up and visibly blanched once he realised who the hooded figure behind Sister Leliana really was. His thoughts scrambled to arrange themselves- wasn’t she supposed to be in Denerim? What is she doing in Haven? Is she recruiting for the wardens? For a moment, he wildly wondered if she planned on recruiting him but almost immediately dismissed that ridiculous idea.

Leliana lifted up the flaps of his tent and ushered her in. The dread slowly set in when she lifted her hood and he saw the frown lines between her eyes. Oh Maker, he thought desperately, she must be remembering the last time I ever saw her.

After the nightmare in the Circle Tower, he never imagined he would ever see Solona Amell in the flesh ever again. Once she became lauded as the Hero of Ferelden and mistress to the King, the possibility seemed even more remote. That didn’t mean that Cullen forgot nor forgave the abominable things he said to her.

“Ser Cullen,” Solona greeted him, “It should be Commander Cullen now, my apologies.”

“I...ahh,” Cullen stole a quick glance at Leliana, who winked mischievously and escorted herself out of his tent. He swallowed hard, trying to chase away the dull ache that was beginning to pound in the back of his head by sheer willpower alone. He had no idea how to address the woman left standing alone before him.

“Hero –,” he began, but stuttered to a halt when Solona shook her head, looking bemused. He racked his brain for several more titles before settling on one. “Warden-Commander.”

Solona smiled slightly at that, “Such as we are - Commanders of troops that can barely be called an army.”

“I hear you are doing good work with the Wardens back in the city. You give yourself too little credit,” he said.

Her smile widened, and Cullen thought he had been transported back to his time as a templar in the Circle, with a young Miss Amell slyly sneaking glances at him and making him blush like a peony.

“Warden Commander, I ahh…back at the Circle, when you saved me … I said things I truly regret,” he started, “My behaviour was unpardonable and it shames me to admit that I brought that mindset with me to Kirkwall.”

“Please, Ser Cullen, I don’t even remember much of the events that happened in that tower, aside from the abominations and killing things.”

“No, Warden Amell, you must not absolve me this easily,” Cullen protested. He had to make her understand the horrors he had committed, against her and her kind, “I persecuted mages, hunted them, and punished them for the slightest transgressions.”

Solona narrowed her eyes, “From what Varric tells me, you were not solely responsible. In fact, you helped them in the end, didn’t you?”

“Varric is a keen storyteller, he embellishes. My faults are not so easily dismissed. Just because I changed my stance in the end does not make what I did right. I…It was almost too late.”

He licked his lips in contemplation before deciding to continue, "I supported the Knight Commander in decisions that were...I made mages tranquil."

Cullen kept his gaze on the floor as the memory of Maddox filled him with shame and horror, dreading her next words.

“Ser Cullen, please. I have made horrible, unwise, selfish decisions myself,” Solona’s mind flicked to the memory of Morrigan, “but it is done. There is nothing we can do about the past. What matters is the work you are doing now, what you and Leliana are trying to do with the Divine, and that is all I see now. I promise. But if it will make you feel better, I forgive you – for everything you think you have done to me.”

He nodded, “That is more than I deserve, but I cannot accept your forgiveness.”

“Yet. You cannot accept it yet. In time, Cullen, you will.” Solona watched as he frowned, the strong lines of his jaw set in determination. His gaze was too intense so she allowed her eyes to travel down the rest of his form, taking in for the first time - the image of her templar, unrestrained by the large heavy armour.

She slid her gaze down from his eyes to the new scar adorning his lip, to where his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the hollow in his throat that looked so inviting, She stepped back to drink him in, the amazingly broad shoulders covered by his fur coat, the tapering of his waist that flared out in wide hips. His breeches strained against the muscle of his thighs as he shuffled on his feet awkwardly.

Her glance shot back up and locked with his own honeyed eyes, cheeks flaming as she realised he was watching her all this time. She cleared her throat, “Have you…that is, were you blaming yourself for what happened at the tower all these years?”

“I deserve the blame and more, and there is much work to do before I can even begin to atone for my past,” was his determined response.

Solona sighed as she watched the kindest templar she ever knew berate himself over and over again and vowed that she would help him see his own worth during her time here in Haven. She had to.

“Well, Ser Cullen, the kindest of hearts have often felt the most pain,” she told him, thinking ruefully of her own King sitting in Denerim a thousand miles away.

  (A wrinkled and edge-torn letter sitting in a messenger's bag in Redcliffe)

Dear Solona,

I hope this reaches you in Weisshaupt. I'm sending all my letters through Nathaniel to accompany his reports to you. And I have no knowledge if any of them have reached you.

I will leave Denerim immediately after the Landsmeet. I have begun talks with Empress Celene to allow me safe travel through her lands in the name of the Grey Wardens. Do not be angry, love, I had no choice but to play the Warden card.

All my letters have gone unanswered. Are you ignoring me on purpose?

I need to see you, to tell you that this is ridiculous and that there is no one else.

Your soul and heart,

Alistair

Chapter Text

A page from Leliana's notes

Solona arrived a fortnight ago. She was devastated. I can't help but feel angry with Alistair although I know that he is acting for the good of all of Ferelden. I truly understand what they are trying to do. But it hurts me to see Solona suffer like this. I wish Zevran was here, he was always able to make her smile in the darkest times.

I will send my crows out to track him down. Oh, the irony of this! Alistair always twitched nervously each time Zevran made her laugh in camp. And now it is his doing that makes Zevran's presence necessary.

Note: Cullen turned an interesting shade of red when Solona arrived. She was too distracted to notice. This needs further investigation. Will see if anything interesting comes from this observation.

Entry from Solona's journal

Haven has been a welcome break. I have been here for two months and barely had any time to myself! Leliana is largely responsible for that, keeping me busy with stories in front of her fireplace, dancing like silly little girls around her room...she is as wonderful with her flute as ever, despite holding such a solemn title. We attracted some curious stares from the Chantry sisters when we emerged the next morning. They must have never heard the serious Sister laughing as much as this. 

Even the stoic Commander appears to be very amused by my friendship with Leliana, as I always catch him looking at us with a smirk and twinkle in his eyes when we collapse in fits of laughter mid-conversation. Cassandra merely harrumphs at us and mostly ignores our antics.

The Seeker is truly a frightening woman. I stay out of her way so that no one notices that I am actually quite intimidated by her.

The Divine Justinia is absolutely divine, she has been so welcoming and a wonderful listener. 

I also found out that Varric was a famous author, and just had to ask Leliana to give me some copies of his books! Commander Cullen did not look too happy when he heard and just as I was leaving the Chantry, Leliana said in her lilting voice, “Do not worry, Commander, you were dashing in Swords and Shields.” 

The last thing I saw was an all-too-familiar red blush on the Commander’s face. It has been months since I laughed that hard. That must have been what he meant when he said that Varric was a storyteller, although I must say he did not have to bother embellishing too much when it came to describing Cullen in his books.

I've been helping the village in the day time. Hunting, patrolling the area, keeping in shape for when I am ready to return to Vigil's Keep. I have strained muscles I never knew I had from kneading dough everyday! Most of my evenings are spent huddled in a corner of the tavern with Varric - interrogating him on his next instalment and trying to get him to admit that the dashing knight in Swords and Shields really is based on the Commander.

And the Commander himself - he has been a great help in taking my mind off .. certain subjects. We have been playing chess frequently - on days where his withdrawal is not as pronounced and he is able to spare me some time. He has not spoken to me regarding his lyrium withdrawal, but the effects are obvious the more he tries to hide it.

Leliana said that he is keeping it on the down low, on the off chance that he does not survive this, and to not alarm his troops. But he is young, and physically fit…and he should be able to emerge from this victorious. I remember the older templars slowly losing their senses back in the Circle, and I respect Cullen even more for this. I have prepared vials of Elfroot honey tea and left them with Leliana since she mentioned that they seemed to help with his headaches.

When I first arrived, we spent a whole afternoon talking. It started when I cornered him in his tent. He apologized – a lengthy one. It was better after that – conversation was easy, and we avoided all topics regarding the Blight.

Maker, I forgot how handsome he used to be.

I can't even bring myself to think about anything of that sort...not yet.

It doesn't hurt as much now. I still think of him every day, especially when I wake from nightmares, or before I fall asleep. He is the first one in my thoughts upon waking, and the last before I sleep. The pain is now a twinge and a pull in my heart, sometimes an ache in the deepest of my belly. And I never truly feel happy anymore. But it is no longer as dark as it was when I first arrived.

I have not heard from him since I left Denerim – although this should be expected given that he probably thinks I’m travelling to Anderfels right now.

I think this is for the better. I will never stop loving him, but this distance makes it easier to dwell on what I lost.

On a happier note - Zevran is making his way to Thedas from Antiva! I can barely wait!

(Added later in the evening)

I just received two notes from Alistair that I seemed to have missed by just a few days after I left Vigil's Keep - forwarded from Amaranthine. The recent surge in attacks on the roads from Denerim has made it difficult to keep up correspondences with the Wardens.

I do not know what to think. He actually left for Amaranthine to see me, and he worries ---

(Page is left wet and covered in tears)

To King Alistair Theirin, of Ferelden,

I am safe. As you know by now, I made it to Amaranthine safely. You should not have travelled all the way to the Keep.

I am well protected -

Solona threw down her quill in frustration. What to say, what to say? Every word she could think of did not do enough to erase her embarrassment at losing her temper with him, and to send a formal letter lacking in personality would just make the situation more painful.

She had sobbed for an hour straight when she read his notes, missing him unbearably and just wishing he was right next to her so that she didn’t have to try to form meaningless sentences on a piece of soulless vellum.

After all, Alistair journeyed to Amaranthine, and threatened to come after her to Anderfels. Solona’s heart tugged at the thought, and she pictured an entourage of Royal Guards led by their King making their way across Ferelden towards her, but it was only a moment of fantasy as she knew that he would not be able to leave his duties for so long.

Solona clutched the creased pieces of vellum to her chest, locked the door and deposited herself in her bed to brood. She would be useless for the rest of the day in her current state.

 Oh Alistair, she cried, I miss you so so much.

Mornings in Haven were his favourite time of the day. The unrelenting cold pierced his armour and brought relief to his fever. Commander Cullen crossed his arms as he surveyed the training grounds, and nodded in satisfaction. The new grounds were much more suitable for practices, away from the hustle and bustle of the village.

He noticed a dark haired form flitting around the tents from the corner of his eye. Almost subconsciously, his back straightened and he assumed his most commanding pose. Cullen had no idea what Solona was up to this early in the morning and squinted against the morning rays to observe her.

She had grown from a young mageling to a formidable woman, and the day she cornered him was the most invigorating yet frightening time of his life.

He stifled a laugh when he noticed her placing buckets of water, with fire runes under them to keep them liquid, in strategic spots around the training grounds. The Hero of Ferelden was watering his troops! The wind must have carried his laugh further than he’d like for she glanced up, startled at the sound and caught his eye. Seeing the mirth on his face, she covered her own laughter with her mitten-warm hands and shyly made her way over to him.

Cullen watched her make her way gingerly towards him, her arms flung out at her sides to aid in balancing the snowy terrain. Solona reached his side and mimicked his pose, crossing her arms and surveying the tents before her. Her nose and tip of her ears were a ruddy red and Cullen thought she had never looked so fetching.

“You are awake early, Commander,” Solona remarked, her lips twitching as she tried to remain serious.

He relaxed his stance and rested a hand on the pommel of his sword before saying, “I could say the same to you, Warden-Commander.”

Solona recognized his attempts at evading the question and decided to let it go, for now. “Solona, please. We cannot be calling each other ‘Commander’ all the time. Unless, you wish to confuse the Void out of the troops. Solona for me, and Cullen for yourself, that is... if you don’t mind?”

Cullen shook his head, “No, of course not”. He glanced at her and made sure her attention was focused away from him before mouthing Solona to himself. He had never called her by anything other than Miss Amell when he was a young templar, Warden Amell after her joining and then Warden Commander after the Blight ended. Most days he even referred to her as the Hero of Ferelden in conversations.

Solona, he thought that it will take a long time before he grew comfortable with it.

“Well then, Ser Cullen,” Solona drawled, flashing him an impish smile, “Would you care to accompany me in my quest to harvest more elfroot? The conditions of the ground…it seems rather treacherous. I fear I might sprain an ankle…or fall into the lake, or something equally embarrassing.”

Cullen tried but failed to contain his snort as he mentally pictured her scrambling on the ground, limbs flailing madly in the snow, and the wink she threw his way implied that she knew what he was thinking.

Before his mind could come up with excuses on why this could be a bad idea or remind him of the stack of paperwork adorning his desk, he gallantly offered his arm to her.

Behind them, Haven was just rousing from its slumber.

(A wrinkled and edge-torn letter joins the other letter in the messenger's bag in Redcliffe)

Dear Solona,

With nothing to distract me from thoughts of you, I have been throwing myself into work. Eamon's lessons on politics, trade and economics are finally being put to good use. Things are going well in Ferelden, aside from scattered reports of the rebel mages causing trouble in our lands.

I am starting to wonder if offering them refuge was the right choice, but as you used to remind me, a few black sheep does not turn the whole flock bad.

I am sending the First Enchanter to reason with them with the templar guard as back up. Anora thinks I am being too soft. But this is why I took the throne, to make changes in the way mages are treated. Although, I must say they are not helping themselves if the rumours of injured villagers are true.

Nonetheless, the Queen has conceded to my judgement in this.

The reports from Vigil's Keep continue to be encouraging.

I love and miss you. Are these declarations making you uncomfortable? I will stop Sol, if you would just let me know what is going on in that lovely head of yours.

Missing you,

Alistair

Commander Ser Cullen,

Chess was enjoyable. I never knew a game required that much thought. Perhaps I will perform better next time.

Thank you. Your company has made my days bearable.

Sincerely,

Solona

 (A letter balled up in anger and thrown into a fireplace in the King's Private Office)

Beloved,

Where are you? Are you safe? I'm worried, Sol. It has been months since I have heard from you. Landsmeet will be over in a week.

Please answer me.

Forever,

Alistair

Arl Eamon gave a longsuffering sigh as he stood at attention in King Alistair’s private office. He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and kept his hands firmly at his sides. “I cannot advise that this is a good idea, Your Majesty. Weisshaupt is far, the journey is taxing, the roads are no longer secure.”

“I have spent my younger years traipsing all over Ferelden in circles during the Blight itself, Eamon. I am no stranger to bandits or darkspawn. And certainly not unaccustomed to distant travels,” Alistair insisted, although he was not too convinced on the latter point himself. The past few years as the ruler of Ferelden has softened him considerably. He snuck a hand to tap his still-hard belly to reassure himself.

Eamon frowned at him, “And what of the Queen? How will she handle the nobles in your absence?”

“I think we have made leaps and bounds of progress in that, haven’t we? They are not as obvious with their gossip and none will dare show her disrespect after seeing how close we are. You will help to enforce this, Eamon,” he said, glaring pointedly at the older man standing before him.

‘Of course, Your Majesty. But the matters at court – “

“You are more than equipped to handle any matters with Anora’s help. Teagan will stay on after the Landsmeet to lend you a hand. The people of Redcliffe are prospering from the increased trade with the other cities. He will be more than happy to help in Denerim.”

Alistair sat down on his chair and gestured to Eamon to do the same. “I have thought long and hard about this voyage, uncle. The procession will be making appearances in all the towns and villages that dot the countryside from Denerim to the Hinterlands. It has been 7 years since the Fereldans last saw their King and it is high time we remind them that they are in our thoughts. Solona’s departure has just given me the trigger I needed to do something that ought to have been done.”

Eamon sighed again, “Just be careful, Alistair. The kingdom cannot afford to lose its King.” He looked at the young man that he raised with concern, “You will have no mage at your side to protect you, to heal you. There is no one to stop you from throwing yourself into danger.”

Alistair grinned at him, “You worry too much. I will be bringing a squadron of Wardens led by Sigrun, and the full King’s Guard with me. They may not equal Solona in prowess, but I believe we will manage.”

“Very well, Your Majesty, as long as you return in one piece.”

Extract from Anora’s journal

Alistair will be leaving Denerim for his Royal Tour in a week’s time. I never believed I would come to feel this way, but time at court will be unbearably lonely while he is gone.

In the past few months, I have come to love him like I would a blood brother. The absurdity of it! He executed my father.

But he has the sweetest nature known to mankind, and it is balanced out by his unwavering sense of honour in doing what is just and fair. I never thought he would make a good King before this. It was impossible to hate him once he started tearing down layer upon layer of my barriers.

Even I could see the dogged devotion he continues to hold for the Warden, and the toll it began to take on him, his health. I was angry, for a moment, that she could be so selfish as to leave him here, suffering and worrying, where I am unable to be of any help. When I mentioned as much to Erlina, she hushed me in terror, afraid that Alistair would hear.

I know I need to hide my anger better. If he knows, it would only distress him further. He has been eating as much as usual, but it does not seem to show on his bones. He has been looking increasingly gaunt and tired, and my maidservants bring me news that the nobles are speculating if he is suffering from some mystery Blight illness.

That has not stopped old cook from fussing over him, always threatening (the King, mind you) that he would lose his handsome looks if he continues on like this. I think they have formed a tentative sort of maternal relationship from all the times Alistair spent lurking in the kitchens. In a way, I am comforted that at least one other person in the palace looks out for his wellbeing.

I worry for him..for this journey that he is about to undertake. It will not come so easily anymore - disguising himself as something other than a noble, and the land is filled with thugs and outlaws waiting for any opportunity to make some quick coin.

He will return safely, won’t he?

The Hero will answer to me if he doesn’t.

Sister Leliana,

Scout's report from Hinterlands attached. We have seen a rise in apostate magic. Will begin intensive training to prepare the troops in the Seeker's absence.

Cullen

Cullen's journal

The Nightingale keeps smirking at me during War Councils each time the Hero's name is mentioned. There is nothing going on as I am well aware of her history with our own King.

The Seeker has noticed and started asking me uncomfortable questions regarding my intentions, of which I have none, I assure you. I am glad she has brought her disbelieving looks with her to Orlais on some errand for Divine Justinia, although she brought the Hero along, and I do miss Warden Amell’s company.

It is...easy. And comfortable. It reminds me of home - before it all went to the Void at the tower.

Reminder to self: Request for sleeping draughts from Adan as the lyrium symptoms are setting in again - headaches are getting worse.

Chapter Text

Extract from Solona's journal

Everyone had been busy with the upcoming conclave. I was trying to make myself scarce as there were a number of templars that have arrived along with the mages and I could feel the tension thick in the air. Even I found myself avoiding their encampment on more than one occasion.

The bulk of the crowd waited in Haven while the mages and templars convened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Everything seemed to be progressing well, until the whole temple  exploded.

I have not fought like this since we were investigating the Architect. Demons are just spewing forth without letting up from the sickly green holes in the sky. It feels good to be able to fight again, but many, many, lives have been lost.

The Commander has not taken a break since the explosion. He is out front leading his soldiers, without any sign of weariness. I do not know if he is fuelled by pure adrenaline or if a templar’s stamina is as legendary as a Grey Warden’s. He is determined to save as many lives as he can, because the majority of his troops are still young and inexperienced.

Solas - an elf has appeared and is helping us hold back the demons, much to the Commander's relief. He said he was travelling through and we are thankful for his help, except Cassandra, but she treats all newcomers with distaste in general. It does seem odd that a mere wandering elf is such a powerful mage, but one does not question the little mercies in times like this.

Leliana has disappeared along with Cassandra to interrogate the only survivor. She is a mage, and as such, it seems everyone thinks it is her fault. I wanted to intervene, but Leliana had just enough time to shoot me a warning look before taking off after them.

It is not difficult to keep these demons contained, but the fights become a lot harder closer to the largest rift at the temple, and we are running out of fresh enforcements to send as back up. I will be making my way up there with Varric soon to give the Commander's forces some relief. I will write more on this in the next entry.

(Updated the next day)

The new mage – the one that fell out of the Fade, she actually sealed the breach! Solas says it is only temporary, but demons are no longer coming through and the whole of Haven is taking the time for some well-deserved rest, and seeing to the injured.

Sadly, it seems that Divine Justinia is truly lost to us. There is still no trace of her, one can only conclude that she is gone. Leliana is devastated, I can tell. She hides it well, as always, but I can see the strain in her eyes. Right now, she is closeted with Cassandra, Josephine and Cullen – making new plans with the Herald of Andraste (that’s what the people are calling her).

The Herald of Andraste is a pretty little thing, with long red hair that curls in at the ends and piercing green eyes, and she was unconscious for three straight days after expanding all her power into sealing the rift.

I only saw her once after she woke up; the poor girl looked lost and confused as she made her way to the chantry.

I will try to speak to her soon, I am curious as to where she hails from – she did not look like a circle mage from Ferelden, her robes were different.

Cullen is taking the news of the loss of his veteran guards badly. He was throwing daggers at the training dummy in his tent when I checked in on him earlier. He has been looking paler than usual lately. I will add some Wilds flower to his tea packet this time, I hope it helps.

 Extract from Cullen’s journal

The Herald, as they are calling her, is off to Hinterlands to meet with Mother Giselle. I must note that she is adept at fighting with her staff and seems to specialize in the Primal School of Magic, namely fire and lightning spells.

She will be sent to Fallow Mire once this is done as some of our soldiers are being held by the Avaars and the Spymaster deems it more effective to send a guerrilla-styled team than the full squad. There is a discussion to let Solona accompany her. Both of them in battle will admittedly be a sight to behold.

The Herald was awestruck by Solona when she first met her. I was struggling to keep my face straight when she stared at Solona for a whole minute, eyes wide and jaw open.

Solona blushed prettily at her, and shook her hand as solemnly as she could before lifting a finger to gently nudge her jaw close.

I think they are equally taken with each other, and have been spending a lot of time together, even eating into our chess time. Not that I am complaining. They have much to give each other, Solona: her experience and the Herald: her companionship.

Despite the despair of a new threat to Thedas, this feels like a page in history that I am privileged to witness in person. I should thank Cassandra for her efforts in bringing me to Haven.

As for my withdrawal, I have stopped taking sleeping draughts in light of this new threat. Sleep does not come easy, nor is it peaceful when it does. I pray for Andraste's mercy that the nightmares will subside soon, for I am functioning with barely any rest as it is.

Sol - leaving for Anderfels.

Vague rumours of Orlesian Wardens being up to something questionable - hope you are all right.

Have not heard from you - and I am increasingly worried. I will make my way there in haste.

 Alistair.

 Leliana's notes

Zevran has come and left. Solona discovered some texts on Griffon eggs that were discovered and preserved after the Fourth Blight. Her enthusiasm affected him so, that he set off this morning in search for news of the supposed location. He is as pleased as I am in the improvement we see in Solona.

The Commander and the Hero has been spending a lot of time together. It is good. He needed this - to help him get over the events in the tower. It also helps that Solona has someone to talk to who knows of the Blight and the terrors that came with it, but was not a witness of her relationship with Alistair during those days.

Will do more to encourage this friendship.

Update: Solona has received a series of letters from Alistair. It seems he is preparing for travel to Weisshaupt, and she implored me to write to him to discourage his plans, looking overwhelmed by the deluge of information.

It seems that the notes have been held up somewhere between the Hinterlands and the Frostback Mountains due to the snow storm.

I wonder if it is too soon to ask her to consider re-establishing contact with him. Alistair must be almost out of his mind without hearing from her for so long.

Mistress Nightingale,

It may interest you to know that my seneschal has sent word that the King of Ferelden will be arriving in Redcliffe to rest before setting out to Weisshaupt on private Warden business in approximately two months.

I do not know the nature of this "business" exactly but I have my suspicions. It is rumoured the Hero of Ferelden is currently keeping company with your good self. May I suggest that the King be informed of this before he undertakes the journey across Orlais for naught when the object he seeks is just a hundred miles away?

Arl Teagan of Redcliffe.

Sister Leliana,

Never before have I felt so glad to receive word from you.

Are you sure Solona is in Haven with you? Is this a plot where you throw me off her scent?

Are you sure she is safe?

If it is all true, then that is wonderful news. You can expect my arrival in two months or so.

Alistair

Extract from Solona’s journal

All the fury I have felt for the Chantry and everything it stood for came back tenfold when the Herald related the events at Val Royeaux to me. Those self-righteous, controlling bigots!

Madame de Fer and a lithe blonde elf known as Sera accompanied her back. And the both of them are as set in their ways as each other, but to opposite extremes, I do not know what to make of them yet.

The Herald was understandably upset as her brother is one of the Templars at Therinfal Redoubt, and she worried that something evil might have befallen him under the Lord Seeker Lucius’ tyranny.

The Commander and I had a fight before she decided on approaching the templars for help. For obvious reasons (I never claimed to be completely neutral!), I was all for visiting the mages at Redcliffe. The fact that the village is closed off to outsiders is worrying. Cullen was obviously anxious for his brothers in the Templar Order and the implications of the Lord Seeker’s behaviour.

Underlying all that, of course, was the distrust we both felt towards each of our kind.

The culmination of our fight was ugly. We were just short of yelling at each other in his tent– well, I was yelling, and he was stubbornly rejecting my opinions in a measured sort of way, and I think the whole of Haven heard me. It ended with me stalking out of his tent and yanking his flaps close so hard that I’m surprised the canvas held steady. Cassandra shot me a patronizing look when I strode past her. I do not see why she bothers, I am well informed on how my temper is one of my worst traits.

I spent every night scowling at his handsome image in my head with that horribly attractive smirk that appears each time he thinks he is right, and replaying our debate in my mind - creating better comebacks to throw at him. Which was all for naught, really, since we carefully stayed out of each other’s way until the Herald returned from Therinfal.

That beautiful man at least had the decency to refrain from gloating when the Herald announced her intention to go to the templars instead.

Speaking of the Herald, she just rode in an hour ago and was immediately pulled into a council meeting by the advisors. A number of templars accompanied her but none of them bore any semblance to the Herald. My heart sank when I considered the possibility that her brother might still be missing, or worse, dead.

I think I will station myself at her little hut, just in case she does not feel like being alone later.

Solona dozed in the wooden chair, when a loud stomping sound jerked her back to consciousness. The Herald was beating the snow off her boots and flashed a wan smile when she saw her friend waiting for her in her quarters.  She looked ashen and withdrawn, and Solona immediately thought the worst had happened.

“My lady,” Solona gasped, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she rose to greet her.

The Herald collapsed into her outstretched arms and held on to Solona tightly. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she repeated half-heartedly after a while. “Iron Bull is a menace to behold in a fight, if you must know. My brother is safe. Ser Barris – one of the templars who came to Haven with me - he told me that Brent left the order when it fell to pieces. He should be back at the Free Marches with my family.”

Solona gasped in delight, “That’s good news! You must be so relieved. When I saw you, I thought – ”

“That’s not all, though. It was an Envy demon," the Herald met Solona's disbelieving gaze with a tired expression, "He possessed the Lord Seeker, a-and he trapped me in the Fade.”

Both mages stared at each other in understanding of the horror that the Herald must have felt. “What did the demon show you?”

She bit her lip and looked away from Solona, pausing before answering, “Well, the advisors, mostly.”

“What happened?” she questioned the Herald tentatively, not wishing to pressure her even more but the curiosity was overwhelming.

“Yes,” the Herald nodded, “it was hideous. Leliana…she looked so hardened. Almost evil. And she slit the Commander’s throat so coldly. He just…fell over dead, his blood was everywhere. It felt so real, and his eyes were staring at me – ” Lady Trevelyan shuddered as she dragged a finger across her throat, all colour draining from her cheeks.

Solona bit back a choked sob in surprise, as the images played out in her mind. The Herald brushed her red hair back and glanced up in surprise, “Are you well?”

“My sweet Leliana?” she asked, “Why would she - And..Cullen?”

“It was just an illusion, Warden Commander.” The Herald patted Solona on the back comfortingly.

Solona swallowed thickly, and started for the door, “I- I’m sorry, my lady. I had better retire for the night. It’s late, and you must be exhausted. Are you sure you will be fine alone? Do you need anything?” Her throat was dry and she could feel her hands trembling as she reached for the doorknob.

“No, no, I have everything I need. You should get some rest.”

Solona nodded and fled the hut, making her way as fast as she could across the slippery grounds and collapsing against her door. Her mind refused to stop replaying images after images of Cullen falling over dead, even as she tried to distract herself by brewing elfroot tea with honey for his withdrawal.

By the time dawn was threatening to break through, Solona had fallen asleep on her chair and the cabinets were stocked with vials and vials of potions.

She started awake with a gasp, “It’s blood, it’s blood,” she thought, as her fingers and cheeks were covered in dried, sticky tears. Solona wildly recalled the slice of a sharp knifepoint across a man’s jugular and the gush of crimson blood that followed, spilling over her fingers, her clothes, her arms; of Cullen lying on the ground, eyes staring at her, unresponsive.

She frantically rubbed her hands raw on the wooden desk before realizing that they were clean, that it was only tears on her skin and not blood, that it was only a nightmare. She winced as the splinters dug into her skin and the pain jolted her fully to consciousness.

Solona staggered up, her legs protesting in agony. She made her way to the basin in her room and splashed cold, relieving water on her face. Her eyes felt swollen, and she was sure she looked like an abomination.

Her mind registered the faint rays of sunlight streaming into the room. It is dawn…Cullen would be awake, she thought.

She breathed in long and deep, regaining her composure and tying up her long hair in a messy bun, before taking one last glance at the floor (to make sure it really was clear of blood) and leaving her room.

The cold winter wind lashed at Solona’s skin the moment she left the rooms. She slowly made her way to the Commander’s tent outside of Haven, rubbing her arms to lessen the chill. The weak rays of light did little to provide warmth and Solona quickened her pace, silently thanking the Maker that Cullen was awake when she caught sight of a slight flicker of light in his tent. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.

Barely remembering the explosive argument regarding the templars and mages, and brushing away her bruised pride, she tentatively swept the tent flaps aside and peeked in. There he was, dressed in his breeches and a simple tunic, bent over his desk in the candlelight, already starting on his paperwork before the sun fully rose.

Her breath hitched as overwhelming relief washed over her, releasing the clench of her heart with so much joy that the blasted tears threatened to spill again. She stubbornly wiped her nose and eyes with her sleeves and swallowed her whimpering.

Cullen must have heard her, for his head whipped up to the entrance of his tent as his hand flew to the pommel of his sword. Upon seeing her, he relaxed slightly, only for his gaze to turn to concern as he noticed her red-rimmed eyes and equally bright red nose.

“Warden Ame - I mean, Solona? What are you doing awake?” He cleared his throat and reached his hand out to beckon her in, “Is there something you need?”

She sniffled and ducked into his tent. Her breath exhalations came out in puffs of smoke in the warmer air, and she observed the little puffs for a few seconds before whispering meekly, “No.”

Cullen stared at her, looking confused and unsure of what she expected of him. One large hand crept to rub the back of his neck in what she was beginning to recognize as his telltale sign of discomfort. Her resolve (to appear sophisticated and put together) melted away at that endearing sight and she breathed, “Oh Cullen,” before launching herself at him.

He staggered back a few steps with a muttered “Oomph” and awkwardly placed his hands on her hips to steady himself. Solona wrapped her hands around his neck, grateful that he had not worn his armour because this way he felt real – so real – as the heat from his body engulfed her.  She buried her face in his chest and inhaled deeply – his earthy, heady scent grounding her to reality.

You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive.

She heard Cullen clearing his throat, before his voice rumbled so comfortingly against her, “Is everything all right?”

Solona held on dearly for a while more before she released her tight grip on him and lifted her head. “Yes, yes. Everything is perfect now. Oh Cullen...”

The poor man looked utterly bewildered and at a loss on what to make of the mage clinging to him.

A half-sob, half-giggle emitted from her lips. She felt almost dizzy and light headed with relief. She saw his lips quirk in an adorable half smile and she felt like bubbling in joy. She could feel his warm hands on her back searing heat through her thick coat.

But to save her reputation from being the crazy mage Hero, she supposed she had better come up with an explanation for her absurd behaviour. “I spoke to the Herald last night. I know, it might seem like overreacting, but when she told me of what she saw…I,” she stopped abruptly, unable to go on. Her eyes searched his, begging him to understand.

“Ahh,” Cullen nodded, “Envy.” Solona could tell that he was trying to resist the urge to to lift his arm to rub the back of his neck, given that her own two arms were occupying that space.

“Yes,” she confirmed, laying her head back down on his wide chest to hide her flaming cheeks. “After the torture you went through in the tower, and then Knight Commander Meredith…I was so afraid it was not an illusion and that somehow…you were really  there.”

He grumbled in response, and she closed her eyes to savour the vibrations of his voice, the whoosh of warm air caressing the shell of her ear. “I just couldn’t, Cullen. Not again – not ever seeing you like that again would be too soon for me.”

“I’m here, and whole,” he rumbled again, and added wryly, “as whole as I can be, anyway.” Cullen reached up and gently unlocked her arms from around him. “Your hands are cold. Where are your gloves?”

He pulled away from her slightly to frown at her bare hands before jolting in alarm at the sight of her raw, abraded skin. “Maker, Solona! What in the Fade happened?” he exclaimed.

She blushed furiously and hid her face in his tunic again, “I was dreaming…a nightmare. I thought it was covered in blood when I woke.”

“Maker’s breath!” he exhaled, “If the Fade visions affected you this badly, you should have said something.”

“I’m saying it now,” she muttered petulantly.

He gently placed her to one side before leaning over and rummaging in his drawers. His fingers closed over a jar of yellow looking ointment. “Salve,” he proclaimed, “Here, allow me.”

He unscrewed the jar and started massaging the salve into her wounds, frowning further in anger when he saw the similar state of her other hand.

Solona thought she would expire from embarrassment. Maker forbids the whole of Thedas finds out that their esteemed Hero of Ferelden is merely a child.

“The next time something like this happens, you look for me immediately. Is that clear?” Cullen demanded.

“Yes, ser.”

Chapter Text

With her face streaked with tears and red swollen eyes peering into his own, Cullen thought he had never seen Solona Amell look so beautiful. Especially as she was curled in his own arms, which in truth, had only happened in his teenage fantasies.

The feelings he had been struggling to tamp down since her reappearance in Haven rushed to the forefront. Shouldn’t this childhood crush have run its course already, for Maker’s sake!

Cullen shook himself and forced his mind to focus on the tasks ahead. The Herald would be leaving to close the breach, or attempt to at least, in the next hour. There were so many things to do, preparations to make, contingency plans to map out…that he could not afford to lose himself in dreams. With a final grunt, Cullen pushed all thoughts of the Warden-Commander out of his mind and nodded to his lieutenant, “To work?” he affirmed.

As the men pored over the maps and requisition orders, across Haven - Solona Amell helped the Herald into her armour in her hut, both women were anxious and worried, but neither wished to vocalise the possibility that the Herald might fail.

With a weak grin, she clasped the final buckle and patted the Herald on her shoulder. “Maker preserve you, my lady,” Solona said.

“And help all of us,” the Herald replied wrily, tapping her staff determinedly on the wooden floor.

Dear Anora,

Do not fret. You will get wrinkles. I have arrived in Highever without any untoward incidents. There is a feast prepared in my honour, and I must say it feels odd without you by my side to charm the Banns.

Are you feeding Sol’s mabari enough? Please remember to do so, I would like my head to remain attached to my body, if possible.

I will not linger long here, I have received disturbing news from Teagan that Redcliffe Castle has been taken over by some Tevinter Magister, and we are preparing the local troops as reinforcements to confront him. We will begin a forced march there as soon as everything is ready.

The rebel mages must be working alongside him, and if my suspicions are true, I will not be lenient with them any longer.

I hope you are faring well in court, and that the nobles are being respectful. I will write again soon.

Take care,

Alistair.

The next evening was filled with celebration in Haven. The people were already ecstatic to wake up to the arrival of a group of veteran templars, and their joy was compounded with the return of the Herald who had successfully closed the breach.

Solona stood apart from the festivities, wrapped warmly in her cloak and blowing into her mittens. Leliana had retired to the War Room with the ambassador, happy to have good news to disseminate to her agents for once. The Herald was standing on the steps of the Chantry, looking upon the revelry with a pensive air, in deep discussion with Seeker Cassandra. Her new companion – Cole, she remembered, was standing a few paces behind her. Solona smiled at the boy, who reminded her a little of the young apprentices new to the Circle Tower.

She shifted closer to the fire, narrowly avoiding a collision with a couple of giggling maidens who clearly indulged in too much drink. Her eyes sought out the Commander among the body of revelers, alighting upon his metal armor, glinting golden in the dancing firelight. He had not wandered far from her side all day since her outburst at the break of dawn, always making sure he was available at arm's length. He was pacing in front of Haven's large doors, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword as was his custom. She hid a smile at the worried look on his face, thinking to herself that the man truly never allows himself to relax.

Just as she opened her mouth to call out to him in greeting, loud ringing bells resonated through the night, Cullen surveyed Haven in alarm and immediately raised his voice to cry, "Forces approaching, to arms!"

Solona instinctively gripped the side of her waist for her sword, before realizing that she had foregone her armour to celebrate. She looked up in horror and caught Cullen's searching glance. Once he saw her, he gestured forcefully to the Chantry doors, herding as many people to safety as he made his way to the gates. Solona sprinted past the oncoming crowd and ran to her room, cursing herself for letting her guard down. She was fully armoured in record time with her trusty Spellweaver at her side, before grabbing her pack and rushing out into the courtyard.

It was emptying at a rapid pace. The people of Haven were nervously jostling to the chantry while the Commander's troops had taken their positions in defense. She ran to the where the advisors were consulting with the Herald and was just in time to hear Josephine ask, "Under what banner?"

“None,” was Cullen’s answer.

The group peered into the settling darkness, horror dawning upon them as they saw thousands of silhouetted figures dotting the mountains. They were collectively startled by loud knocks at the gate. The Herald signaled for them to be opened, and the gates swung open to reveal a handsome mage.

“I’m here to warn you. Fashionably late, I’m afraid,” he said in a rich Tevinter accent. He swayed on his feet and Cullen dashed forward to hold him up, “Mite exhausted…don’t mind me. My name is Dorian Pavus and I bring grave news from Redcliffe. An army of rebel mages – right behind me.”

Solona and those present turned their gazes in the direction the mage was pointing in, watching as waves of Venatori (as Dorian called them) approached with the Elder One and Calpernia at the helm.

“Cullen! Give me a plan! Anything!” the Herald demanded.

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can,” he said.

He turned to his soldiers and unsheathed his sword. They were waiting at attention, ready to follow their Commander into battle. “Soldiers, gather the villagers! Fortify, and watch for advanced forces! Inquisition – with the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

A resounding roar rose from the army ranks. Solona exchanged worried glances with the Herald before the both of them sprung into action to help his soldiers.

The next few hours passed in a blaze. Solona vaguely recalled endless fighting against other mages. She kept craning her head mid-battle looking for Cullen, just to reassure herself that he was safe, before fiercely reminding herself that he was a warrior in his own right, and could more than hold his own ground. Her side felt empty without Alistair’s sword and shield, and on more than one occasion, she was almost caught unaware by a thrusting sword or deadly dagger as it sliced too close for comfort. Mind your left, Sol, Alistair’s voice kept replaying in her mind.

They had just set off the last of the trebuchets and watched as the avalanche engulfed the oncoming troops, loud cheering had just begun when a storm of flapping wings roared overhead.

She stared at the dragon soaring above in dread. Cullen was ordering everyone into the Chantry and Solona followed them in, blankly watching as he closed its large doors with a resounding boom after the Herald made her way in with the last of the stragglers.

Solona handed yards and yards of bandages to Mother Giselle, patching up as many of the injured as best they could as more and more groaning bodies were laid on the floor of the Chantry. She kept her eyes fixed on where the Commander and Herald were locked in a heated discussion and chewed on her lips worriedly as she took in the Herald’s stubborn expression and Cullen’s despairing one.

Corypheus, she heard whispers of his name. The tevinter mage had brought them news of the magister responsible for the rifts in the skies. The Herald turned her head to Solona, her ponytail whipping behind her. She smiled when she realized Solona had been watching her all along and gave her a determined nod and salute…like a farewell, Solona thought.

She is going to face the dragon, Solona realized with trepidation, she is going to face the king of beasts…and she will die.

Solona struggled to her feet and started toward the retreating Herald, no no no, no more deaths under her watch, not if she could help it.

Commander Cullen stepped in front of her, his face was withdrawn and pale, “Warden Amell,” he said.

“Cullen, Lady Trevelyan – she – ”

“Yes,” he consented; his fists were clenched at his sides. “If we are to survive that beast…she needs to make it hear her.”

“Survive how, Commander? We are trapped.”

“Chancellor Roderick will lead us out. A secret path to the mountains,” he informed her, striding among the injured and barking out orders to the remaining men left standing.

“I need to help her. I should be out there! I have fought these things before. I –”

“No,” Cullen scowled, and stopped short in front of her, he turned to face her sadly and said, “You are needed. Corypheus has come for her and only her. In case…if the Herald does not make it, you will be needed to lead the people. Andraste preserve us all - should she fail...” Cullen shook his head firmly, and swiveled around to issue more orders.

Solona gritted her teeth in anger at the futility of it all and followed after him, slinging as many packs of healing kits onto her shoulders as they began to evacuate Haven.

Extract from Cassandra’s Journal

We trekked the mountains for hours after leaving Haven and the Herald behind, before encountering the camp set up in a mountain crevice to shelter against the wind and cold.

What remains of the villagers of Haven were huddled around the campfires outside. There are encouragingly many, although keeping them alive in this weather will be a severe challenge.

The advisors are sombre and seem reconciled to the loss of the Herald, but we are still stubbornly remaining in the camp holding out hope for a miracle. Commander Cullen and the Hero of Ferelden are keeping vigil for any sign of the Herald, venturing out as far as they dare to leave visible tracks leading up to the camp.

The other advisors are deciding on our next course of action. The apostate elf knows of a shelter further up the mountains. I am doubtful the people will be able to make the journey there in this weather and without the right equipment.

For now, we will do what we can to survive. One step at a time.

Mother Giselle sat close to the Herald’s tent, alert and waiting for her to be ready to continue their journey. The entire camp had breathed a collective sigh of relief when the Commander appeared amidst the swirling snow, carrying the Herald in his arms and Cassandra's cry of "She's alive!".

The short hymn they sang the previous night did much to rouse the spirits of Haven’s survivors and the provisional encampment was a hubbub of movement as every able body pulled their weight to prepare for the perilous roads up the mountain.

The Revered Mother shuffled closer to the blazing fire and nodded her thanks at the mage that was keeping the flames alive. She let her eyes wander, picking out solitary figures amid the hive of activity.

She saw Seeker Cassandra, who was stationed by the outer campsite, chin resting on the hilt of her sword as she glowered in the direction of the Inquisition’s Commander. Mother Giselle followed her line of sight to watch the Commander wrapping his red coat around the Hero of Ferelden, and smiled slightly. She could recognize the blossoming of new romance, despite her elderly years, along with the same hesitation that accompanied most templar-mage romances.

Cassandra made her way around the fire to join her, huffing at the couple. Mother Giselle turned her smile to the surly Seeker, and asked, “Is something bothering you, my child?”

Cassandra gestured towards the targets of her ire, “That will be scandalous, Revered Mother.”

“Ah, but he is a templar no longer, my child.”

“Not that, Mother, but because she is the King’s mistress,” she answered.

 Solona could feel Cassandra’s eyes burning into her back, and snuggled into Cullen’s fur coat even more. She had no idea what aggravated the Seeker so, but she was not willing to walk up to her to demand answers.

She focused instead on the Commander, who was hauling the remaining packs of rations into one of the few carts they had managed to salvage. He seemed like a changed man this morning, no longer bearing the weight of the world on his broad shoulders alone, which was the way he carried himself during their vigil for the Herald the night before. Solona could still recall with frightening clarity – Cullen’s tall form marching ahead of the survivors, marking deep tracks for them to follow as they clambered up and up the mountain in the dead of the night. His golden hair had gleamed with fire from the torches, like a beacon of hope calling out to the struggling people around him.

He had been silent, strong in his resolution to bring them to safety. His worry for the Herald was dogged and evident, yet he buried it all staunchly to uphold a calm persona for the people.

Solona had worried for him, for the Herald, for their futures and their lives, and the two of them had trudged in widening circles after the camp was set up, searching and hoping against hope that the Herald had survived.

It was beginning to look futile when Cassandra joined them in their search, briefly igniting the fading spark of hope. That had proved sufficient, for they kept going, until the faint glow of sickly green against shimmering white snow caught Solona’s eye and Cullen’s cry of “There she is!” and Cassandra’s “Thank the Maker!” led them to the exhausted and chilled Herald, bowed and broken against the strong wind.

“You should rest, Cullen,” Solona called out, her mind coming back to the present, her voice thinned and brittle as the wind carried it away.

“No rest for the wicked, Warden-Commander,” he retorted with a small grin, “As many packs as we can carry, could mean the difference between life and death for us.”

He stooped down to pick up his water canteen and walked over to her, saying, “Last night was a close shave, it cannot happen again. I let my guard down, and the cost was too high.”

Solona watched the water slide down his throat and the escaped drops tracked their way down the stubble of his jaw. She swallowed and shoved away the emerging bloom of attraction, forcing herself to think of Alistair. I must be losing my mind after nearly dying, she thought, so close to never seeing Alistair again, to never hearing his voice, his laugh, his witty one-liners…that it is hard to think, and my emotions are all a mess.

That morning, she had woken up the usual way, Alistair being first in her thoughts – where he was, if he was safe, why he wasn’t next to her…but then Cullen had been next on her mind, his face and honeyed eyes popping into her brain like it was so natural. And Solona had the first inkling that she might be in trouble - that she could be falling for the ex-templar, however much she tried to deny it.

She reached out to pat his back without thinking to comfort him, her heart stuttering to her throat when he clasped it with his own. She knew not what this meant for her relationship with Alistair, but surely the Commander of the Inquisition, who sodding looks like a fairytale prince come to life, would not reciprocate the feelings of a mere mage, youthful infatuation in the past notwithstanding. She had nothing to worry about; Cullen would never know about it.

Solona sighed as her mind returned to Alistair. She wondered if the King and Queen had any luck on the heir-making front, and whether he still thought about her as often as she thought about him. She wondered if he was any closer to falling in love with Anora, or Void take her, if he had already fallen head over heels in love with the pretty Queen. Solona was not stupid, she knew that there was no way that she could truly be with Alistair in the future – not as long as he remained King of Ferelden. She knew that she will never be able to return to court to assume her previous position as Mistress of the King as long as Anora was around – and Alistair needed to protect his reputation. Ferelden would soon forget their roles during the Blight and turn on their mage-loving King.

The Commander released her hand with a comforting smile and resumed packing the supplies into the cart. Solona tucked both hands beneath her chin, and closed her eyes. She conjured the image of Alistair as a young Warden, shyly handing her a rose, and she felt her heart break again.

Solona knew deep in her heart that she had to be the one to end things between them – Alistair would never willingly do it and she did not want to spend the rest of her life just waiting for him, but she did not know if she possessed enough willpower to do so.

She’ll cross that bridge when she reaches it, she thought, she needed to see to Lady Trevelyan’s victory over the ancient Magister before even thinking about her tangled web of feelings. In the meantime, she resolved to hide her surfacing feelings for Cullen from every living person around her.

After all, they are so alike, the Commander and the King, she thought to herself, smiling at him when he glanced her way.

Cullen will never find out, she repeated firmly to herself.

Chapter Text

Letter from Leliana to Alistair (creased and folded as if the recipient had read it over and over again)

My dearest friend,

Solona is safe and sound. Do you think I would sit back and do nothing if any danger was to befall her? Yes, I assure you that Solona was in Haven with me and not in Weisshaupt as reported. I was not lying just to change your mind about your journey. You can send your apologies to Empress Celene for reneging on your planned visit.

I beg you again, Alistair, to stay safe in Denerim. The roads are getting more dangerous by the day. Turn your entourage around, and go home. I will keep you informed, I promise.

Haven was destroyed. The rebel mages who evacuated Redcliffe formed the army that marched on us.

I know you must have heard rumours by now, so I am sending you my fastest raven with this news – we have all made it out safely. We finally have a name for the creature behind the breach in the sky - Corypheus. We are now taking refuge in an elven fortress called Skyhold. It sits on the border of Orlais and Fereldan. The council has agreed unanimously to inform you – as the King of Fereldan – and keep you up to date on the Inquisition’s business.

The Herald of Andraste – the same person who risked her life to save the people of Haven has been named Inquisitor. I have attached an official report detailing the events at Haven and the Inquisition’s intentions.

The roads are no longer as safe, and all letters are being held up for ridiculous amounts of time – I must insist you send all correspondences to me by means of my ravens.

It is no longer your duty to ride out and slay evil, Alistair. Solona has requested that you forgo your plans to travel and return home.

Dearest Alistair, I know this is hard for you to hear. But perhaps she is right. You are doing wonders for Fereldan as King, and your efforts will not be in vain.

My best regards,

Leliana

(Reply sent with Leliana’s raven)

Dearest Leliana,

Solona is more than able to write her own letters should she wish to request anything of me. While I await news from her, I will be making my way to your brand new spanking fortress in the sky after my stop in Redcliffe.

Looking forward to our little reunion.

Alistair

Alistair's journal

Travel is exhausting. I have forgotten the aches and pains from sleeping on a bedroll. At least I no longer have to keep watch in the middle of the night.

Am I getting soft? I wonder what would Solona say.

I do miss that woman. It has been close to 6 months since I last saw her. Feels like forever. My heart sank when the scouts brought news of Haven’s destruction. If Leliana was actually telling the truth in her first letter…I could not bear to imagine Solona being harmed in anyway.

Maker bless Leliana for her foresight to send her fastest crow to me.

If only I was better with words. I should have taken up poetry or literature instead of treaties and political trade agreements.

This is the second time I've pushed Solona away. The only reason why I failed the first time was her beautiful stubbornness. I actually let the woman beg to stay with me. Maker! How did I manage to keep her so long?

This time, it is up to me alone to make things right.

Letter from Solona to Alistair (addressed to Denerim)

 Alistair,

I am safe, although there were some skirmishes that made me miss having your shield and presence next to me in battle. I am sorry for not writing sooner but your letters were delayed, I think. I received several notes regarding your planned travel to Weisshaupt all at once. I am with Leliana and the Inquisition, so I am as protected as I can be.

Landsmeet must have ended two weeks ago; I hope you did not follow through on those plans, Alistair! It is not proper for the King of Ferelden to traipse around the countryside and I hope Leliana has told you this as well!

You weren’t an idiot, my darling, I was overreacting and it shames me so to remember the way I behaved. I am not running away again. Right now, I feel like this is where I am supposed to be – helping out with the new Inquisition. This Corypheus character makes me feel uneasy, and the fact that he has a dragon at his beck and call…it is my duty to remain here to see this threat annihilated. I will return and confront all of our own problems once this is all over.

I hope all is well with the court and the nobles. I do not envy Anora for the pressure she must be under, and I know you will do all you can to help her through this. Are the two of you - You have my blessing on this front, Alistair.

I don’t think I will be returning to Denerim until we defeat Corypheus, but I will continue to write to you, I promise.

Love,

Solona

“Besides Sister Nightingale, are you still in contact with the rest of your Blight companions?” Cullen asked, leaning back in his chair while he waited for Solona to decide on her next move.

Both commanders were taking advantage of the sunny afternoon and were enjoying a short break from the humdrum of paperwork. The little courtyard was set apart from the hustle and bustle of the rest of Skyhold, repairs were mostly completed and only Chantry Sisters were milling about in reverent silence.

Solona was mouthing to herself, trying to recall the rules of the game and where each piece is allowed to move. She frowned at his question as she paused to think deeply.

“Well, sadly Wynne – one of the best healers I have met...is no longer with us. Shale the golem - she was travelling with Wynne and I have no idea where she might be now. Sten left for Seheron and I have not received word from him in quite some time, word has it that he is now the Arishok,” Solona recounted, ticking off the names with her fingers as she went along.

“I hear from Oghren very often, as he is now a Grey Warden and stationed at Vigil’s Keep. Zevran is trying to locate the Griffon eggs that were rumoured to survive the Fourth Blight, you met him briefly when he stopped by in Haven. I still speak to Morrigan occasionally, but our meetings are far and few in number since she is now serving the Orlesian empress, and my Mabari is back at the palace with - ” Solona paused and hesitated, her eyes clouding over.

Cullen said gently, “That leaves the other Grey Warden, now King of Ferelden.”

“Yes, it has been some time since…we have not spoken in months,” Solona admitted, fidgeting with one of the pawns she managed to capture from Cullen.

He leaned forward and seemed to be considering something deeply before asking, “The ballads of your victories – are they all true?”

Solona smiled at him, knowing what he actually meant and was overcome with the desire to be completely honest with the kind man before her.

“Mostly, yes, except that Morrigan did not turn into a dragon, it was her mother who did that. And Leliana was not an innocent lay sister, she had been a bard for years before, but I think she wrote that one herself and spread that rumour on purpose,” Solona said, “As for Alistair, they were true, most of it.”

He cleared his throat, before asking speculatively, "Are you and the King still-?"

“No. Not really…Maybe? I don’t really know. We didn’t exactly part on good terms, and well, he is married…so I don’t actually know where I stand in all this,” she laughed nervously, “I never imagined, as a young girl and then a young mage, that I would ever be mistress to the King. I always dreamt of a simple barn wedding, and then it all went to pieces when I was sent to the circle. I suppose you could say I’m running away from confronting it head on, but the only way out – leaving Alistair - is painful, and I’d rather put it off as long as I can and let time and distance ease the pain a little.”

“You plan on leaving him?” he asked, surprised.

Solona flinched, chewing on her lips before asking him hopelessly, “Is there any other way? I may be afraid and dreading it, but I know what needs to be done eventually. We have been living on borrowed time. I…I just do not know what I will do after that, if I will be able to continue on as Warden-Commander, given the close proximity required in corresponding with the King.”

Cullen remained silent, reflecting on what she said. Solona was mortified when a defiant tear streaked down her cheek. She subtly brushed it away and looked up, Cullen was studying her with an inexplicable expression on his face. She coughed, to break the awkward silence that had settled around them.

He smiled kindly at her, and the tension dissipated as quickly as it came when he asked, “Tell me more about these Griffon eggs. Were they not extinct during the Exalted Age?”

“We all thought so! But then during my search for the – ahh Warden stuff, I came across some papers with vague rumours regarding the survival of a number of eggs. Seeing the Griffons alive again would do wonders for Grey Wardens, with our ranks being so thin. I thought it was worth looking into, so Zevran offered to aid with the search while I remain behind to help with the Inquisition.”

Cullen nodded, “That would be remarkable, if proven to be true. You do seem to be involved in some of the most fascinating things, Solona.”

She shrugged, “In other words, I seem to land myself in some sort of trouble at any given time. That is a very diplomatic way of describing it though, thank you Commander.”

Cullen barked out a laugh, “No, Maker! I meant what I said. You are a fascinating woman, and your array of titles does not define who you are as a person. Hero of Ferelden, Arlessa of Aramanthine, Slayer of the Archdemon…even mistress to the King. You have done all of that, but beneath it all you are still Solona Amell to those who know you well,” he insisted, looking at her meaningfully.

“Wherever you go, or whatever position you choose to hold - I will always try…to know you as such, if you would allow me this honour,” he resolved.

Solona was touched beyond measure at his words, and said, “Of course, Cullen. I would want nothing else.”

“Thank you for being so open with me regarding the King,” he mumbled shyly, “I did not expect such as honest answer,” he admitted.

“No, I – I feel the same about you. I would never lie to you, not purposefully. You will always be Cullen to me – kind, beautiful, gentle, strong, protective Cullen, no matter your past.”

He frowned, recalling the anarchy at Kinloch Hold, “My past…is –“

“Not up for discussion,” Solona interrupted. “Cullen, you were the first templar who was kind to me, the only templar I noticed who never treated mages like they were less than a person.”

“Until the blood magic took over the tower and I succumbed to the wiles of the demon!” he insisted vehemently.

“You did not succumb. You lost yourself for a while. You wanted to harm, to hurt, and you did and said cruel things for years after that. But tell me, Cullen, would you do it again? Right now? If I brought rebel mages right here before you, will you strike them down? Make them tranquil?”

He did not answer her but his eyes bored into hers, shimmering with barely suppressed anger.

Solona concluded, “Just as I thought, you would not do any of those things. You would bring them to the judgement of the Inquisitor, and behave just as the Commander of her forces should.”

She rubbed her eyes tiredly, and said, “Cullen, neither of us were the same person in Kinloch Hold. I am no longer that silly mage with the embarrassing crush on a templar, and you are no longer the young boy following the Order blindly. The only thing that survived since then is my horrible temper, which I am not proud of.”

He clenched his jaw tightly and looked away. Solona waited patiently, letting him roll her words over in his mind.

Cullen moved one of his pieces closer to her queen, slowly relaxing the stiffness in his posture, and asked, “Which templar?”

Solona looked at him in confusion, and asked “What templar?”

His hand froze over his pawn, and he reminded, “You mentioned being taken with a templar at the tower?”

“Maker,” Solona breathed, “Of all the things to take note of, it had to be that?”

Cullen snorted and leaned back, folding his arms across his chest, “Well?”

“Do you even need to ask?” she huffed, “It was fairly obvious to anyone with eyes to see.”

“I honestly had no clue,” Cullen said, looking baffled as he tried to recall her time at the tower.

“Really?” Solona asked in disbelief, ”You never noticed me pretending to read in the library while you stood guard? Or being exceptionally pious when it was your turn to watch the Chantry? The number of hours I spent ‘praying’ to Andraste…” Solona laughed.

“Why would you pretend to pray –? I…oh,” realization dawned on him and his cheeks began to colour in response. “The templar was- I didn’t kn- I mean…Maker’s breath, and all this while I thought that I was the one doing the stalking.”

Solona cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow at him. Cullen said warily, “You had to have known about my infatuation with you.”

She laughed, “I never knew for sure – not until we freed you after I returned to the tower. You make it sound like it was a disease.”

“Well, to a young templar, it almost was,” he waved away her slightly insulted look, and continued, “I was going against everything the Order taught me. I spent those days alternating between being foolishly in love and horribly confused and angry with myself. And when you were recruited to the Wardens, I felt…it felt like you took the all the sunlight with you.”

Cullen shook his head, smiling bemusedly, “Young and silly,” he muttered.

Solona grinned, “Did you know, you were the hardest thing I had to leave behind. I missed you so much that each time I met a templar during the early days, I would hope so badly that it would turn out to be you.”

His ears began to redden, and he nervously rubbed the back of his neck again. Solona chuckled at the endearing habit of his, and mindlessly moved her queen figurine. Neither of them was surprised when Cullen reciprocated and announced, “Checkmate.”

Chapter Text

Dear Anora,

Redcliffe was deserted. Leliana’s reports have confirmed that it is largely thanks to the new Inquisition that the mages have been defeated.

Reports show that they have been following the Venatori’s orders in the attack on Haven. I am grieved at the news for the mages would have been spared if not for this Mage-Templar War. They had nowhere to run once Alexius (the Magister) banished Arl Teagan and took away their only source of support.

The Venatori have murdered Alexius here in Redcliffe itself, it was a gruesome scene that we came upon.

We are restoring Redcliffe to the best of our efforts before I make my way to visit the Inquisition’s new stronghold. I feel I must tell you that Solona is camped there, which is my motivation for the detour.

I apologize for the lack of personal notes in this letter. Will write more soon as we are busy dealing with the repercussions of Teagan’s absence.

Yours truly,

Alistair

Extract from Solona's journal

I have just returned with a scouting squad from Haven. The place is destroyed – none of the structures remain, only planks of wood buried under mountains of snow. We salvaged most of the wood and supplies that survived the battle and that will help greatly in fortifying Skyhold.

Skyhold has vastly improved during my absence. Josephine has done an astonishing job at fixing it up so quickly. My room is right next to the little courtyard, and I am in love with it. The Inquisitor has a row of planted herbs right across and it smells heavenly, for now at least. I dread to think of what would happen once she discovers the blood lotus seeds.

Yes, she is now the Inquisitor. It is such a mouthful that I have teased her over and over again for it. Then she said, “It’s nothing compared to trying to say Hero of Ferelden.” That shut me up quickly. I think she prefers this to Herald that had such religious connotations, though.

My room – it has a simple desk, a large bed and an armoire. The best part is the window overlooking the gardens. Sometimes there are children playing, or the Chantry sisters would be kneeling in prayer. If it is a particularly good day, Cullen would be sitting at the patio, a chessboard in front of him with Leliana or Dorian. It seems like they are the only two who bother playing against him anymore. I surrendered after catching him trying to let me win the third time.

Cullen is really the Commander of the Inquisition, as under him are a lot of men. They have been trickling in every day - new recruits, veteran templars, mercenaries, guards, soldiers…it is looking more and more like a real army.

I know that Leliana wrote to Alistair, at my request. When I asked her if she thought she succeeded in changing his mind to travel all the way to Weisshaupt, she just smiled mysteriously and told me to stop worrying about it.

I glared at her suspiciously until she told me to write him myself. So I gave up and left in a huff, thinking of the one and only letter I have written to him, and only because I was terrified that I might die without ever seeing or speaking to Alistair again – after facing the Venatori army and almost perishing in Haven – a result of my guilt and panic .

It has been sent off to Denerim and now I cannot decide if I am looking forward or dreading his reply.

I wondered if he had said anything of importance (about me) to Leliana, but trying to drag information out of the Spymaster herself is impossible. Oh well, it will be weeks before any letters of his will reach me. Until then –

Something heavy and warm barrelled into Solona’s side as she sat, perched on the wall overlooking Skyhold’s grounds and scribbling in her journal.

She had been recklessly sitting on the fortress wall, her legs dangling in the air a hundred feet above the ground. There were tents erected beneath her feet, the injured laying in rest, and the Commander’s temporary office consisting of a desk stacked with piles of reports lay abandoned below her.

She was just recalling that today was the day that Cullen chose to relocate his command centre to his tower, when her breath was knocked out from her as the bundle of fur nearly bowled her over to her death.

Solona grappled around blindly on the stone wall, one hand clutching her journal tightly, when she felt her cloak being yanked backwards onto stable ground with sudden force.

“Lady Warden! I’m sorry, Ser!” a tiny voice cried out behind her.

Solona tumbled onto the ground (blessed ground!) and sat up, glancing wildly around her. She panted, “Maker, what was that?!” Her hands were on her chest, trying to catch her breath, the other still holding onto her journal with a death grip. She would expire from humiliation if it fell into the wrong hands. That would serve me right for deciding to write outside the privacy of my own room, she thought angrily.

Her eyes came to rest on a young little girl, dressed in shabby robes and struggling to hold onto something in her arms, and her heart softened. Solona bent down and squinted at the sooty black ball, “Is that a …puppy?”

The girl peered up at her in fear, and trembled as she said, “Yes, milady, his name is Pebbles. I saved him in Haven and carried him all the way up here.”

Right then, a voice rang out, “Young lady! Just what do you think you are doing?” It was stern and disapproving and motherly.

Both Solona and the young girl whipped around to the source, guilty looks on their faces. Solona had no reason to be guilty, she thought, but the tone was eerily similar to the senior enchanters in the circle that she felt the hair in the back of her head stand up in response.

A rotund rosy-cheeked woman was striding across the grounds towards them, “Did you land yourself in some sort of trouble?” she asked the girl, her voice loud and echoed in the yard. Solona felt the hundreds of curious stares turned her way, and flushed to the roots of her hair, feeling as though she was being scolded.

The mother turned to Solona and said, “Apologies, Warden-Commander, if the girl has disturbed you –“

“No no, not at all, madam,” Solona insisted.

“It’s that dreaded puppy! We absolutely cannot keep it, young lady. How many do I have to repeat myself?” she barked at her daughter.

“No mama!” the young girl cried, “Please!”

The mother gave a longsuffering sigh and looked at Solona, “We barely have enough milk for ourselves as it is, milady, the dog will starve with us. I told her to see if the barn master will take him…but it breaks Trudy’s heart so.”

Solona broke out into a grin as an idea came to her, “Trudy, is it? I may have the perfect idea. I could find someone to take care of your dog, but he is a really, really busy man, so you will have to ensure your puppy gets fed and walked properly every day.”

 Trudy grinned back at her toothily, “You mean it, milady? So I get to play with Pebbles whenever I want?”

“Well, I suppose so. I don’t see why it would be a problem, as long as you are careful to not disrupt any important meetings,” Solona answered.

“Do you mean the Commander, milady?” her mother asked, with a knowing twinkle in her eye. Solona blushed again, refusing to meet her inquiring eyes and cursing the efficiency of the rumour mill, and replied, “Yes, I do. I think he might like the puppy.”

“Well, young lady, will you be fine with this arrangement? No changing your mind halfway through or the Commander will not be pleased,” her mother warned.

Trudy nodded so hard that her pigtails bounced up and down as she moved. Solona laughed and reached her arms out for the puppy, “Let me test the waters with the Commander, I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“I’ll be waiting right here!” Trudy stomped her foot on the ground in excitement.

Solona nodded as seriously as she could, “I will be right back.”

As she made her way up the steps to the Commander’s tower, Solona raised the puppy in front of her and examined it.

“Hi there Pebbles, I’m assuming you are a boy,” she whispered. The puppy’s large eyes stared back at her curiously, its little pink tongue flopped out adorably, and his pendant ears flicked in response to Solona’s voice. His coat was completely black, except for a little brown stripe across his eyes.

Solona laughed quietly to herself, “Oh Cullen would love you!” She knew she already did, and the puppy made her ache for her own mabari’s company. She hoped Alistair was taking good care of him.

She let herself into his office, tucking away her sudden wistful thoughts, and greeted him, “Good morning, Commander.”

Cullen looked up from his pile of reports, a smile chasing away his perpetual frown when he saw who it was.

“Hello, Warden-Commander, was there something you needed?” he asked.

Solona bounced slightly on the heels of her feet, barely able to contain a large unladylike smile from breaking out on her face, “I have something for you,” she taunted him cheekily.

Cullen tilted his head at her curiously, “Do you?” He was smirking at her again.

Solona could feel her cheeks warming, and hurriedly held out the wriggling puppy, her breath bated in anticipation.

He walked closer to her, frowning and asked, “Is that…a rat?”

“Cullen!” Solona scowled at him, “It’s a puppy! Pebbles, meet your new master, Commander Cullen.”

She thrust her arms to him, waving the puppy in his face, “Hold him!”

He gingerly wrapped his large hands around the puppy, and it purred in content as the warmth engulfed it.

“Solona,” he began, “it’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but I simply do not have the time –“

“That has all been sorted, Commander,” she beamed, “Trudy – she’s a little girl I met, she will be here every day to walk him, feed him, train him, play with him…whatever little puppies need.”

“It is not even a war hound,” he remarked drily. “Why do I feel that there is more to this story that you are not telling me?” He asked, placing the puppy on his desk and crossing his arms.

Solona averted her eyes and watched the puppy sniff curiously at its new surroundings, “Well,” she hedged, “This little girl found him and kept him safe all this while, since Haven – Haven, Cullen! She carried the pup all the way to Skyhold, but they can’t keep him because there just isn’t enough food. You could speak to Josie and see if she will arrange something with the kitchen staff?”

She paused to draw in breath, and Cullen interrupted her, “Haven…that is rather impressive. It was a difficult journey.”

Solona nodded and asked hopefully, “Is that a yes, Commander?”

He laughed, a low baritone that sent shivers down her spine, “How could I say no to such a thoughtful gift, Solona?”

This time, she could not conceal her blush, and she knew that Cullen had noticed so she busied herself creating a makeshift bed for the puppy. She grabbed a large basket that was sitting in the corner and emptied the books from it. Glancing around, she tried to find some bedding for the puppy, but there did not seem to be anything suitable until she caught sight of his fluffy furcoat and made a beeline for it.

“Hang on a moment, Solona, not my coat!” the Commander stepped in front of it protectively.

Instead, he reached into his drawers and pulled out some soft blue rags, smelling faintly of oil and citrus. Solona sniffed at it, confirming that it was used to polish his armour, and lined the basket with it. Cullen deposited the pup gently and the both of them watched as it curled up and yawned sleepily.

“I suppose it has its charm,” he conceded with a small smile.

“He, Cullen, it’s a boy. His name is Pebbles,” Solona corrected him.

“I don’t even get to name my own pup?” he asked, turning around to face her with one eyebrow quirked up.

She blustered before realizing he was just fooling around and dismissed him with a wave, “You’ll love him Cullen, I know it!”

Solona was right. For the next few weeks when she dropped in to visit the Commander, she would catch him dealing with the pup on more than one occasion.

Once, she caught him flushing in surprise as she entered, holding the pup up by the scruff of his neck, and a strawball rolling away from his feet. He endured her teasing patiently as Pebbles rollicked around her own feet after the ball, nearly knocking her over into the Commander’s arms.

Cullen also started carrying biscuit treats in his pocket for Pebbles as they perform their daily patrols around the castle.

Sera even offered to bake some dog biscuits for the puppy, and Solona could not remember if Cullen had dared to take her up on the offer. The dog was so much like Sera, another ball of mischief that took absolute delight in accompanying the elf on her prank wars that Josephine had commented bemusedly one day that they should have named him after her, much to Sera's delight.

Iron Bull let him sit between his horns as they made their rounds in the tavern until he grew too big, and then Pebbles had to content himself with their daily tug-of-war sessions.

Vivienne and Dorian kept their distance, turning up their noses at Ferelden dogs, but there were rumours that one or the other had been spotted giving Pebbles a careful pat on his head.

Leliana always managed to smuggle in some Mabari Crunches for him, earning herself a special spot in the hound's heart, and Cullen speculated that it was her fault that Pebbles grew so quickly.

Solona was sworn to secrecy but she once stumbled upon Cassandra sitting on her tree trunk, reading aloud to the patiently listening dog.

Cullen was furious when he found Pebbles' silky sooty fur covered in scribbles from Varric's latest chapter in his handwriting. Solas was furious when he realized that was where his precious white pigment paint had disappeared to.

The remorseful dwarf had to spent the next month on sentry duty to appease the Commander and apostate elf, and Solona quietly had a word with Josephine to place a requisition for the finest ink and vellum to avoid a repeat of the same scenario.

Cole threaded daisy chains for Pebbles and the dog spent the next few days frolicking around Skyhold with a crown of flowers dangling from one ear, much to the delight of the children.

The Inquisition cook banned him from the kitchens after they found him rolling on the floor with a belly ache after consuming what was to be the soldiers' entire supper.

Cullen's soldiers began calling him Lieutenant as he was never far from the Commander's side.

Pebbles grew at an astounding pace, eventually coming up to Solona’s waist when he sat on his hind legs, and towering next to Trudy. His little body developed impressively and was taut with muscles and power before the year was over and his moniker made the visitors at Skyhold laugh at the irony.

She ruffled Pebbles' fur one day and was surprised to realize that she no longer needed to bend down to reach him.

“He’s massive, Cullen,” Solona remarked, and received proud grins from Pebbles’ master and the little girl bouncing next to him, “We should have named him Golem, instead, like Shale.”

"I am not sure if he is supposed to be that size," the Commander mused, "He is growing larger than a Mabari Warhound. Maybe we should start rationing his meals."

"And his treats!" Trudy piped up.

Pebbles' turned to look at them with his large sorrowful eyes and barked once in reproach. 

"Maker, it's like having a child," Cullen sighed at receiving the full brunt of his puppy-eyed plea and clicked his fingers to call his dog to heel.

He pointedly ignored Solona's laughter and turned to continue his trek to Josephine's office.

Dear Solona,

You have been uncharacteristically quiet. I would have thought that once you found out that I was on my way to you, I would be receiving an adorably long ranting letter and a peck in the ear from Leliana’s raven – on your orders.

I am sorry for the long silence. I do hope you are wondering why you have not received word from me since the last letter. Leliana warned me that my letters may be getting delayed, so I am sending this to you in care of Leliana instead (stop reading my private letters, Sister).

Since arriving in Redcliffe, I have been completely busy cleaning up the mess the crazy magister left behind. It is the least I can do in return for the support Teagan has given me in court all these years.

Your silence is frightening me a little, my dear. Only Leliana’s assurances that you are safe is keeping me away for now. But very soon, little one, I will be seeing you very soon.

Then, you won’t be able to run away from me for much longer.

All my love,

Alistair

Leliana folded the scroll and tucked it away in her drawer safely. She did not trust Solona to stay in Skyhold if she found out about the King’s impending visit. Knowing her, she will hide away in the Western Approach for months to avoid a confrontation.

And oh, Josie would murder her for not giving her advance warning for such an important guest.

The sacrifices I make for my dear friends, she sighed theatrically.

Chapter Text

Extract from Solona’s journal

I love Dorian, have I mentioned that?

He is the swankiest, yet funniest, dramatic yet most adorable Tevinter mage I have ever met. Well, ignore the fact that he is the only Tevinter mage I've ever had the pleasure to meet.

He has a wicked sense of humour and I love watching him tease the Commander. In some ways, he reminds me of Zevran and I am sorry that he arrived too late and did not manage to meet him. I think that would be the most entertaining spectacle of the year. 

And Maker help him, but I’ve caught him making snide remarks to Solas, and was worried that Solas would strike him down with some rift lightning or summon some fade-touched spirit to haunt him. That elf is so proper that I almost fell out of my chair in shock the first time he returned Dorian’s snarky comment with a barbed comment.

It has become a sort of ritual for us to impose on Solas every evening before dinner. He gave up on trying to escort us out of his study after the first few attempts and now joins in on our random discussions.

I have learnt so much of rift magic, Tevinter customs, and new spells that I will never be able to say that my time in Skyhold has been a waste.

I am also glad to say that Cassandra has warmed up to me considerably, although she is still severely professional, and Sera is entertaining once you manage to get past her impertinent ways. All the companions are skilled and seasoned fighters and I am glad that the Inquisitor has them on her side.

I had my doubts about one, though.

Leliana had the same concerns on the suddenly silent wardens. Other than those under my command, whether in Vigil's Keep or in outposts across the country, we have lost contact with all other wardens.

It is immensely troubling - I feared that the False Calling may be duping them into an early death.

The Inquisitor agreed to seek out the one warden we have heard of roaming the Hinterlands.

His name was Gordon Blackwall, and he returned with the Inquisitor the other day. When I met him, however, I could not feel the familiar pull of the taint that I can with all the other Wardens, however freshly recruited they were.

I was angry, at first, no one should be allowed to pose as a Grey Warden. It is an insult to the sacrifices the wardens have made. Then, I worried that this could be a trap - but the Inquisitor spent days of travel with him without coming to any harm. An infiltration attempt, perhaps?

Blackwall knew immediately that his cover was blown when he was introduced to me, and requested to speak with me privately. My guard was up, but the same instinct that kicked in when I decided to spare Zevran, Velanna, Nathaniel and numerous others who are now my friends had me acquiescing to his request.

He told me his story – of murder and regrets and dead children. I was torn between disgust and sorrow at the crimes he had committed.

But his demeanor convinced me. The only other man I know who carries this amount of shame and anger at himself was the Commander. Grey Wardens recruits were rarely from those of exemplary social standing - as long as they were the best and brightest in the field, the order welcomed anyone.

I suggested to Blackwall to come clean to the Inquisitor or to the Commander, if he felt more comfortable talking to a warrior - or even Iron Bull…but he vehemently refused. I then suggested that he officially joins the Wardens but take up his own name again, and he told me he would think about it.

Everyone has secrets - I am probably leading the pack in that front. I shall keep his secret to myself, and trust that his intentions are good, although it will be difficult to hide this from Cullen or Leliana.

And I will ensure that no harm comes to the Inquisitor through this deceit.

I think the Commander will be very cross with me if he ever finds out.

Letter from Anora to Alistair

My dearest Alistair,

I certainly do not fret. It is only natural to worry about you, after all, I will be left to bear the burden of ruling solely should anything happen to you.

Please tell me more about what you have found out during your travels. I have received upsetting word from Orlais through our network of informants. The tension in Celene’s courts is heightened and her subjects are getting restless.

I do not know if relations between Orlais and Ferelden will worsen should the Duke succeed in his coup, but the uncertainty is damaging to our trade flows and exports.

Coupled with the reports we are receiving on the unrest in the western side of Orlais – this does not bode well for her reign. Neither does it serve to help me sleep at night as I worry that worse things may happen in Ferelden. I am beyond relieved that you are overseeing things in Redcliffe.

And this Inquisition business – should we be worried? If this is a new political force coming into play, we must ensure to play our cards right and secure their alliance.

In the meantime, please please please keep safe and continue sending word, Alistair. Your presence is much missed by the palace household – and myself.

We look forward to your return.

Anora.

The former bard had not lost any of her charm, Solona noted, as they sat in front of the blazing hearth in her cosy room.

Her feet were entwined with Leliana’s dainty ones and they were curled up together on the small sofa, thick duvets covering them. It was a freezing night, all of Skyhold had gone quiet as the inhabitants retreated indoors to shield from the cold.

It was Solona’s favourite kind of night – where the memory of it would remain tucked away in the corner of her mind until the hint of honey-oak smoke and passing golden glow of lamps would allow her to recall this with deep pleasure.

Her dearest friend had been telling her scintillating tales of her travels after they went their separate ways until the night disappeared into dawn.

Solona had mostly listened, basking in the familiarity and enjoying the soothing croon of her faint Orlesian accent, until the both of them lapsed into comfortable silence.

Leliana fingered the corners of the blank scrolls lying next to her, hesitating before raising the question, “Blackwall - he is not who he seems to be, is he? As the Warden-Commander, you must know something.”

Solona started, she had not been expecting the sudden turn in conversation. Realizing that Leliana had waited to catch her off guard, she shot a glare at the unrepentant redhead and feigned ignorance, “What do you mean?”

She smiled at Solona, a picture of cherubic innocence, and said, “You know very well what I mean. Wardens are a brotherhood – you told me that once. Blackwall has been travelling alone for years, he has no idea of any other Wardens and he does not seem concerned about it. My..” Leliana paused, searching for the right word to say, “…enquiries into his life have yielded nothing.  What is an Orlesian warden doing in Ferelden? It is all very strange, no?”

Solona smiled wryly at her, “Enquiries…is that what you are calling your methods these days?” she reached out to wrap her hand around Leliana’s slim ones.

“I can assure you that he means no harm to the Inquisition. Will that suffice, Leliana?” Solona asked gently.

The spymaster bit her lip in contemplation, eyeing Solona with a worried frown, before replying, “I have followed you in battle, and to death. I will trust you, dearest.”

“And I am ever grateful for that, but do we have to talk business now, Leliana? It’s just – such a lovely night…” Solona sighed.

“Very well, I shall indulge you. What does my cherished sister wish to discuss instead? Her dashing King? Or maybe another handsome warrior?” The nightingale’s laugh was soft and teasing.

Solona let out an audible groan, “Must we?”

“We must,” Leliana affirmed, “What else will I be good for if not to pour your heart out to, yes? Besides, I worry for you. Your refusal to speak to Alistair does no favours for the both of you. He is losing his patience, dearest.”

“I know that,” Solona sighed again, “I have written to him. Once. Right after we escaped Haven. I suppose the letter must have reached him by now.”

“That was ages ago!” Leliana frowned, clearly remembering that Alistair made no such mention of any word from Solona and had lamented the lack of it instead in the missive she intercepted.

“Yes – but you know as well as I do that the messages are not being delivered as quickly as we would like. Even the Nathaniel and Varels' reports from Amaranthine have not reached me.”

“Ahh, you addressed it to Denerim then?” Leliana questioned, resisting the urge to smirk at her friend’s oversight.

“Yes, should I not have?” Solona was watching her intently, her brows knitted in confusion.

“No, I just meant that my ravens are yours to borrow should you need to send word to Alistair. They are much quicker,” Leliana covered up in haste.

Solona frowned at her, “I am not too concerned about it being quick. I am more concerned to see what he has to say.”

Leliana patted her arm comfortingly, “You need not worry that Alistair is angry, you know how smitten he is when it comes to you.”

“Even so, I think I have tried and tested him to his limits. Truth be told, Leliana, I do not know what to say to him. I am dreading seeing him in person even though I miss him more than I can bear.”

She looked to Leliana, who said nothing but nodded to her in encouragement to continue.

Solona breathed deeply, struggling to allow the words she had been so fearful to express spill out to her closest and dearest friend.

“How do I tell him it is over between us, when that is not what I truly want?" she started to say slowly, her voice hesitant and halting.

"How do I say ‘Maker bless the King and Queen’ when all I want is for Him to bless Alistair with me instead?" she chanced a glance of shame at her friend, and seeing nothing but understanding on her delicate features, Solona took a deep breath and continued, her words tumbling out quickly now.

"How do I smile and offer my best wishes when they finally present their heir to court when my deepest wish is to bear a child for Alistair myself? How will I survive day by day watching Anora live the life I was meant to have with the man I love? Leliana…what do I do?!” Solona cried at last, her tears flowing freely and her sobs coming out in bursts.

These were her innermost hopes and dreams that she had never allowed herself to dwell on, much less allow them to form in words.

Leliana’s pretty face crumpled as Solona melted in front of her; she had never imagined that her strong heroic leader had been hiding such pain. She had naively thought that this was a minor lover's argument between two of her dearest friends.

She cradled the sobbing mage in her arms, her own tears streaking silently down her cheeks, as she waited for the mage to continue.

“We were doomed from the moment I put Alistair on the throne. Why did I ever agree to him marrying Anora? We may have stood a chance if I hadn’t –“

Leliana interrupted her, making indiscernible soothing noises in her ear once she started struggling to speak, too overwhelmed by her sobs. It was a while before Solona managed to catch her breath and calm down. Her eyes were red and swollen when she emerged from Leliana’s embrace.

“It just hurts so much,” she whispered to her friend, “Every time I think of him, it just reminds me of what I have to do when I finally see him again. Thinking of him used to be a lovely distraction, but now…it feels like I am courting my own death.”

Leliana pursed her lips in thought, “Perhaps you could remain as you are. It has already been close to ten years, Sol.

Solona shook her head sadly, “You know better than I do of the games in court. It was becoming intolerable, before I came to you. I started leaving Denerim frequently just to get away from the glares and whispers behind my back. Did you know - I even received death threats for a while?”

Leliana gasped in horror, “How dare they? Did Alistair know of them? Did Zevran know?”

Solona waved her off, “I’m sure they were meaningless, just little notes slipped under my door or left in the stables in my saddlebags. I saw no reason to tell them. Alistair would demand the perpetrator be caught, and that will just provide even more fodder for the nobles. And it is hardly serious enough to involve Zevran. But it did make for an unpleasant stay at the palace.”

Leliana glowered in anger, “Do you think Anora –“

“No,” Solona cut her off, “Anora is much too sophisticated and subtle to do things like that. She has largely ignored me all these years, anyway. I think it is preferable for her to forget that I exist.”

Solona smiled sadly at her friend, whose hands were still clenched at her sides and eyes sparkled in rage. She reached over to cover her fists with her own hands, “Don’t, my dear. The threats have long died down. It was most likely a servant whose loyalty still lay with Loghain and his daughter, and too cowardly for anything more than anonymous notes.”

Leliana bit back her retorts, filing away this piece of information for further action once she returns to her tower. Her mask fell neatly into place once more, and she gestured for Solona to turn around with a soft smile.

Leliana began braiding the mage’s long dark hair into an intricate weave, a comforting past time for the both of them during the Blight, and said, “If you stayed in Amaranthine, the nobles would not dare disrespect Alistair in his presence, and it would not be difficult for him to visit you often.”

Solona disagreed, “It would still be unbearable for Anora, and the nobles in Amaranthine are no less fond of gossip as those in the city. Defending Amaranthine may have won their favour, but it is hardly enough to withstand the mutterings of the higher-born wives for so long.”

Leliana clucked in disdain behind her, “We could have them dismissed for treachery – each and every one of them. A slight against you is as good as a slur against the King himself.”

Solona laughed softly, the first one Leliana managed to wheedle out since her heartbreaking confession, “I do hope you are kidding, Leliana. Otherwise, you may give Alistair a heart attack if he heard you.”

There was a long pause as both women took a moment to sort out their thoughts, before Solona spoke again, “If that were all…if mindless natter were all that I had to deal with, I may have stayed.”

Solona swallowed, gathering her courage to come clean on her darkest secret. “You must never tell Alistair of what I say next, Leliana, do I have your word?”

Leliana’s hands stopped mid-weave as she considered her friend’s solemn tone, “You know my loyalty is to you first and foremost, dear one. What is burdening you so?”

“I am no voyeur,” Solona said softly, so softly that Leliana had to strain to hear her. “But there were nights I stood outside his chambers, slipping past the guards, thinking that he would be alone…but he was not.”

Leliana’s hands fell to her lap, the braid she had been weaving sagged loosely, she gasped, “Do you mean – ”

Solona nodded, tear drops fell onto the hands she clasped tightly in front of her, and continued, “He never knew. It happened one too many times to be a coincidence. I knew they were trying for an heir, that much was understood. But for years, Alistair always made sure to do it in her chambers, and left his own untouched.”

She kept her back to Leliana, too afraid of the judgement she may see should she turn around to face her.

Leliana was too upset to respond. She could remember her own dark nights of lying alone in her tent, listening to the Warden she loved spending her nights with someone else. She would never have wished that pain on Solona, who must have felt even worse given that she was in a committed relationship with Alistair.

“It feels incredibly silly to say this out loud. It didn’t…sound like he was doing it out of pure duty, which is remarkably naïve of me to expect that of him. Anora is beautiful and would have driven any man crazy. And after so many years, with no heir in sight, and knowing that their bedroom activities derives them pleasure, and that he had been with her in the same bed, I just felt…betrayed.”

Solona finally turned around to face Leliana, shame reddening her cheeks, “Was it stupid of me, Leliana? Did I cross the line? I never meant to eavesdrop on them. My feet just rooted themselves to the ground once I realized…it was like the Maker himself wanted me to be witness to their affection, to wake me up from the dream I was living.”

“Hush, Sol,” Leliana finally spoke, “I knew it must have been more than just words that drove you away. But I never expected…perhaps it meant nothing that he took her into his own chambers. Maybe it was Anora’s idea, knowing how much it would upset you.”

“Perhaps, although you think too unkindly of her,” Solona chided. “More likely than not, it was just an oversight on Alistair’s part. You know how obscure he can be when it comes to matters of the heart. If he knew I had heard...I do not know if he would be furious for infringing on his privacy with Anora...”

She wringed her hands in distress, “But there is more. Little signs of affection for her, slipping her name into our daily conversations more and more with such ease, the same way he used to do with mine. The same way his eyes would light up when she walks into the study…I know it is natural, when two people form a bond of sorts…but then it makes me wonder who I am to stand in the way of their relationship, if they could be more. And whether I still mean the same to him…”

Leliana scowled, “You are silly to think that Alistair could love you less, Solona Amell.”

 She sighed, and rested her head in her hands, “You weren’t there, Leliana. You couldn’t have seen what I saw. I could be overreacting…but what if I am not? I do not know how to cope…if my fears come true, and I am not the only woman in his life anymore.”

“So you decided to end it, to run away from Denerim and send him a letter saying as much?” Leliana asked.

“We decided to take some time apart, to reflect and think on our next step.”

“I highly doubt that Alistair would suggest that you cross the country to reflect.”

“That was my own decision. He told me to stay in Amaranthine until I calmed down. I thought…that distance would make it easier. I know what I have to do, and as much as you dislike it, sister, you know that I am right in making this decision.”

“You would be right…if you were playing the Game. But you are not, Sol, you love him, and he loves you in return. I am sure of this,” she said. “Has it been better? Being so far away from him?”

Solona scoffed, “It has, and it has not. My mind is hardly clearer than it was when I left Denerim.”

“And can I assign this blame onto the Commander?” Leliana asked drily, “Do not think that I have gone blind, my friend. I have seen the glances you have given him, and the way he looks at you when you do not see.”

Solona rolled her eyes, she had known from the beginning that her vow to keep her feelings for the Commander hidden would fail when it came to Leliana.

“You are mistaken, Leliana. The Commander has been nothing but polite and professional. He is harbouring no such feelings for me.”

The former bard huffed, leaving that line of argument aside for the moment. “And what of your feelings?”

Solona knew better than to try to lie to her closest friend, spy or not, so she said, “I think my feelings are merely the remnants of a youthful crush. It is not easy - seeing the one who occupied my childhood dreams materialize as a strong and handsome commander of so many men, and not feel a twinge of something. But it means nothing, and he will never know.”

“Your blush says otherwise. You cannot fool me, dear one, I know that Cullen is not just a passing phase. Be honest with me, Sol, do you see him as something more than just the one who got away?” Leliana asked bluntly.

Solona withered under her glare, “Do I need to expound on the qualities that man has – that makes it so difficult to not fall in love with him?” she asked Leliana. “But it will never come to fruition. He is much too professional to indulge in such fancies.”

“And what if he does? What if his ‘remnants of a youthful crush’ become something more?” she asked.

Solona laughed her concern away, “Are you listening to yourself, Leliana? I’m a mage, and that man has all the bearings of an exemplary templar.”

“You know that means nothing to him anymore. What if, Amell?” Leliana persisted.

Solona briefly let herself entertain the fantasy of living out her days with Cullen, leaving Alistair to be freely married to Anora. The resulting emotions were equally filled with hope and pain.

She steeled herself and said resolutely, “It can never happen. Fate has written it such that I belong to no man, Leliana. It would be unfair to either one of them any other way.”

Leliana knew that she would get no better admission that the mage’s feelings for Cullen were more serious than she was prepared to acknowledge to herself, and she also knew her friend too well to know that any further prying would be useless in changing her mind. Solona’s tales of stubbornness rivalled her legendary temper.

As she made her way back to the rookery, Leliana mentally filed away the intelligence she had gathered that night. Standing behind the large war table, matters like this were easily resolved. A quick assassination, some gold in exchange for favours, raising a coup d'état, planting forged evidences to remove the queen…methods she easily had in her employ to remove any obstacle in her way – just by planting a marker on the war map and a message to any one of her agents.

Now, it was not so easy, because the ones affected were those she held close to her heart and considered her family.

For this was Ferelden - loyal trusty Ferelden, steeped in traditions and crusty stew, and the people will never forget that the Hero of Ferelden is still a mage.

Short of being crowned the new Divine and decades of reformation to elevate mages to the same standing as humans, Leliana had her hands tied on this one.

She contemplated writing a note to Alistair, warning him of what was to come, but thought better of it. Whatever happens now, Leliana was sorry to admit that she would have to leave it to the Maker.

Chapter Text

Solona had decided to accompany the Inquisitor and her companions to the Hissing Wastes as one of her leads to curing the taint had directed her there.

She had come across some ancient texts that hinted of certain documents of interest in the Golden Oasis, with rumours that the sand lay above an ancient stronghold of the Donarks, the tribe that originated the idea of ingesting darkspawn blood.

Solona had never prioritized this lead, as the Hissing Wastes sat so far west. When Leliana’s spies uncovered Venatori activity in those parts, and the Inquisitor determined to pursue them, she finally decided to tag along, despite being tempted to remain in Skyhold to interrogate Hawke – whom Varric had presented out of the blue and hence is now the recipient of Cassandra’s wrath – about the mage-templar wars and Anders’ whereabouts.

Having never set foot so far into Orlais before, Solona was understandably nervous. She had been hesitant and fidgety each time they passed quaint Orlesian villages for supplies, having heard of the wars between their people all her life, but the wonder that was Orlais slowly overwhelmed her anxiety and by the time they stopped in Val Royeaux to meet Josephine, she had gathered enough courage to venture into the shops alone.

The Inquisitor, closeted with the ambassador to discuss the latest revelations of the contract taken out on House Montilyet, largely left Solona and her companions to their own devices.

Cassandra – still tied in knots over Varric’s deception – was busy manipulating the city guards into impromptu sparring matches. Sera, having nothing better to do, had set out to check on her Red Jenny contacts.

Almost bursting with excitemend, Solona commandeered Dorian to join her on a shopping spree, gleefully selecting trinkets that were absolutely useless but aesthetically pleasing for her own pleasure.

Shoes were a priority on her list, and she wandered from one boutique to the next in search of the pair Leliana had described to her once during the Blight. Dorian, already laden with multiple packages, frowned when she added two pairs of shoes to her horde, and commented darkly, “I certainly did not agree to becoming your mule for this trip, Warden.”

“Oh, lighten up Dorian. There is a gift for you somewhere in there.”

“Just one? That hardly makes up for it!” he exclaimed in exaggerated horror.

Solona hummed, too used to his theatrics by now to bother, and distracted by the display of dwarven-made sculptures laid out in front of her. She fingered a miniature crossbow, thinking out loud, “When do you think Cassandra will get over her anger with our resident dwarf?”

Dorian snorted, “Not until the Void freezes over. Our Seeker is not an emotional woman, but she is amazingly talented at holding grudges.”

“I’ll have to find a way to patch them up. Hawke is surprisingly protective of Varric, did you notice? I haven’t had a chance to actually talk to him, but I do not want the Seeker and the Champion of Kirkwall to end each other in blows.”

“Stay out of it, Warden. Let them resolve their own problems. You have enough on your plate, as it is,” he advised.

Solona shot him a bemused frown, as she paid for the miniature crossbow and added it to the growing pile in the Tevinter’s arms.

“Exactly. It is good to forget about one’s own problems and have a look at someone else’s instead,” she paused, thinking hard before smirking and saying, “How fares the Iron Bull, Dorian? Has any other unfortunate soul accidentally walked in on you since then?”

She grinned when he sputtered in surprise, her eyes twinkling evilly at him when he looked at her.

“How did you kn– oh please tell me the Commander did not –” he asked incredulously.

“The Commander did not, I assure you. Josephine, however, was more than obliged to share every single detail of that delightful encounter. But you are right, it will be interesting to ask Cullen what he thought of Iron Bull’s …assets.”

Dorian burst out laughing in spite of his embarrassment, “As your dearest friend, kindly invite me along for that conversation. Your ex-templar does turn a delicious shade of red when he is embarrassed; I recall that image very vividly.”

Solona imagined it for a moment, before laughing along with him, “Oh, he was the one who walked in on the both of you first, wasn’t it? He must have had an –unimpeded- view. Maker, that poor man – the Bull must have blinded him!”

Dorian shook his head, “You are wasting your pity - he seemed more amused than flustered. You should have seen the looks on Cassandra and Josie’s faces, instead. Cullen was actually the most composed of the lot!”

“I heard about Josie’s “I cannot move my legs”  and Cassie's "Argh!" but-” Solona mimicked the ambassador perfectly, wiping the tears from her eyes as she laughed aloud, “– but Cullen…really? I thought his jaw would have dropped to the floor or that he would have ran out blindly in horror! I still cannot imagine it. Anyway, he is not my ex-templar, Dorian.”

“I do not know who you think you are fooling. Even the blind would have noticed the looks you give each other. Cassandra is particularly concerned about what the King would say when he visits Skyhold.”

Solona cursed the blush that was creeping up, “I have no idea what you are going on about," she bristled, "Wait – what do you mean the King is visiting Skyhold?!”

She whirled around, stopping so suddenly that a few of Dorian’s packages toppled off the pile he was carrying.

He stood and waited patiently while Solona bent to gather them, and said, “No need to get your smalls in a twist, my friend. Once the Inquisition builds up a reputation, leaders from all over Thedas will be clamouring for an audience or alliance. It is only a matter of time.”

She glared at him and unceremoniously dumped the fallen packages into his arms, “Well then, don’t say things like that! And I’ll thank you to stay out of my business, Cassandra too, for that matter!”

“You know, Warden-Commander, our doors are always open to you…you can always confide in me, my friend. After all, I thrive on tales of tragedy and romance, if you think about the wisdom and guidance I could offer you -” he continued, somehow managing to convey a flamboyant manner despite having his arms full.

“I do not want to talk about it, Dorian,” she insisted firmly. “I am worried for Josie. Do you think the Inquisitor will be able to void the contract on her family?”

“Changing the subject, I see. Very well,” he sighed, with the air of one entertaining a young child, “You need not worry your pretty little head for our darling ambassador. The Spymaster is more than capable of removing all evidences of such a contract should the Inquisitor wish to take care of it in an underhanded manner. Otherwise, Josephine will be protected around the clock by the best of her agents.”

“I suppose you are right,” she frowned. Solona came to a stop outside a non-descript blue Orlesian door, checking the number on the door with the slip of paper in her hand. “My apologies, Dorian. This is my stop. I will meet you back at the inn?”

He eyed her suspiciously, squinting against the bright sunlight at the house they were standing in front of, abruptly dropping all of his airs and graces. “I do not know what you are up to, Warden. But Orlesian politics are best saved for the likes of Leliana and Josephine. Perhaps I should stay to watch your back.”

She laughed and patted him on his arm, “I appreciate that, but I am just meeting an old friend. No harm will come to me here, I promise.”

Dorian contemplated her for a while, before deciding to give in, “If you are not back by sundown, I will come after you. I do not want to be the poor soul who has to report to the Commander or the King that their beloved is missing, or worse, dead.”

“By sundown,” Solona agreed, blatantly ignoring his references to the two men who occupied her heart, “You have my word.” She stood on her tip toes to peck him on the cheek, grinning at him as he huffed to mask his pleasure at her affection.

She watched the fashionable mage make his way down the cobbled street before opening the door behind her, slipping in when she was sure no passersby were watching.

The room was dark, devoid of any of the sunlight that burnished the Orlesian town. She blinked to adjust to the dimness, and gasped in delight as a familiar shape slowly appeared before her, “Morrigan!”

Achingly recognizable yellow shaded eyes glittered in the candlelight as the witch shifted back to human form. She was wrapping herself in a rich looking cloak, when she was forced to stagger backwards as Solona launched herself into her arms.

“I have missed you so much!”

Morrigan shied away from her embrace, and adopted an affronted manner while saying, “Contain yourself, sister.” Nevertheless, her rosebud lips were twitching upwards in a small smile.

“I haven’t seen you properly since…you know,” Solona smiled at her.

“The ritual, yes. Does it still bother you to think of it?” Morrigan asked in her usual blunt way.

“Not so much anymore, we are not the only women that have warmed his bed since then,” Solona replied, depositing herself in the nearest chair and resting her chin on the palm of her hands.

“You failed to write me as often as you promised, Morrigan. It was a year before I knew whether you were doing well, and what became of … your son.”

The witch’s features softened at the mention of her child, the angular tilt of her chin disappearing into a gentle smile. “I was never a woman of many words, Warden. I let you know that we were safe, and that should have been enough.”

Solona scoffed, “Oh Morrigan, you have not changed one bit.”

“Did you expect me to?” was the dry remark she received in reply.

Solona laughed in pleasure at her frank manner, suddenly feeling wistful and longing for the days of old where her company of quirky friends surrounded their camp in laughter every night.

“Arcane advisor, eh? I never would have thought - You, in Orlais, navigating the Great Game," she mused.

Morrigan snorted, "I keep my distance from the populace. They fear what they do not understand, and I prefer it that way."

"Does the empress treat you well?” Solona asked.

“Yes, Empress Celene is a level-headed woman, much like yourself. Ruthless, but as long as my presence benefits her, Kieran and I are in safe hands.”

“I…would like to meet him,” she said quietly, flinging her hands up in surrender when Morrigan’s gaze flew to her, “I know you said that we will have absolutely nothing to do with him, but he doesn’t have to know who I am. I just…I want to see what Alistair’s child would look like. And meet the son you have raised by yourself, all these years.”

Morrigan’s sharp gaze softened, “Very well, perhaps it will be good for him. He has grown up surrounded by too many Orlesians for my liking. I will arrange for this on your next visit, but please try to refrain from any references to Alistair.”

When Solona nodded vigorously, Morrigan asked, “Does this mean your King is aware of this arrangement?”

“He does not have to know,” she replied, a little too quickly.

The witch’s yellow eyes pierced hers in speculation, and Solona shuddered before looking away. Morrigan always had the uncanny ability to read her mind.

“’Tis as I have feared, there is trouble brewing between our two wardens,” she remarked, comprehension lighting her eyes.

“What do you mean? Have you spoken to him?” Solona asked curiously.

“No, I have not. There are many ways to keep an eye on my former companions, and I do so most ardently, to ensure that no needless errors in judgement will be made,” Morrigan said.

Solona gaped at the witch, as the implications of her admission sank in, “You walk the Fade.”

Morrigan appraised her in astonishment, “Yes. ‘Tis a skill I have learned during my travels after the Blight. I am surprised you know of it.”

“There is an elf apostate back in Skyhold. He is a rift mage, and fade-walking is his area of interest,” she explained.

 “I have felt…a disconnect between yourself and Alistair. It began months ago. I was hoping it was just an anomaly. The Fade is hardly the most reliable of sources.”

“Were you? Why, Morrigan,” Solona said shrewdly, “I did not know you were campaigning for us.”

“I am not” Morrigan denied, “It is difficult to disregard the waves of persistent misery from his dreams and you have certainly not contributed to the realm’s atmosphere. It interferes with my work. ”

Solona was touched by the concern that the witch was trying so hard to hide. “Misery? Is he all right?”

“That is not for me to say. Though, I fail to see why two free souls are putting themselves through this pain,” Morrigan chided.

“Free? We are not free. I am a mage, and Alistair is tied to the trappings of the crown.”

“In Orlais, the Game means everything. Yet, do you see the Orlesian nobles falling over themselves regarding affairs with mages? Even Empress Celene herself kept company with an elf without any court ramifications, though you did not hear that from me.”

“Orlais is not Ferelden, Morrigan. In most ways, I am thankful for it,” Solona said.

“Yes, but in the affairs of the heart, Orlesians are infinitely superior to the Fereldans,” Morrigan replied. “You will work through this with Alistair. Even your affection for the Commander of the Inquistion will not be a hindrance,” Morrigan decreed.

Solona jerked at the second mention of Cullen in one day, nearly falling out of her chair in the process, “Does all of Thedas know about the Commander?” she asked, horrified.

“Only if they walk the Fade too,” Morrigan smirked at her.

Solona groaned and rubbed her face dejectedly, “I wish I had your confidence, Morrigan. There will be no happy ending for myself with Alistair, not while he remains King, and there is no question of his abdicating. And Maker help me, but I hope that Cullen is as oblivious as he seems to all this.”

The witch chortled heartily, the first full laughter Solona had heard from her in years. As she shrugged off the rich cloak, preparing to shapeshift into a raven again, Morrigan said, “In Orlais, it is not unheard of for a woman of influence to be a keeper of two men. You will do well to remember that.”

Solona’s jaw fell open at that piece of advice as the raven flapped its wings in a circle around her, before making its way to the heavily curtained windows.

Forcing her mouth shut in resignation, she stood up to push aside the velvety fabric for the raven and whispered to her friend as the she flew into the setting sun, “I hope to see you soon, Morrigan.”

Dear Leliana,

Thank you for sending your ravens.

Solona has been awfully quiet. Are you sure she is still in Skyhold or has she run away from me once she knew that I was coming?

I am slightly concerned very concerned because this amount of silence is not at all like the girl I know and fell in love with.

Can you please let her know that I am thinking of her, and would appreciate it if she would offer to include even one line in your next letter to let me know how she is doing.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Alistair

My dearest King of Ferelden, Alistair Theirin,

Solona has no idea of your present whereabouts and she has written to you and sent it off to Denerim – by normal means, so you would not have received it.

Trust me, she is still in Skyhold and still in one piece (even after travelling to Orlais and back), and will definitely not welcome the news of your impending arrival.

I have intercepted your letter to her, and will be keeping it safe in the meantime (which means - away from her). I have also taken the liberty to take care of a couple of your other letters – knowing you, Alistair, they should be filled with flowery poetry along with the exact coordinates and updates of your location.

If I have failed to intercept all of your letters, I would advise you to pray to Andraste that the ones that slipped past me do not reach her, because rest assured - you will arrive just in time to see the dust from her galloping horse settle at the gates of Skyhold should she have prior warning of your plans.

She does not think clearly when it comes to you, you know that.

Otherwise, do not worry so much, Alistair. Wrinkles will make you look old, and then Ferelden will no longer be able to boast of being ruled by the fairest and handsomest King of all.

With much affection,

Leliana

Leliana - Seriously, how do I not know your full name? 

What do you mean? Did you steal my

How dare you –

Just let her know we have been corresponding, and that I love her and think of her all the time.

But know this, if you were not a friend of mine, I would have had you thrown into the dungeons for sabotaging my mail.

Alistair.

Oh, you do make me laugh, Alistair. I can’t wait to see you again.

Love,

Leliana

Chapter Text

Extract from Solona’s journal

The Hissing Wastes is a beautiful, beautiful place, I feel like I can reach out and touch the moon…it hangs so low and large in the night sky.

I found myself wishing that Alistair was here - in a time when everything was simpler, before he became king. It would have been so romantic. My one regret - was that I never did anything special for him when we were together. I never brought him to anywhere exceptionally beautiful or charming, or made him dinner, or did anything that normal couples do for each other during their courtship.

Most of the places we went to were defiled by darkspawn, and the years following that, we mostly spent our days at the palace as Alistair was unable to travel out of Denerim for long.

I think we only ever had one picnic near the Dalish Camp in the Brecilian forest, and that had been his idea. He has always been the one wearing his heart on his sleeves - the rose, the quiet times we had alone in camp, the one who always says the sweetest things - and in return, what have I ever offered him?

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about our last few years together. Perhaps I never truly forgave him completely for the things he said to me after the Landsmeet. I think I may have unfairly withheld showing too much affection for him after that, afraid that at any time he might change his mind about allowing me to remain by his side, and I erected guards and walls around my heart and -

It doesn't do to dwell on the past, Solona Amell.

But did I make it easier for him to turn his attentions to Anora because of that? Was it easier to love me less because I closed myself off from him a little?

It would have been lovely to have him here, and maybe we could have stolen some moments for ourselves...but I guess now it is too late and I have lost the right to command his attentions this way.

Anyway, the desert is so vast that by the end of our first day, we all unanimously agreed to never set foot here again.

Have I mentioned that it is exhausting to be fighting against mages? The most I had to deal with during the Blight were emissaries, and Alistair was always around to smite them down.

Now almost every one of them is a mage - I am just thankful that Trevelyan is trained as a Knight Enchanter so that we are able to dish out melee damage as well. Poor Dorian has been relegated to the back of the lines to keep the barriers up for Cassandra and Sera and drain mana whenever he can. I can see that he is bored out of his mind since there have been no avenues for him to display his usual ostentatious flare in battle.

We cleared out the Venatori camps without too much trouble, completing our mission with relative ease, barring a few slash wounds and Sera’s twisted ankle - although that was largely her own fault for scrabbling up the tree just to drop spiders onto Cassandra’s bedroll.

Speaking of Cassandra, after she started yelling at Sera – and I almost believed she was going to stomp hard on the rogue’s injured foot out of anger - I found a tattered (which really means well-read) copy of Swords and Shields that had been flung out of her pack while she had been dusting spiders out of her belongings.

I must admit it was terrible of me, but the sight of that book flying out of the solemn Seeker’s pack had me completely intrigued, and the next thing I knew, I had the book in my hands to see if it was truly Varric’s steamy masterpiece.

It was definitely Cassandra’s, as there was a large hole right through the middle of the book. It looked as though she must have stabbed it through with a knife.

I quietly slid it back into her pack, she would never live it down if Sera or Dorian saw it. One day, if ever she seems to be in a better mood, I will try to ask her about it.

Tomorrow, I will be moving to find the Golden Oasis while the Inquisitor and company head to the final dwarven tomb. Then, hopefully with some new knowledge on the taint in hand, we will be able to leave for home.

Now, I am not looking forward to sinking my feet into the deep sand again and again and again.

I miss the snow.

Hope flared like a burst of sunbeam in Solona’s heart as she drank in the words on the parched, yellow scrolls – the same hope she had when they released Riordan from the dungeon and knew that they were not the only Wardens left in Ferelden; the same hope that blazed through her when Morrigan stood before her in front of the fireplace and told her of a little known ritual to save Alistair, to save her; the same hope when Jowan said they might not have to kill a young boy or his mother and that mages may be able to help.

Hope that did not mean triumph or assured her the way they chose was infallible, but it was hope that this could very well lead the path to victory, and in all those cases that hope had seen them through.

The Donarks had left behind broken ruins of temples and archways, the faint imprint of imposing structures still glimmering behind the towering columns. It was only by chance that Solona stumbled upon the side entrance, draped with blossoms of Vandal Arias and heaps of sand.

Solona carefully slipped the parchment into a leatherskin bag – it held the answers she had long been seeking for and she thanked the Maker that the Inquisition business had led them to the Wastes, when she would not have made the effort to reach this place so soon in her search otherwise.

The Donarks held the belief that dragon blood – creatures closest to archdemons and highly resistant to the taint would be able to hold back the spread in the Wardens. It was a research document - freshly begun but never seen through after the fall of their tribe. Solona had no idea how or where to administer the dragon blood, if it needs to be a concoction of sorts or directly imbibed, but it was a start. And she strongly believed that the tribe who made it a habit of drinking the blood of their enemies, and from whence birthed the foundation of the Grey Wardens, would have some idea of a cure, even if it only served to prolong the number of years that Wardens have.

Her discovery left Solona is a jubilant mood for the rest of the day, and it was this disposition that gave her newly found courage to confront the Seeker as they made their way back to Skyhold.

“Cassandra,” she called, in a burst of courage, refusing to allow herself to think twice.

The Seeker was striding a few paces ahead of her, keeping a strict eye out for any signs of ambush or danger that may await the Inquisitor and her companions.

Upon hearing Solona’s call, she stopped and turned, waiting for the mage to catch up with her, a curious expression adorning her stern features.

Solona made it a point to smile cheerfully at her and ignored her surly look, “Something fell out of your pack the other day,” she whispered, keeping in mind that Sera and Dorian were still way ahead of them and out of earshot.

Cassandra did not deign to answer her, merely grunting impatiently and continued walking in great strides. Solona had to quicken her steps to keep up, but resolutely continued her one-sided conversation, “I did not know you were a fan of Varric’s,” she said conspiratorially.

At this, the Seeker stumbled and barely caught herself, waving off their concerns when the Inquisitor, Dorian and Sera turned around to stare at them. After ensuring that they had their attention refocused elsewhere, she glared at Solona menacingly, “What do you mean?” in her strong Nevarran accent.

“Swords and Shields? In your pack?” Solona grinned cheekily, her hands carefully stationed near her staff just in case the Seeker resorted to violence.

She certainly did not expect her to blush a tomato red, her high cheekbones colouring so rapidly that Solona worried that she might faint at the sudden rush of blood to her head.

Cassandra gaped at her wordlessly for some time, before snapping her jaw shut and looking ahead pointedly, “I have no idea what you are talking about, Lady Amell.”

“Pfft, Solona will do, Cassandra,” she replied blithely, “And I am sure you do, I cannot imagine any other person who would have stabbed their book in rage.”

“I did- I certainly did not -,” Cassandra stammered, “Urgh.”

Solona laughed, “Is that all you have to say? I must ask – why did you not get a new copy? Is that one sentimental? Did you get it signed by Varric?”

Cassandra lost it, “Warden-Commander!” and had to wave off their other companions’ concern again as they turned around again at her outburst. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice, uncharacteristically fiddling with her braid, “I beg you not to mention any of this to that dwarf!” she spat.

Solona muffled her laughter, trying not to irk the Seeker further, and waited patiently for her to explain.

Cassandra gave a long-suffering sigh, knowing defeat when she saw it, and said, “It is an old edition, no longer in print. The later ones have been…edited.”

“Ahh…not as thrilling? Juicy bits censored out?” Solona asked.

Cassandra flushed again, “Do not tease me, Amell. You sound like Sera,” she growled at the thought of the mischievous elf.

“Oh I should warn you, Sister Leliana tried to train me in the art of interrogation before. Although, I did fail spectacularly and she refused to speak to me about it since then. So do try to co-operate, Cassandra. I was wondering…as a woman who also enjoys such scintillating material, if you had any other books in your possession?”

Cassandra glanced at her suspiciously out the corner of her eye, and said, “Why do you ask?”

It was Solona’s turn to become faintly pink, but she was the one who began this course of discussion, and the Seeker had been honest with her all along, so she said, “As a young mage in the tower, I used to…enjoy romance novels in the library. After hours, of course.”

Solona recalled one late evening when Cullen, of all templars, had been the one to catch her reading a particularly dirty piece of literature, hidden between the pages of her large spellbook tome.

She hoped, to this day, that the straight-laced chantry boy (turned blush-inducing strapping hot templar man) had not picked up the hastily slotted book from the bookshelf to see what the rogue mage had been up to after she had been strictly instructed to return to her quarters.

“I cannot tell if you are joking, Amell,” Cassandra intoned, pulling Solona out of her wistful reverie.

“I am not, Seeker, I assure you!” she exclaimed, “I uh..find the books a good escape from reality, and Swords and Shields was really good, but Varric said he wasn’t thinking of writing anymore of that drivel.”

Cassandra gasped and whirled around to face her, “Did he really say that? But the book ended on a cliffhanger!”

She looked so angry that Solona half feared for the dwarf’s life. “Tell him to finish it, Amell. You are the Hero of Ferelden, I am sure he will listen to you.”

Solona choked, “Me? I think it would work better if you intimidated him into doing it!”

“He is impossible to intimidate! This is unforgivable! If he leaves m- ahem, the readers hanging like this, I will hang him myself!”

“Maybe you could nicely ask him, and if you forgave him for lying about Hawke in return-“ Solona wisely shut up when Cassandra turned her incensed glare onto her.

“Enough of this conversation,” she ordered, and Solona vaguely heard her muttering about insufferable dwarves.

A while later, as they marched along in silence, Cassandra cleared her throat and murmured softly, “However, you are welcome to browse my personal collection anytime you like, Warden Amell.” She managed to sound quite amiable, to Solona’s surprise.

She grinned at the Seeker widely, feeling inexplicably victorious for breaching her hard shell. She felt like she just made a new friend.

Between this, and the Donarks’ research sitting safely in her pack, Solona almost skipped the entire path out of the Orlesian desert.

Dear Alistair,

I miss you -

Have you received my letter? I sent it quite a while ago

I have found a lead! If it works, we will live long lives, you could be a father to a beautiful and healthy babe

(Scrunched up and thrown into the campfire)

Immediately upon their return to Skyhold, the Inquisitor disappeared into her chambers, no doubt to wash herself from the filth of the Wastes and journey and Solona was quick to follow suit. She had dressed herself in a long loose mage robe, feeling clean for the first time in what seemed like years when Leliana knocked on her door.

“Ahh! Just the person I was waiting to see!” Solona exclaimed with joy.

“I am glad that I still rank so highly on your list, Sol,” the Spymaster remarked with a grin.

Solona was rummaging around the pile of bags on her bed, throwing aside wrapped packages and interestingly-shaped boxes in her haste. “Yes, yes. There they are,” she muttered happily, whirling around to shove the packages at Leliana.

“Oooh!” her friend squealed in delight, “Ballet shoes! Oh you should not have!”

“I hope they are to your liking, they are this season’s latest and I was hoping you have nothing like them.”

“I will love them,” she laughed, “There isn’t much of an occasion to dress up around Skyhold, but perhaps I will make an exception for these darling pair of shoes!”

She fawned over them and Solona beamed at her widely. She had always loved giving gifts to her friends, as evidenced by Alistair’s mounting pile of figurines in his office and the mountain of knickknacks sitting on her bed; their reactions always rivalled the joy she felt in picking and choosing the gifts.

Leliana surveyed her purchases thoughtfully, and said, “If any of them are for the Commander, I suggest you check with his guards before dropping them off.”

Solona frowned, “Why? Did something happen?”

“His withdrawal symptoms have worsened lately. It has been especially bad for him the past few days. I am not sure he is up for company, even yours,” she said slyly.

“Then I must see him,” she got up and began filling her pack with bags of tea leaves and natural salves.

“I knew you would,” her friend laughed and turned to let herself out. “Remind him that he is under strict advisement to rest and abstain from work of any kind by the Inquisition’s advisors, will you?”

Solona growled at her, “For a former Templar, he is awful at following orders now. What makes you think he will listen to me?”

“Oh I think he will,” was her answer as she disappeared out of the door.

Cullen was staring blankly at the soldiers’ payroll when Solona peeked around the doors to his office, Pebbles’ warm muzzle resting on his knee was a comforting weight.

“Commander?” she called, “do you have a moment?”

Cullen looked up, the throbbing in his head intensified at the sudden movement and he instantly regretted it. If he clenched his jaw just to the left, maybe the pain would ease, he thought.

The door swung open and the harsh noon light filtered in, wafting over his desk and his bent form. Cullen felt as if it was burning his skin, tendrils of fire that stabbed and twisted and sizzled at him. He flinched, and Solona hurriedly shut the door behind her, “Sorry about that,” she said, “I brought some salves and poultices that might help.”

Cullen strained to look at her, as spots clouded his vision, and could only grunt in reply. The last thing he heard was Pebbles whining pitifully before he lowered his head down to rest on the desk and lost all consciousness.

When he came to, Solona was hovering above him as he leaned back against his chair; a hot steaming towel covered his eyes and forehead, smelling strongly of salty spindleweed.

“You’re awake, I’ve missed you,” Solona said, lifting the towel from his eyes to look at him, “and you look terrible.”

She gave him a small smile and urged him to sit up. Cullen moaned the loss of the heat, it had helped soothe the stabbing aches into something more bearable, although waves of dizziness still gripped him when he tried to move his head.

Solona was stirring something in a pot, and explained when she saw him blinking at her, “Royal elfroot this time, a few pinches of deep mushroom powder, and Crystal Grace…courtesy of my travels to the Hissing Wastes. Much more potent than the normal elfroot tea, and you should definitely refrain from ingesting too much so that you do not build up immunity to these herbs, but it should help for when the symptoms are this bad.”

Cullen let his head fall in relief and muttered hoarsely, “Thank you.”

He sipped at the intoxicating brew, already feeling lightheaded from its restorative properties, beyond touched that Solona had gathered such rare herbs for him.

“So you knew, then…all along?” he asked, his voice still deep and gravelly from the day’s lack of use.

“About your abstinence from lyrium? Yes…not long after I arrived. But I did not want to force you to talk about it…if you did not feel comfortable yet.”

Cullen let out a short bark of laughter, “I thought I was being discreet. So all those packets of elfroot tea bags…”

Solona nodded, “To ease the headaches. I hope they worked.”

“I thought you handed those out to everyone in the Inquisition like candy,” Cullen tried to smirk.

“Not at all,” she laughed, “they were reserved only for the great Commander.”

She dabbed at his forehead with the towel, and Cullen drank his potion, mulling over the wonder of the woman perched on his desk in front of him.

After a few beats of silence, he asked nervously, “Do you…what do you think of it?”

Solona sighed, and said, “You could die. You could lose your mind and forget me…I mean, all of us,” she swallowed nervously, “I hate seeing you in pain…it makes me feel so helpless, as it is something I cannot heal. I won’t pretend that the idea of all these happening do not scare the Fade out of me, but I will not stand in your way, Cullen.”

The look of relief that dawned on the Commander’s handsome face almost broke her. Had he been worried about her reaction all this while? Did he think for one moment that she would not support him in his endeavour?

“Whatever you need to feel better, Commander, just ask and I will walk through the Black City to get it done for you,” Solona promised.

“Maker,” he breathed, his arm reaching for the back of his neck again, “I- I would not ask anything of you. Your approval is more than enough.” He rubbed at his back, working on the knots of tension that clustered at his shoulders.

Solona chuckled, and said in a low suggestive voice, “Just my approval? You have commanded much more than that of me, Commander.”

She immediately snapped her mouth shut, her blush rivalled Cullen’s easily once she registered what she had let slip. Why oh why did she say that? Was it the romance novels she had been nicking from Cassandra’s stash? She should really stop reading that trash.

Cullen was flustered, his mouth opening and closing without a sound, when she finally forced herself to look up from the floor. Awkward silence descended upon them, Cullen not knowing how to respond, and Solona still kicking herself for her lack of control.

Pebbles barked once, jolting them from the stillness. The enormous hound slowly stretched his massive form and padded towards the door, turning to look reproachfully at the two humans. Solona felt as if Cullen’s dog was judging her with an eerie knowing look in his eyes.

“He needs to be let out,” Cullen whispered, starting to rise up.

“I’ll get it,” Solona jumped down from her perch and wrenched the door open, cheeks flaming.

“Do you feel better?” she asked, as soon as the door closed behind her.

“What did you mean-?” Cullen said at the same time.

They blushed and simultaneously looked away from each other.

Cullen cleared his throat, “I –ah, it is more manageable now. This, I can endure.” The stab stab stab had now eased into a slight throb throb throb behind his skull, and at least he was able to see now.

Solona continued staring at the floor, and her hands twisted the loose material of her robes as Cullen waited patiently for her reply. “It is not important,” she muttered.

Cullen frowned at her, “I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable in any way, Warden-Commander, or to be an inconvenience.”

Solona gasped as she realized that Cullen mistook her meaning completely, “Oh, Maker, no! Cullen…that is not what I meant when I said that-. You are not an inconvenience. I enjoy coddling you, I mean...uh…”

She floundered helplessly as she looked for the right words to say, “Andraste’s knickers! Maybe I should let Dorian speak on my behalf from now on.”

“Why?” he asked, bewildered.

“Well, you've met him, he is just so…suave. And I- I can’t even string two sentences together without embarrassing myself. I can’t believe this…I was never this hopeless with Alistair when we started seeing each other in the beginning. He was the one stumbling over his words and – and… Dorian is good with words and...”

Cullen was watching her, dazed and puzzled as he struggled to follow her winding thread of thought. Solona supposed she should be thankful that he was not fully himself at the moment otherwise he would have figured her out by now.

She stopped abruptly mid-sentence, forcing herself to shut up, and amended quickly, “Nothing…It’s nothing. Please forget everything I said. Oh, look! I bought you something from Val Royeaux.”

She dug in her pack and brought out a lovely wooden box with a carved image on the lid. Cullen blurrily reached out to accept it, trying hard to reduce the unsteadiness in his fingers, “A music box?” he wondered, turning it over slowly in his large hands.

“No, it’s … just a...box. To keep stuff in or, you know, whatever you’d uh…like,” Solona stammered. “There is a picture of a mage on it, because…well, it’s from me and I’m a ma- Oh, never mind. It’s just a gift Cullen, I hope you like it and I should go,” she finished in one quick burst, pointed at the door and practically ran out of his office, leaving the perplexed Commander staring after her.

It was not until late that night, as Cullen lay wide awake in bed staring up at the starry skies, the effects of withdrawal still plaguing him and unable to sleep – that he registered what she had meant by Alistair and the beginning and Oh Maker, could it be?

Chapter Text

She heard before she saw the Spymaster behind her. Leliana was giggling softly, too low for those milling around to hear, and came to stand beside her.

Solona pretended to shiver and mutter, “It is cold today,” hoping that it would explain away her tell-tale blush.

“Yes, wonderful weather, wonderful view,” Dorian appeared on her other side, making her jump, “The Commander does not seem to feel the cold, must be a Fereldan thing.”

They all looked down to the training yard, where Cullen was strutting around shirtless, waving his sword at the recruits standing at attention around him. He had just bested a veteran templar in the sparring ring. All traces of bashfulness had disappeared from his demeanour as he corrected their stances, inspected their weapons and generally commanded them – and it made her heart beat just a little faster.

Varric was sitting at the sidelines, quill in hand and no doubt concocting new scandalous stories with the inspiration Cullen was unconsciously providing him with. Hawke was idling next to him, chatting to the dwarf animatedly. Hawke pointed in their direction, Varric paused in his note taking, and glanced up at them. Solona swore that he winked at her, although she was too far away to be sure.

“Maker’s breath,” she sighed, stealing Cullen’s favourite line, the whole of Skyhold had caught her ogling their Commander.

She defiantly ignored her friends as they tittered next to her (really, Dorian), and kept her eyes fixed on the potted plant at her feet.

It was not until Leliana cleared her throat, and Dorian swiftly excused himself that she realized that Cullen had walked up to them. Still shirtless, and at this distance, the sheen of sweat that clung to his skin was visible to her. Solona felt her mouth go dry – in her endeavour to avoid his gaze, she had let her eyes travel down to the scar on his lips that twitched in amusement at her reaction, to the stubble on his handsome jaw line. At this point, she was unable to stop her downward trajectory and she continued drinking in the defined lines of his chest, taut with rippling muscles as he moved, and glistening in the sun.

Sun-kissed, she thought irrationally as her gaze settled on his firm stomach and dared not travel further south.

She was certain that Leliana must be gaping at him as well, but when she snuck a glance at the former bard, Leliana was totally composed - looking at Cullen with a twinkle in her eye and a smirk on her lips.

Leliana saw Solona peeking at her, so she winked and whispered, “I watch him drill the soldiers every morning. You should join me some time, yes?” Then, she greeted Cullen cordially and sashayed away.

“Do you need a shirt?” she blurted when he came to a stop before her, feeling as though her throat had been scraped raw, “I mean, aren’t you cold?”

An eyebrow lifted in mild surprise as he looked at her, but he did not comment on her flush and merely said, “I was headed to the bathhouse, but I was hoping to have a word with you later. In private, if you have some time?”

 “Er…yes. Of course,” was all she managed before he nodded at her in farewell and took his leave.

Solona could not tear her eyes away from his retreating form. Cullen had this swagger that just did things to her, and his tight fitting leather breeches was of no help, either.

Thank the Maker I am not an isolated case, she noted with satisfaction as every single lady he left in his wake stopped in their tracks and stared after him in appreciation too.

 Solona sat in the shadows, fanning herself. I am a strong, formidable mage, she repeated over and over again, a weapon forged to kill, not a silly girl.

When minutes passed and she was sure Cullen would be done and ready for her – she blushed again, mind conjuring naughty thoughts of all the ways the Commander could be ready for her, Solona made her way to his office, mentally kicking herself and thinking that this silly crush had reached embarrassingly epic proportions.

Much to her relief, he was properly dressed and covered from head to toe in his usual armour when she entered. Not that he was any less distracting, but at least she could look at him without worrying about drooling all over herself.

“You wanted to see me, Commander?” she asked softly, feeling very much like an apprentice called to the Knight-Commander’s office.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the empty chair that was normally piled with reports and books.

Oh my Maker, Solona thought, what have I done? Was he about to reprimand me for inappropriate ogling?

“Solona, it has come to my attention that I may have misunderstood some of the things you said that day,” he sounded so formal, and she stared up at him wordlessly.

Which day? I have said so many silly things in his presence that I lost track of it all, and why is he standing like that? Arms clasped behind, his back ramrod straight, and why is he staring at me like that?

When she remained silent, Cullen tried to continue, “When you said that…when I was sick, and you were taking care of me…you mentioned some things that made me think…if you would…ah...”

Solona was somewhat gratified that he seemed to be having trouble forming the words, and offered no help as she sat petrified in front of him.

He paused before continuing, “I just thought – I would not dare to presume, but I had to know if you…could you feel anything for me?”

“Have I been that obvious?” she squeaked, standing up in mortification. Maker, if even Cullen, the most oblivious person around could call her out on it…and Cullen used to run away from her, literally, when she tried to flirt with him back at Kinloch Hold.

“No. It’s just some of the things you said made me wonder if – maybe…that whether what Dorian said…” Cullen trailed off, not willing to implicate the overly excited mage further.

“Oh that meddling vint!” Solona growled, pounding a fist into her palm, disrupting Pebbles’ snoozing and the dog glared at her reproachfully.

“Er…yes. That is – I don’t want to overstep my boundaries…” he stopped and shrugged helplessly, not knowing how to proceed, he had never done this before, and he was beginning to wonder if he should have kept silent. Blast that mage, he agreed internally.

Dorian had smugly told him over their chess game the other day that Solona might have been harbouring feelings for him. Coupled with their recent encounter, and Dorian’s unfounded confidence, Cullen had allowed himself to wonder…if, maybe…he hadn’t been imagining it.

Solona dragged her hands over her face, and Cullen almost laughed at the adorable chagrined look on her face had he not been waiting anxiously for her answer.

“No, you did not. I-“ Solona paused, trying to arrange her thoughts, “Let’s just say that I will hunt you down, Cullen, if you ever repeat this to Dorian, but he…wasn’t wrong.”

“So, you do-?” he asked, disbelievingly.

“I do,” she affirmed, and exhaled noisily, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off her chest suddenly, “I do, I do, oh Cullen, I do,” Solona babbled incoherently.

“You do,” he intoned blankly.

Solona caught herself, realizing that he probably thought of her as nothing but a silly young girl, and tried to save her dignity, “I don’t want this to discomfort you in any way, Cullen. It doesn’t have to change anything…”

“No. I’m just trying to accept that you could…after all these years,” he laughed lightly, running his hands across his stubble in wonder.

“You don’t have to treat me any differently…in fact, I would like it if you pretended this never happened,” Solona said sadly.

“Maker, why would I- is this because of Alistair?” he asked.

“What? No. I just meant that you don’t have to pretend to tolerate me if my feelings for you make you feel uncomfortable.”

“What? Solona,” he chuckled, although she failed to see what amused him so, “I thought you knew by now, I feel the same for you, even more, perhaps.”

“Me? Why? How could you- I’m a mage, Cullen.“

“Why not? I have thought you were special all those years, and you returned to me after the nightmare that was Kirkwall, even more impressive, even more forgiving and …and…my heart didn’t stand a chance. Being a mage has nothing to do with anything.”

“I – I didn’t dare hope…” she said hesitantly.

“I might say the same,” he said quietly.

They looked at each other in wonder, before Solona swallowed nervously.

 “May I-” she asked, spreading her arms out slightly.

He laughed, so freely and brightly that her heart gladdened at the sound of it. She wanted to hear him laugh like that every day of her life, for her, at her, whatever it took.

He held out his own arms and beckoned her closer. Solona yielded to his embrace, burying her nose in the fur of his coat and breathed in his scent. The only other time she had held Cullen like this was in Haven, after the Herald’s encounter with the Envy demon. That seemed like another lifetime.

“I wish you weren’t wearing armour,” she mumbled into his fur, and felt his responding laughter rumble against her. His hands threaded through her hair, and he pressed her closer to him as gently as possible.

“You have no idea…how I have dreamt of this,” he said softly, and Solona shuddered at the tone of his voice.

She pulled back and tipped her head upwards, reaching her hand up to tenderly cup his jaw, “Cullen,” she sighed, “I … I want to kiss you.”

He had to lean back to look at her, being so tall that the top of Solona’s head only reached his shoulders. He was slightly taller than Alistair, she thought absent-mindedly.

Cullen obliged her, and bent his head down to close the space between them. She trembled in his arms, alight with anticipation of finally being able to taste him, his scar, his lips, his skin a furnace against her.

It was a sweet, longing kiss, a promise of more to come, and it ended far too soon. She rocked onto the tip of her toes to chase his lips, whimpering slightly as he withdrew, eliciting a smug grin from him.

He released her, and drew her onto his lap as he sat in the abandoned chair. She was still reeling from the kiss, her lips tingling where his had lingered. Her mind started filling with ideas of the different kisses she wanted to steal from him.

“Thank you for the gift,” he whispered, his warm breath ghosting pass the shell of her ear, making her shiver. She drew back and looked at his desk. Her ordinary wooden box was placed top and center, the lid partway open and she could see her teabags piled inside.

She grinned at him, and Cullen smiled back. “A fitting gift, I think,” he said.

He continued, “I care for you more than I should, Solona Amell. Part of me cannot believe that you feel the same,” he said, “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“But you do, Cullen. You really do. I have loved you for quite some time now, it is difficult not to,” she admitted shyly, blushing to the tip of her roots, and softly stealing another kiss from him.

“But I …have no intention of angering the King,” Cullen began to say, looking at her sadly when he heard her sharp intake of breath, knowing that at this particular moment, Alistair was not at the forefront of her mind.

Solona rested her forehead against his, whispered sadly, “Alistair,” and then took a deeper, longer breath before saying “I think it’s time I make a trip back to Denerim.”

She bit her lip and unwrapped herself from him, letting her arms fall to her sides, “This is unfair to you, Cullen. I still love him, you know that.”

“I do. But I am willing to wait for you…until you are ready. If you choose – if you decide to stay with him, I will step back and I will not fault you for it, Solona,” he promised.

“No…I - I can no longer stay with him. I suppose it is good that the nobles and Anora have taken the decision out of my hands, because I wouldn’t know what to do otherwise,” she laughed bitterly, “the two of you are too good for me.”

“I most certainly am not, but - will you be all right?” Cullen worried.

“I will,” she heard herself say with more confidence than she actually felt, “I have known that this had to happen for a while now. It will be painful, but…” She breathed deeply again and exhaled, steadying her thundering heart, before saying, “I can do this.”

 Extract from Cullen’s journal

The potent concoction Solona made seems to have lasting effects. The tremors in my hands are still, the headaches have receded, or at least manageable now. I am hopeful.

She has disappeared with Trudy to walk Pebbles, after allowing me to steal some of her attention before returning to work.

It also appears that the Inquisition knew about our feelings before we did. I heard the Iron Bull and Dorian crowing loudly about winning a bet and showing off a pot of gold at the tavern when I walked past it earlier. I would have thought nothing of it, but they dropped by my office later that evening, nearly bashing my door down with Bull’s horns and left a bottle of expensive Nevarran whiskey on my desk, and the Bull said “My thanks, Commander. Good on you.” I should have known that the Tevinter mage was up to something.

Maker’s breath.

My soldiers have the nerve to nod at me proudly when I walk pass them. Ser Rylen even had the audacity to congratulate me with a pat on the back.

I think it is time to look into new drills.

If word gets back to the King of this new development – Corypheus will be the least of my worries. He will have my head.

Cassandra looked as if she was about to corner me today, I am ashamed to say that I jogged (almost ran) away from her to avoid being interrogated on my feelings for the Warden-Commander. Thankfully, the Inquisitor and Varric intercepted her; they were brandishing a book in her face. I have never seen her blush that much before. I must admit that whatever the Inquisitor and Varric did, she is no longer as hostile towards him anymore. I was not aware that reading was a hobby of hers - perhaps I will get her a book for next Satinalia.

I must find some way to thank her – without Cassandra and her unyielding obstinacy, I would not be where I am today.

It hit me a few nights ago - when I saw Solona, Hawke and the Lady Trevelyan in the tavern after supper. Watching the three heads bent over in discussion and the raucous laughter that ensued…it makes me feel privileged to be able to witness the three legends of Thedas together in the same place – all powerful women (and one man) in their own right, and mages too.

I never thought the day would come – being able to view mages as people again, and not associate them with the abominations that haunted the tower and the coppery smell of blood, and desire demons...

Thank the Maker for Cassandra.

Dear Alistair,

I am forwarding a stack of letters that have arrived for you in Denerim. I recognized one of the seals belonging to the Warden-Commander and am sure you would have wanted it forwarded in haste. I am curious – is she unaware of your presence in Redcliffe?

Remember, be careful.

Anora.

Chapter Text

(Drafted letter – crumpled up in the wastebasket)

Dear Alistair,

I have something to tell you. I should probably be telling you this in person. Perhaps you already know what it is that I have to say.

Firstly, I have not received any letters from you recently. I’m not sure if it is because you have given up on us, or if you are too angry to write to me. I don’t even know if you received the letter I sent off to you weeks ago.

Or are you staying quiet because you have no idea how to tell me that you are getting on famously with Anora? Maybe it’s because you have forgotten me?

If that is true, I fear you will break my heart all over again, even though I keep telling myself that I am ready to move on.

If that is true, I must tell you that I still support you wholeheartedly, and that I have something to confess too.

I kissed Cullen yesterday. 

I think I may have fallen in love with someone else, but please do not think that I love you any less.

I think that I may be ready to move on…from us. I hope your silence means the same too.

I met someone, and he is a wonderful person. I feel horrible for letting this happen without ending things properly between us first. I know you will not be happy with me, for being unfaithful. I only kissed him once...

I have no idea when I became such a wench.

I must be fair to you. You deserve all the happiness life can give you, Alistair, and I know you dream of having a family of your own – a proper one, with a wife and babies. You should not be settling for a political union and a mistress on the side.

I will never be able to give all these to you. I will never be enough for you. I think you must know this as well, since you feel that you are ready to look beyond us and explore your own feelings for another woman even though it took us a long time, and a lot of struggle, to reach this point and admit it.

You have wasted 10 years on me, Alistair, when it could have been used to build a solid foundation for your own marriage instead.

Having said all that, I would not exchange those years for anything in the world ---

Blast it all. This is not working.

Extract from Solona’s journal

I should be reading old texts on dragon blood and getting some work done. It has been a couple of days since returning from the Hissing Wastes, and there has been no further progress in my research.

Instead, I have been sitting here for the past few hours trying to draft a letter to Alistair, trying to put my thoughts into words, but none will do him justice. I mean, despite knowing what lies in store for us; it seems cruel to discuss it in a letter. It would be exactly what he did when he told me of his plans for Anora when I was in Amaranthine – and I will never forget the agony I felt when I read those words. I could not do that to him.

What do I tell him about Cullen? Should I even say anything at all?

I should have waited to properly end things with Alistair, and let myself have enough time to grief the end of our relationship (again) before even thinking about beginning another one with the Commander of the Inquisition! But it’s Cullen! How could I have said no?

Solona, you fool…you could and should have.

Is it because I am ready to end it with Alistair that being with someone else no longer seems impossible…finally? But I still love Alistair to bits – and the thought of spending the rest of my … well, twenty years without him seems too bleak…even if it was his idea in the beginning. The heart wants what it wants – does it not?

But he will think that it is because of Cullen that I am choosing to call time on our relationship now…and that is not why. I cannot bear to have him think that I love him any less – he must know that loving him has been the most wondrous time of my life, and that I still do with my whole heart and soul.

Andraste’s flaming ducks! I’m just going around in circles.

I need to return to Denerim to speak to him in person. It will be a long hard journey, but it is time we both faced reality. It feels like I have just stopped sobbing over him every night, and now I must tear my heart apart again. Why was I ever foolish enough to think that time would be enough to prepare me for this?

Tomorrow, the Inquisitor will leave for Crestwood to follow up on Hawke’s warden friend. I will accompany her as far as that before making a detour to Denerim for a few days. Putting this off any longer does no justice to both of us.

I have been a coward for far too long. I am driving myself mad. I need to pull myself together. I will take a walk to the kitchens, scrounge up some breakfast and then make myself sit down to read his letter. I will behave with propriety and courage and --

Maker's blood, did I just hear something that sounded like the King of Ferelden is arriving??

(Updated later in the day)

Alistair is really here. In Skyhold! I caught a glimpse of him from the rafters when I ran out to have a peek after the welcome bells sounded, and all the feelings I thought I had suppressed came rushing back. I’m hopeless!

Maker, he really came all this way? And arriving before sunrise? He must have ridden through the night to arrive here at Skyhold!

I didn’t know if I wanted to fling myself at him, or if I wanted to run away instead.

He looked well, all tan and strong from his time in the sun while travelling. It took a lot of effort not to run to him and kiss him to death, and I had to keep reminding myself that I have no right to…not anymore.

I’m afraid of what he will say regarding his feelings about Anora, ashamed for running off the way I did, horrified at not replying to any one of his letters since then, and the only reply I drafted was sent to Denerim – which must have meant that he failed to receive it!

I am worried that it really did not reach him, and worried of what he must be thinking of my abysmal attitude…and a myriad of other things that I am trying to not think about (such as what do I say to him about Cullen??). Now that he is finally here, I do not have two weeks of travel to steel myself for that conversation!

Telling myself that I am ready for this, and actually being ready for it...those are two completely different things.

Each time I feel I may be able to face him, my heart pounds against my ribs so hard that I cannot breathe, and I back down at the last minute, feeling like I am about to throw up any second.

I guess it is obvious that I am still avoiding him the best I can, until I can gather up my courage to confront him face to face.

The tavern is a safe refuge - where I can easily run upstairs when he approaches although that has led to some very uncomfortable conversations with Cole. Or in the Commander's office - three exits. Although once I did have to hide in his loft because Josephine was approaching from the right and I thought she had brought the King with her, some scouts were blocking the left door and I just lost my mind and scrambled up the ladder before Cullen could stop me.

I never knew that there is a hole in his roof.

I'm starting to get really frustrated with myself. I have no dignity left. None! I cannot run forever.

Maybe I should hide until we leave for Crestwood tomorrow. Even the Hissing Wastes seem welcoming right now.

No. No, Amell. You need to finish this.

What if...the reason why he is here...is the same reason why I was planning on travelling back to Denerim? What if he came to end this in person?

I need to calm down. 

 (Varric's notes, with Hawke's scribbles)

The Inquisition - Closing Rifts and Defeating Magisters
Boring.

Inquisition - Mages and Templars
Blah.

Killing Shit with the Inquisition
This has potential.

The Inquisitor and the Hero of Ferelden
No. What about the Champion of Kirkwall?

Finding the Hero
Well, it is rather entertaining watching the Warden-Commander hide from the King all around Skyhold - but you can't write a whole book about this. Wait, can you?

The Commander and the King – a Tale of Two Rivals
Ahh…this, this, might be a bestseller, Varric.

Alistair's Journal

I have been in Skyhold for a full day and have yet to see Solona. My little mage must be avoiding me. Part of me is tempted to throw a tantrum because she has been unfairly ignoring my letters for months now, although that could be thanks to Leliana, while the other part of me cannot wait to finally see her again.

Leliana says I had better try to catch her before she leaves with the Inquisitor and the Champion of Kirkwall to Crestwood in search of a Grey Warden by the name of Stroud. Since the wardens appear to be affected by this false calling, it is her duty to investigate. At least, that it what I keep telling myself – and not that she is still running away from me.

I have seen Solona walk into mortal danger far too many times. I am afraid her sheer luck of escaping near death scenarios will run out and the crows will finally bring news that will destroy me. Especially now that the Elder One has surfaced and no one is sure of what he is looking for, except that the Inquisitor is at the top of his hit list.

The Spymaster was about to say something else to me, I know, but she stopped herself and shook her head in consternation. I wonder if it is about the Commander, for I am not deaf. I have heard Solona’s name mentioned together with his too often since arriving. I worry, yes, but I will not ask.

I will wait for Solona to tell me whatever news she has in store for me in person.

I wonder - if this is why she has not been returning my letters since she left.

The ambassador has one last item on the itinerary for me. Once the “official” tour of Skyhold is over, I will find my mage and never let her go again, Maker damn any man who stands in my way.

Solona crept into Cullen’s office, eyes darting around to ensure he was alone before slipping in and closing the door behind her.

“Have you seen him?” she asked.

"The King? Yes, we had the proper introductions during the war council this morning." Cullen replied, looking at her questioningly.

Solona fidgeted with the inkwell on his desk before gathering the courage to ask, “How is he?”

“He looked well. Rather cold and aloof, but healthy nevertheless,” Cullen said.

"Alistair? Aloof? That has never - Where is he?" she asked, a trickle of worry twisting her heart. Has he somehow found out about us? At the same time, a spiteful voice in her brain reminded her that he might not even care about her treachery anymore.

"Josephine has planned an official tour of the Inquisition fortress and amenities for His Majesty, as far as I am aware."

"A tour?" she asked, "Does that mean they will be passing through?" Solona's eyes were widened in terror as she glanced at each of his three doors in quick succession, expecting one of them to swing open to reveal the man she has been avoiding all this while.

Cullen's laughter rumbled out, his low baritone sending shivers down her spine, "I hardly think so, there is nothing to see out on the battlements and Josie would not think a tower with a hole in the roof and the tavern's attic are fit for the King's eyes."

He cleared his throat, before asking speculatively, "Have you spoken to him?"

"No. I mean, I’m waiting for the right time, or rather, I’m trying to gather up enough courage,” Solona shrugged helplessly.

She slowly moved the papers and weights to the side before perching herself on his desk, "I didn’t even know he was coming, we still have not spoken since I left the city."

“Does he know that you still…ah, care for him?” Cullen asked, not a hint of jealousy in his tone.

“I – Maker, I hope he does. I mean, even if he no longer feels the same for me, I still do…for him, with everything I am. And I don’t think that feeling will ever fade, it still feels like when I first realized I loved him after nights of watching him in camp, and in battle, and during our long treks in the wilderness – and oddly, sometimes I think I have come to love him even more…

Oh dear, I’m rambling again, aren’t I? You don’t even want to hear this,” she said with a little laugh.

“I do…want to hear everything, that is. It’s understandable that you are nervous,” the Commander said with a small smile, “But he has come all the way here for you – surely he is here to bring you home.”

“But I don’t even know where home is. Definitely not the Royal Palace, at least. It feels – I know it sounds weird, but I feel like this is where I belong, and being with you always feels like coming home. But I felt the same with Alistair as well, whenever he had time to spend with me in between his royal duties, which admittedly became less and less frequent over the years…it’s – this is confusing,” she concluded, with a frown marring her sweet features, “Anyway, this will all be for nothing as I have a feeling he is here to tell me he no longer feels the same.”

Her voice cracked as she blurted out her innermost fear, hoping that Cullen did not notice it.

"Ahh...I see." Cullen lapsed into silence. He lifted her chin and looked into her brown eyes searchingly, before quietly saying, "His Majesty would be a fool for letting you go."

“No, he would be doing Ferelden a huge favour.”

Cullen remarked, "Leliana does not believe that to be his plan.”

At Solona’s curious look, he expanded further, “I’ve spoken to her…briefly about his intentions. She seems convinced that his feelings for you have not changed.”

“So she always says, and she does remind me of that again and again. But no one knows for sure, do they? She only saw us together during the Blight, and left us soon after it ended. Things have…altered between us. He was no longer as attentive, in a sense. Maybe I was overreacting; I no longer know what to think of it,” she said with a helpless shrug.

“Y- you deserve to be happy,” Cullen said softly, covering her hand with his, “and so does he. After all you have done for us – ending the Blight…He will always own a part of you, Sol, even I know that." ”

“You make me happy, Cullen. I won’t leave you, and I belong to you as well,” she was quick to say, almost stumbling over her words to reassure him, suddenly aware that this was hardly an appropriate conversation to be having with the other man she loved in her life.

“– although you are right, and this does sound horrible - I do still love him so much, he is like an extension of myself, but I have not been happy in a long time. I’m just trying to figure out how to finish this without hurting anyone too much.”

Solona looked sad as she acknowledged her feelings, “I felt terrible and so inadequate when he started distancing himself. When he started spending more and more time with his Queen, I felt like he was setting me aside. He broke my heart when he told me he wanted to give Anora more of himself, and then we argued, and when I left Denerim for Haven – feeling like I left my heart behind…I don’t…I cannot let myself go back to that. It was agonizing.”

Cullen looked surprised at her admission.

Solona wondered, “Have I not told you this before? The reason I left?”

When he shook his head, Solona heaved a sigh and hopped onto his desk, perching at the edge of it and laced her fingers through his.

“I do not like to talk about it, or think about it too much – since I tend to dissolve into a sobbing mess each time I try, but if you want to know - ” she said, her eyes already glistening with tears.

Cullen shifted closer to her, “I…I do. I must admit to being curious about the circumstances…but you don’t have to –”

“I will. I would tell you anything, Cullen.”

She breathed in deeply before beginning her tale, “I left because…well, it’s not a simple story, but largely because Alistair was ready to properly work on his marriage. The nobles were starting to talk, you see, even more so than usual and the pressure was starting to become unbearable. Not just for him, but also for the Queen, and me – having a mage at court is bad enough, but for that mage to be a mistress to the King, and have no noble blood at the same time? It’s heresy.”

She sniffled a little and stopped to compose herself. Cullen said nothing but tightened his hold of her hand in support, slightly sorry that he had insisted.

“That hurt – a lot. More than it should have, given that I had known it was coming for a long time before that. I even accused him, perhaps unfairly, of setting me aside for Anora, even though she rightly lays claim to his name and his bed. So we argued – and I said some things I should not have, and I suppose he lost he temper as well, and I left. I rode for Haven almost immediately. I didn’t know – at that time, that he would come after me to Amaranthine. We were supposed to take time off from each other.”

“At that time – maybe I was deluding myself – but I thought maybe he still loves me, as much as he did so many years ago. Then I realized that I might be deluding myself – the nobles were not going to disappear, he still belongs to Anora, and I couldn’t let myself fall into that cycle again. I am pretty sure I did not imagine how much closer he had become to her, and how he seemed to prefer her company to mine more and more frequently. Leliana said I was probably reading too much into it, that they were probably discussing court matters – but it still stung at the time. I mean, having been apart for weeks – I would have thought that he wouldn’t be able to stay away another moment longer. And when he finally admitted to being fond of her, Maker, I’m starting to hate that word…”

“So, I didn’t write to him after I reached Haven – I thought if I could make it without him for a few months, and distant myself from him emotionally – that it would easier to face him when the time comes to end this, easier to listen to how he chose his Queen and a chance at the ideal family life instead of sneaking around with a mage. But it wasn’t. I cried every night, missing him horribly. Almost losing our lives at Haven made me even more afraid that I would never see him again, and I realized that I would never be able to love him less – and I was right, time has not done anything but make me miss him even more. My feelings for him have not diminished at all.”

“I never expected to find anything like this after leaving – I was afraid of letting anyone hurt me after him. Then, I met you…and you were so – so beautiful, and kind and everything I thought was impossible became possible. It’s Alistair all over again, and at the same time I still feel so much for him, that I do not know how it is even possible that my heart can hold this much emotion for two men. It’s scandalous.”

She stopped speaking then, her tears making tracks down her cheeks silently.

“For what it is worth, I could never bring myself to hurt you,” Cullen said, “but I worried, for a moment, that you chose me only because -”

Solona blushed at what he was insinuating and leaned closer towards him, “No, never, I truly care for you. I must sound horrible – going on and on about another man in front of you when we just started…this.”

“You don’t have to feel that way. I know he is a good man, and a fair King. After what you have been through together, I would expect nothing less from you. I have accepted that - I know he will always be special to you. I…I want to know everything about you, and besides, I was the one who asked,” he said earnestly.

Solona smiled at him, looking straight into his warm honey eyes, “How can someone like you even exist, and how was I lucky enough to find you?"

She chuckled at the embarrassed frown that appeared and then sighed softly, "I still feel horrible for doing this behind his back, although I suppose I will have to tell him soon enough,” she whispered.

She couldn’t stop herself from lifting a finger to trace the fetching scar on his lips, inhaling the unique scent that was Cullen. Her touch was gentle even as she continued smiling at him, neither of them breaking their gaze.

Right at that moment, Cullen’s office doors swung open, and the tall broad shadow of Alistair’s filled the space and blocked the sunlight.

Solona quickly dropped her hand, her other still in Cullen's grasp, and muttered, “Well, shit.”

Chapter Text

Alistair froze at the doorway, head swivelling from Solona to the Commander, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. It cannot be true, those rumours cannot be true.

He took in Solona’s mortified look and the Commander’s uneasy shuffle and narrowed his eyes at them in suspicion. “Sol? A word, please,” he said, making it sound more like a demand than a request.

Blood rushed to his head in fury and he felt his throat close up and struggled to breathe when he saw her little hands wrapped in Cullen’s. It took all of his self-restraint to leash himself and not run the other man through with his sword.

“Right,” she squeaked, cleared her throat and tried again, “Sure.” Alistair kept his eyes on where their fingers were still entwined, and felt the constriction in his throat loosen as Solona untangled them.

Alistair turned around and stalked towards the next tower in a rage. He heard Solona’s meek footsteps fall in a couple of paces behind him and his heart clenched at the thought of her and the Commander. They walked the length of the battlements without speaking to each other, Alistair still seething with anger and welcoming the biting wind that slashed across his skin.

It was not until the door shut behind Solona that the silence was shattered with a loud bang. Alistair took a few moments to compose himself, letting his eyes roam the abandoned tower. There were particles of dust floating in the golden rays of sunlight streaming in from the cracked holes in the wall and planks of wood still lying on the stone floor. It seems the ambassador’s magic has not reached this tower.

When he finally settled on Solona, she was fidgeting nervously, her eyes wide and imploring as she caught his gaze. He knew she could see the hurt on his face when her countenance fell and filled with guilt.

Alistair’s heart sank even deeper. If she felt that there was something to feel guilty about, that just meant…

“Should I be worried?” Alistair’s harsh tones broke the silence; he tilted his gaze up challengingly.

Solona pulled at her fingers even harder, “Ahh…no,” she replied.

“And why not? Because there is nothing going on between the two of you, or because you think I have no reason to seeing as I’m supposed to be married to Anora?” He questioned her fiercely.

He saw her wince, and knew that he had hit upon the truth. “Or is all of the above true?”

“No,” she denied softly, “I don’t know. Nothing uh…serious has actually happened between us.”

He could just hear the “yet” behind her sentence as she trailed off. Alistair resisted the urge to kick the decaying bed and sat heavily on it instead. His face crumpled as he groaned loudly and buried his face in his hands, finally giving up on portraying a strong and brave appearance.

“It has been months, Sol, not a single word from you, I didn’t even know if you were alive! If Leliana hadn’t –” his muffled voice broke on a sob and he heard her quick footsteps approaching him and small hands covered his.

“Please, Alistair, it was my fault. Not yours. I didn’t dare to…n- not after…my outburst,” she reasoned and he felt her hands clawing at his large ones, trying to drag them away from covering his face.

He sighed and let her, looking up into her concerned eyes. She left her hands cupping his chin, softly stroking the day old stubble. “I was ashamed,” she whispered, “it was stupid of me. So stupid. I did write…but I left it too late. I didn’t know you were already on your way here.”

She brought her fingers to the creases in his forehead and ran over them gently, before using her thumbs to even out the laughter lines (or were they frown lines now?) at the corner of his eyes.

“Have you been taking care of yourself, Alistair?” she worried.

Solona ran her fingers over the tip of his nose, and began to trace the lines of his delicious lips.

He scoffed lightly, the gesture only serving to remind him of what he witnessed in the Commander’s office. He pulled her hands away from his face but continued holding them as he couldn’t bear to let go. “And the Commander,” he asked, swallowing hard in fear of her answer, “do you truly feel for him?”

To her credit, Solona did not look away. She held his piercing gaze level and her eyes filled with unshed tears as she replied, “I- I, Alistair, I’m sorry.”

They sat there for a long while, staring at each other, wondering when exactly did their wonderful romance become something so irreparable.

Solona woke up in her bed, stretching leisurely before she recalled the prior day’s events. She winced and curled back into a ball, closing her eyes and willed herself to fall asleep again.

In the privacy of her own room, she buried her face in her pillow and let out a frustrated wail. Alistair had not taken the news of her plans regarding their separation well. He had suspected it before she had even opened her mouth - the King was more astute than most people gave him credit for, and that often yielded him the advantage in court.

Even so, he had firmly rejected the notion of it and stomped off in a rage before she could stop him. She did not even have the chance to ask after his marriage and Anora, even though she wasn’t too keen on finding out more.

After their confrontation in the derelict tower, and a quick ceremonial lunch in the Great Hall, he had muttered about needing his rest and kept himself closeted in his own quarters the rest of the day. Neither Leliana nor the other advisors were allowed in to see him. The guards posted at his door turned Solona away when she dared to venture near, insisting that even her presence was unwelcome.

She felt a stab of pain in her heart when she thought of the anguish she was causing him, and wished that he would just let her in to explain properly.

She was loath to leave Alistair sulking alone, but she would not fight his guards and they were leaving for Crestwood the next afternoon together with the Inquisitor, anyway. He had insisted on coming along during lunch, insisting with a tone that brooked no argument from the Inquisitor herself, throwing a baleful glance in Solona’s direction, and she knew it was because he thought she was using this mission as an excuse to run away again.

She figured that would be the optimal time to corner him for a proper talk.

Solona gave up haunting the hallway to the King’s rooms, deciding to give the guards a break. They had been shooting her suspicious glances the whole time she lingered there, and some of the younger recruits were visibly tense and nervous because of her presence.

She retreated to Cullen’s office, as she refused to leave the Commander alone for weeks without assuring him of how she felt about him, knowing his tendency to downplay his own importance and welfare.

He had been quieter than usual that night, and strangely impassive, passing the time by listening to her ramble again as she perched on his desk and played with his fingers, clasping his hands in hers.

“I did not manage to ask after the Queen,” she had said.

“I do not think you need to, Solona,” Cullen replied, having seen the way Alistair looked at her earlier in the day and needing no other confirmation of his feelings for the mage.

“He looks at Anora that way, too,” she had insisted when he told her so, much to his disbelief.

“I will not – Maker, do not doubt me when I say I love you, but I cannot do this to him – to take away the one thing he loves more than anything in the world. I would not survive it if someone tried to do it to me,” Cullen had implored.

Solona had scoffed and slid off his desk gracefully, “Were you not listening to my story? I might have been his whole world, once upon a time, maybe, but not anymore.”

She shuffled closer to him and laid her head on his chest, revelling in the feel of his warmth permeating through his thin tunic, finally devoid of his heavy armour.

“We’ve had our time, Alistair and I, but he is ready to move on.”

“Just – please...speak to him, and listen to what he has to say,” he said, his arms automatically wrapping around her. It was odd, how normal it felt to stand there holding her, as they had been merely friends a few days ago.

“I love you, Cullen. Do you believe that?” she asked, her voice muffled by his shirt.

A pause, and then he answered, surprising even himself by how firm and confident he sounded, “Yes, I believe you. Only Andraste knows why you do – with my withdrawals and history with mages –”

“I told you not to mention it again,” she said, gripping his shirt in her fists when she felt his muscles bunching with tension beneath her hands, “it seems to be my lot in life – falling for beautiful men and the problems that they bring, but I love you all the more for what you are doing.”

But they would not do anything about it until after she had a chance to work things out properly with Alistair. Cullen had made her promise him.

If Solona was bewildered at his insistence and concern for the King’s feelings, she did not show it.

However, before she left him for the night, she did pause to say, “I wish you weren’t so self-sacrificing, Cullen. You deserve all the happiness in the world, as much as you think Alistair and I do, and if I could be the reason for even an ounce of it...I will not leave you, as long as you will have me.”

Morning crept over Skyhold lazily, the birds rose later than usual, and the snowflakes floating down shielded the heat from the sun, keeping the weather cold yet beautifully bright.

Despite the coolness of the morning, the Inquisitor wiped her brow with the back of her hand, already breaking into sweat from exertion. Both heroes of Thedas were helping Master Dennet to rake through fresh bales of hay. It was approaching mid-morning, and the snowflakes glittered as they fell in between the strands of Solona's hair.

“Imagine,” the Inquisitor panted, leaning against her rake as she took a moment to catch her breath, “imported hay from Orlais! These horses are worse than the nobles! Even the Trevelyan thoroughbreds do not get this kind of treatment.”

Solona’s laugh was muted, blowing her unruly strands of hair away from her eyes and brushing the snow off her shoulders, “Just keep me away from those bloody chunks of meat you feed your dracolisks.”

Trevelyan shuddered, dropping her rake to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. “Lovely creatures, but their eating habits do leave much to be desired,” she admitted.

Solona took her cue from the Inquisitor and dropped down to the ground, flattening the hay under her.

“Were there any complications with the King?” the Inquisitor asked.

Solona shrugged, her heart heavy, “I have not seen him this morning.” She felt guilty at her own admission, having spent the most of the night with Cullen in his loft when Alistair failed to show up for dinner as well.

 “You know,” the Inquisitor said thoughtfully, startling Solona out of her reverie, “You are part of the Inquisition, and we cannot afford to upset the King of Ferelden. We are on his lands, after all.”

Solona sighed, “You don’t have to worry about that. Alistair will not take his feelings out on you, he is much too just and fair for that.”

“Maybe so, but he will undoubtedly harbour ill-will to the Commander, who is an integral part of the Inquisition’s leadership. Even the fairest king will not take kindly to his rival. I do not want to see any of them suffer, nor you,” she said.

“Andraste help me, but I will deal with it. There will be time to talk it out during this trip with Alistair to Crestwood, and I am done running,” Solona promised.

“Then…you have a plan?”

“I have always had a plan. What I did not have was the courage to carry it out,” she answered, hiding her nerves. “By the time we return from Crestwood, I will have settled this, and we will have found out what happened to the missing wardens.”

“For the Maker’s sake, I hope it will be so. I am still not comfortable with the thought of having the King in my company, and being responsible for his protection on the road.”

“We will make sure he stays out of as many battles as possible. As much as I like to say that he is still a warden under my command, technically he can still disobey me as he is both senior to me and, not to mention, he is still the King.”

The Inquisitor just sighed in resignation.

Solona bit her lip and frowned. “I’m sorry,” she said, after a while, “there wasn’t much I could do to convince him to stay behind. This false calling affects all wardens and Ferelden. I could not deny him this.”

The Inquisitor nodded again, distracted and her gaze settled on something behind Solona. “I think the Commander requires more reassurance. Having you galloping away into the sunset with Alistair for the next few weeks will probably have him stomping around Skyhold in a foul mood.”

Solona turned to see Cullen striding up to the barn yard and flashed a smile at him, “You underestimate him. Cullen has too much respect for Alistair to behave in any other way.”

The Inquisitor laughed, “Tell that to the recruits after he makes them cry once you leave Skyhold.”

Solona flipped some hay at the laughing noblewoman and turned to welcome Cullen, who sidestepped the half-rakes piles of hay to make his way toward them.

“Inquisitor, Solona,” he greeted, “I just came to wish you both a safe journey, and to see if there was anything that needed to be done before you leave.”

“Commander Cullen,” the Inquisitor replied, “I believe we are all set to go. Thank you for aiding in the preparations. Now, if you will excuse me…” she gave a little bow and winked at them, before walking out of the barn.

They watched her go in bashful silence until Cullen cleared his throat and stammered, “Well, safe travels and if you have the time, perhaps you would write to me.”

“Of course, Cullen. Won’t you be seeing us off?” Solona asked, puzzled. It was almost tradition for the Commander to stand on the stone steps of Skyhold in farewell until the Inquisitor’s party is no longer within sight of the fortress.

“I understand that the King will be accompanying you on this trip, I think staying out of his sight for now would be the wisest thing to do,” he explained carefully.

Cullen had not pressured her in any way to end things with Alistair the night before, Solona even had the impression that he did not wish to upset the King – not out of fear of any repercussions, but he genuinely respected Alistair as a warrior and fighter.

She smiled at him, “As you wish, Commander. I should join the others at the gates. They should be ready to leave now. I will write, I promise. More letters than you would want to read, I’m sure. And in return, you must let me know how you are doing! Is that clear?”

Cullen chuckled, “Yes, Commander.”

“No lying about your health – promise me?” she said sternly.

“I promise, Solona.”

Satisfied, she walked up to him and stood on her tip toes, head tilted up patiently until he bowed down to her level. She kissed him gently and wrapped her arms as tightly as she could around him.

“Take care of yourself, Commander. Remember to eat, and sleep,” she admonished, when she finally broke away.

“Yes, Solona,” he repeated indulgently, “be safe out there,” he kissed the top of her head and released her with a soft sigh, glancing around to make sure that no one witnessed their little display of affection.

With a last “write to me” and squeeze of his hand, Cullen took his leave and retreated to his office.

Solona grabbed her staff and sword, making her way to the rest of the waiting party. Alistair was already there, tying his bag securely to the saddle of his horse. He did not spare her a single glance, but the tensed bearing of his shoulders and the scowl on his handsome face spoke volumes.

She stood next to him, reaching out tentatively and waiting for him to speak to her, but he barely looked at her and shook his head.

She kept her distance after that, knowing that when Alistair got into these moods because of her, it would be impossible to make him talk until he was ready.

Solona was right, although she couldn’t help sulking about it. The travelling party gave both of them a wide berth, their moods hanging over them like dark clouds.

They were a full day’s journey out of Skyhold when he finally approached her at nightfall. She was sitting cross-legged on dry grass outside her tent, close to the burning fire, scribbling a letter to Dorian when she suddenly heard him say, “Are you writing to him?”

“Alistair!” she cried, startled and hurriedly pulled her journal over the letter. She wondered when he had become so adept at creeping up behind her in full armour.

“Are you?” he persisted.

“No…I’m not – this is to Dorian, the other mage you met in Skyhold,” she said, slightly relieved that she did not have to lie.

He grunted in displeasure, and surveyed the campsite, noting the number of guards and scouts and inquisition members that were milling around.

Then, he turned and entered her tent, letting the flaps close behind him. Solona stared after him in bewilderment, and jumped up when she heard the unmistakable sounds of armour being unbuckled.

“What are you doing?” she asked, scrambling into her own tent. Her bedroll had been pushed to one side, and Alistair had laid his out next to hers. It was startlingly similar to the arrangement they had during the Blight.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I am tired. I have been travelling non-stop for the past week, I barely had a night’s rest in a proper bed before you decided to go riding back the other way into Ferelden, and I had to come, didn’t I? Couldn’t risk you running away from me again,” he said, stripping his tunic and stepping out of his breeches without caring that Solona was standing right there.

He noticed her attempt at averting her eyes and frowned angrily at her, “What’s wrong? It’s nothing you have not seen before.” He viciously tugged a spare shirt over his head.

“Alistair!” she cried again, “You can’t sleep here!”

He stopped and turned to her, eyes blazing in anger, but his voice was controlled and quiet when he asked, “Why not?”

“There are people here. What would they think if we shared a tent?” she exclaimed.

He rolled his eyes at her and shrugged, “They know of us. We have nothing to hide.” He knew he was behaving like a petulant child, but by the Void, he just could not help himself.

“I don’t- this is not appropriate – Alistair, what about Anora? This would render everything you’ve done null and void! All of Ferelden will know of this by the next sunrise!”

He scoffed at her, throwing aside his sword forcefully. Solona gulped, suddenly frightened by the display of anger as she had never known Alistair to treat his weapons so harshly. He had always taken care of each shield and blade with reverence. She crossed the tent to pick up his discarded sword and shield, her surprise evident on her face.

He smirked stubbornly at her and grabbed the gauntlets that were lying on his bedroll, brutally tossing them aside before turning and advancing on her, his usually warm eyes darkened in anger.

“If you think for a moment that I am going to let you out of my sight again, you are sorely mistaken,” he seethed, rounding on her. “If you think that I am going to sleep in a different tent alone, after the past few months of wondering where you were and how you were, you must be deluded.”

Solona was speechless. She clutched his shield to her chest, not really knowing how to deal with this new assertive and forceful Alistair.

“Nothing else to say then? Good. I’m going to sleep,” he said coldly and dropped onto his bedroll, viciously tugging his boots off.

“Alistair…” she finally pleaded, “Don’t do this.”

“Do what? Share a tent with the woman I love?” he snarled.

“Stop it,” she cried, “I know you are angry with me, and I know I deserve it, but you can’t endanger everything we’ve worked for by doing this!”

“Why, Solona,” his eyes glittered in the dark, his expression shuttered and blank of any emotion, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you did not miss me at all,” he said bitterly.

“Oh, Alistair, I did, of course I did, every single minute of every single hour! But I can’t let you do this to yourself…I can’t!”

“I find that I don’t really care what happens to me anymore, so I am not leaving,” he said, resentment echoing in every syllable and dragged the blankets up to his chin as he lay down on his bedroll.

She let out a sob, and for a second, Alistair’s hardened expression cracked. She clung on to that in an instant and sat down beside him to grab his hand, “Please…don’t be like this. We need to talk, Alistair.”

“I’m not letting you leave me, Solona,” he declared immediately, firm and unyielding, but the flash of pain in his eyes betrayed him.

“Alistair…we don’t have a choice,” she said sadly, partly relieved that he was finally willing to talk to her about it.

He sighed, and all the anger left him at once. He tightened his hold on her hand and pulled her down. Tears were tracking down her face silently, and she resisted for a while before coming to rest next to him, his arm wrapped around her.

“We always have a choice…you told me that once, don't you remember? When I tried to leave you after the Landsmeet? Wisest words I have ever heard,” he muttered softly, “I have missed you so much.”

A sob escaped her, and he pressed her hand to his lips, tasting salt and tears.

“I am done thinking of others. I am done with people telling me what to do. I want you and for once in my life, no one is going to tell me otherwise,” he continued calmly.

“Please don’t…I don’t have the strength to do this if you keep saying things like this,” she wept.

“That’s the point, Sol. Don’t you see? I am not making the same mistake again. The last time I tried to leave you, you wouldn’t let me. If I allow this to happen, I don’t think I will be able to convince you to forgive me again. I will not risk it,” he said.

“We are done, Alistair. I can’t go back to Denerim…back to that life,” she said, trying her best to project some amount of conviction into her words - conviction that she herself was struggling to hold on to in the face of his determination.

He was quiet, the only sounds in the tent were of her trying to catch her breath and stifle her sobs.

“Was it that bad, Sol? Did I not take good care of you?” he asked so softly and timidly that Solona’s heart broke a little.

“It’s not you, never you,” she sniffled, “but I don’t think I can do it anymore.” She sat up and looked down at him, “Each day that I remain by your side - you stand to lose more and more credibility and respect from the nobility. They will turn on you. Anora’s name will not be spared, and she does not deserve this!”

“Anora knows that I love you,” he said, sitting up as well to face her.

“What? But what about your marriage and...and the progress you’ve made and all that?” she asked.

He sighed, “We’re friends, Sol. Nothing more. And Ferelden - if they wish for me to remain on the throne, then they must accept you or I will abdicate. This, I will openly declare. They will not risk another civil war.”

She started to shake her head, and Alistair cupped her face in his large hands, stilling her, “I have thought long and hard about this. I did not flight to survive a Blight, sleep with Morrigan, and then give up my life for this kingdom just to lose you. I have done all these for you, to be with you – and nothing is going to take that away from me. I will not allow it.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off, “This is not up for discussion, Solona. The only way I will let you walk out of my life is if you look me in the eye, and tell me that you no longer love me.”

He watched her apprehensively, throat tightening in fear as she opened, then closed, then opened her mouth again. Alistair was about to close his eyes to hide the pain of her impending admission when she snapped it shut again, her shoulders drooping in defeat.

He exhaled in relief, his entire body going slack, free of strain and tension that he wasn’t even aware he was holding in. He nudged her back down to sleep, wrapping himself around her, and mumbled against her hair, “Good. I love you too, now sleep.”

“But, Alistair, I still – Cullen - ” she began.

He closed his eyes tightly as jealousy seared beneath his belly, and swallowed before saying hastily, “I know…about your intentions. We will talk of it tomorrow, or later, or in the next lifetime. But for now let me just enjoy this, Solona. It has been too long.”

She pondered his request for a while before letting herself relax beneath him - a happy Alistair led to a compliant one, and it would be easier to hold a discussion the next day if she kept him in a good mood.

Though, if she was to be completely honest with herself, she wished nothing but happiness for him, and for Cullen - all the time for the rest of their lives, but it seemed like her presence only brought about misery and complications. Upset, and yearning to please him, she rolled to face him and lightly pressed her lips to his cheek.

Alistair smiled when he felt her lips quiver softly against his cheek and turned his face to capture them fully with his own.

“I love you, Solona. Now tell me you feel the same,” he ordered, reluctantly breaking their kiss, a hint of a plea buried deep in his voice.

“I do, Alistair. Maker and Andraste forgive me, but I do, and I am so glad you are safe and here with me,” she whispered, before drifting off to sleep next to her King.

Chapter Text

Morning dawned, bright and clear, and Alistair left Solona asleep in her tent. It was not an easy feat – forcing his arms to untangle himself from her after nearly half a year of pining and longing for such a moment.

However, he could not ignore his conscience nudging him to tend to his beloved armour after the previous night’s brutal treatment.

I’m sorry I threw you to the ground like that, he mouthed to his gleaming sword as he inspected it for dents and lovingly swiped his oilrag over the sharp edges.

The members of their travelling party had eyed him warily when he emerged from his tent, seeming to breathe a collective sigh of relief when he appeared to be in a better mood.

The camp was being dismantled when Solona finally appeared, blushing slightly when the others looked at her, knowing it was futile to hope that no one noticed they had spent the night in the same tent.

She settled next to Alistair, who was sharpening a dagger on a nearby log, and tried to speak to him about Cullen, but he brushed her off.

She tried again as they continued their journey on the road, but he cantered off to talk to the Inquisitor about some Bann or the other, and only offered her an apologetic smile in return.

Solona attempted to broach the topic again over lunch, but Alistair stuffed his mouth full and neglected to reply. When he swallowed, he immediately beckoned Hawke over and engaged them in other frivolous conversations that left her distracted enough to forget her intended topic.

She gave up, realizing that Alistair was content to ignore Cullen’s existence entirely but resolving to find some way to corner him before the trip was over. She was having this conversation with him, whether he liked it or not.

It was only when they reached Crestwood that she managed to strike up Cullen’s name in an offhanded manner. Alistair finally gave in ungraciously, with an exaggerated eye roll and a defeated groan, slumped onto his bedroll, and allowed her to confess everything that had happened between them.

“It was not intentional, Alistair, for either of us. It just happened. I never even imagined that he would still be able to uh…feel anything for me. And when I found out that he did, I could not help myself…I’m so sorry. I should have talked to you first, or fixed whatever was going on between us before allowing myself to –”

His fists clenched the blankets tightly, and he worked his jaw agitatedly as he listened, resisting the urge to kick his feet childishly in a fit of anger.

“I’ll kill him,” he interrupted suddenly and Solona panicked.

“Take that back! Alistair, you are King and you cannot say things like that!” she cried, throwing a quick glance outside the tent to make sure no one heard him.

“I will,” he insisted, “You have always been mine, Sol. He has no right –”

“He has as much rights as you do over me! He has been nothing but kind, and patient and gentle and he has taken care of me ever since I arrived in Haven! He has taken care of me since before I met you back in the circle!” she lashed out, too tired to mind her temper.

“He would not have had the chance to step in if you did not run off from Amaranthine! I told you to stay put and wait for me!”

“I told you I would not!” she stomped her foot on the ground and crossed her arms, breathing heavily from anger and indignation.

“I could duel him,” Alistair suggested after several minutes passed with him glaring at her, “Winner takes all.”

He did not miss the way Solona bristled adorably and kept his amusement to himself.

He did not know that she was also wondering if Alistair would win as easily as he thought he would. The King was a fine warrior, there was no doubt, but Cullen could more than hold his own against him.

They wielded their sword and shield as an extension of themselves, and left their opponents on the field quaking in terror at the power of their smites. The both of them trained as templars and Alistair admittedly had unparalleled experience against Darkspawn and their emissaries, but Cullen had years of experience against mages and templars alike during the Kirkwall Rebellion, and had opportunity to hone his skills against demons that spewed from the rifts since joining the Inquisition, while Alistair languished in the palace behind scrolls and scribes.

She had even heard Blackwall and the Bull speak favourably of Cullen’s skills.

“No duels,” she said firmly, surpressing a shudder at the thought of Cullen knocking the King over with his shield.

“Well then, I could talk to him,” he offered sinisterly.

“No,” she glared at him suspiciously, “You’ll just threaten or order him to leave me alone, and Cullen – knowing him, he will abide by your rules. I know you don’t like it, Alistair, but I have come to care for him as well. I don’t – I don’t think I can walk away from that.”

Alistair’s heart dropped to his feet. He had suspected, worried, speculated about this…but had refused to allow himself to think too much of it, half hoping that she would change her mind after spending enough time with him.

“You can’t seriously be suggesting what I think you are, Sol,” he warned with a frown.

She swallowed nervously and stammered, “I don’t know- what do you mean?”

“You want me to let you remain with him and have me return to Denerim to Anora. But since you know I will refuse to do so, what do you think will happen? Will you have us both?” he asked with an indignant huff.

Blast and damnation, Morrigan, she thought, recalling the witch’s offhanded remark months ago in Val Royeaux, Orlesians, my arse. Both the Commander and the King are pure-bred Fereldans!

“Would you accept it?” she forced herself to ask boldly.

Alistair’s eyes widened comically, “You’re actually – you’re seriously considering it?”

She snuggled down into her bedroll, turned her back to him and tucked her head under her covers, not knowing what else to say.

She was already feeling stifled in the tent, the muted sounds drifting in from the camp outside and the heady smell of mud and grass made her long for the chill of the night air. In all honesty, having these discussions with Alistair in the tiny space of a tent was not her preferred choice.

She could feel his reproachful gaze on her, but he remained silent and she heard him taking off his armour soon after. Uncertainty hung in the air between them, both too afraid to speak for fear of saying the wrong thing again.

Minutes later, his warmth engulfed her as he slipped into their bedroll, his arms fitting snugly around her effortlessly.

"Will you come home?" he asked, abruptly veering the topic off course, his face buried in the silken strands of hair.

"I am home, Alistair," she said, and she could almost hear his heart sink.

She felt his arms tighten involuntarily around her, and his tone was almost defensive as he asked, "But what about the wardens? What about Amaranthine? You are still Arlessa."

"Varel is keeping order. Howe is still my second-in-command. And I'm here on warden business, technically. Besides, I cannot abandon the Inquisition's cause now."

"You cannot abandon him, you mean."

Solona exhaled in frustration and did not say another word. What else could she say to ease the tension?

She fell asleep soon after that, too tired from their fight and days of travel. Alistair, however, remained awake long after, thinking about her confession and the ugly truth of her feelings for the Commander.

He had known, after their party rescued him from the abominations during the Blight, that Solona had harboured something for the templar.

She had spent the night after they left Kinloch Hold in her tent, crying and refusing to tell him what was wrong, clutching an amulet that she had worn since leaving the tower, and he had begun to suspect that it had belonged to Cullen.

Then they left, and Alistair was able to put it behind him. But he did not miss how she would enquire after Cullen each time they returned to Kinloch Hold to talk to the First Enchanter of Knight Commander Greagoir, lines of worry painting her face when they updated her on Cullen’s recovery.

It was just his luck, that the one time they fought after all these years, Cullen would be the one she met in Haven. What are the odds? he mouthed to the ceiling of the tent.Alistair turned to her and gently tugged on the chain around her neck. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the pendant he gave her glittering at him in the dark, it was a ruby red heart that held a powdered petal from the rose he gave her years ago. At least she did not exchange it in favour of Cullen’s amulet, he thought.

He did not know when he managed to fall asleep, but thankfully it was a dreamless one, and they did not speak of it the next morning, falling into an old, but not forgotten, routine of travelling and camping together.

Extract from Cullen’s journal (in Skyhold)

They have been gone for a week now. I expect they would have arrived in Crestwood already.

I – We are eagerly awaiting word on any news they might have unearthed on the missing wardens.

I miss her dreadfully, but I am relieved that they have left Skyhold so soon after the King’s arrival.

It is difficult enough to stay away from her - although it is my own doing, I suppose.

I shall not have her tear herself apart trying to please both of us. And it would be the greatest disrespect should I flaunt our fledgling relationship in front of the King.

Still, my eyes seek her out whenever I leave the confines of my tower, my physical self is drawn to her whenever she is in the vicinity. It happens without thought or consciousness and perhaps it is safer for both of us that she has left Skyhold altogether.

And if King Alistair had stayed behind, I fear that it would have been unbearably awkward - once the soldiers and scouts realized that Solona still commands his affection.

The rumours that would have spread, Maker…they might even have placed bets on us.

Leliana is remaining blessedly silent on this matter. I suspect that her loyalties lie with the King, as it rightly should.

After all, he was the other Warden who ended the Blight.

He would have been the one to slay the Archdemon had Solona not struck him with a paralysis curse.

He was the one who united the bannorn under his rule.

His determined focus on rebuilding his lands after the Blight saw the kingdom up and running in record time after the Archdemon’s defeat.

He has been nothing but fair and just, kind where it matters, yet ruling with an iron fist.

He has been just what Ferelden needed, and the people love him with open hearts.

Solona may be accorded the title of the Hero of Ferelden, but Alistair was no less instrumental in bringing the Blight to an early end. And his services to the kingdom since then are beyond compare.

Do I step up and challenge the man’s affections for Solona? She had been his for so long, I am only an upstart, sneaking in and snatching her away from under his nose.

I feel like I have been torn in half. A part of me wants to do everything possible to keep her by my side, while the other half…

I have done nothing to deserve a woman like her, while Alistair practically gave his life in service to the rest of Ferelden. I might not have sworn fealty to him, but I am still a Fereldan.

This has been keeping me up every night, plaguing my thoughts whenever I have a moment to myself. Thinking of her used to bring me such comfort…but now when her face appears in my mind, it is accompanied by a scowling King and…and all the joy I might have felt is erased.

Instead, there is this coppery taste in my mouth, and Dorian assures me that it is jealousy. I am more inclined to believe that it is a new side effect of abstaining from lyrium.

Maker, I am not jealous. That is such a petty, childish…

Maybe I am. A little. Or a lot.

But I cannot do this to him. It may be painful to see them together, but as long as he makes her happy, I will accept it as my fate.

It will be the hardest thing I will ever have to do - so close to my deepest desires and yet compelled to give it all up.

But have I not survived Kinloch – and watched her walk into danger, away from me in my darkest hour?

And Kirkwall – outliving a crazed Knight-Commander and blood mages uprising in the Gallows?

I am strong enough for this. Could this be a step towards redemption in the Maker’s eyes?

If the King truly loves her, I will withdraw my --

Cullen was interrupted by a knock on his door. The person did not wait, but immediately entered after. It was Dorian.

“Good evening, Commander,” he greeted.

“Dorian, are you looking for a game? This late?” he asked, subtly closing his journal and sliding it under some papers.

“No, I was not. I am here to check in on you.”

“What for?” Cullen asked, “Did Cassandra –”

“Not the seeker, but our lovely Amell, of course. Before she left...”

Dorian struck a ridiculous pose – one arm angled on his hip, and the other pointed at an imaginary Dorian in front of him, “Do not let him brood,” he mimicked Solona.

Cullen looked on, amused at his antics but wishing that he would leave so that he could return to his…brooding.

Dorian must have caught it in his expression because he squared his broad shoulders and shot him a suspicious glance.

“You were brooding, weren’t you?” he drawled, “Tell me I’m right…I love it when I am. It warms my heart like nothing else does.”

When he failed to receive a response, he sighed theatrically and adopted a patronizing tone, “What did she say to you before she left?”

“Goodbye?”

“Witty, really witty, Commander. Try again.”

He stifled his protestations, knowing that the mage meant well, and decided to humour him. “To eat, to sleep,” he recalled.

Dorian arched an eyebrow at him, “And…?” he waited, tapping his foot impatiently when Cullen remained silent, “Well? Did you?”

Still receiving no reply, he huffed in indignation, although Cullen thought he looked inexplicably pleased with himself, and was wondering why, when the mage clapped his hands twice and bowed, extending his arm to shepherd two servant girls in.

The first one carried a large tray filled with plates of pastries, steaming bowls of heavenly soup, fresh bread and creamy butter, a mountain of berries that made Cullen’s mouth water, and something roasted sitting right in the centre of it all.

The second girl brought in a jug of boiling water and a few bottles of Tevinter Whiskey. They placed in on his desk with a flourish, shoving aside his stacks of paper with little ceremony, and finally took a few steps back and appraised the results of their efforts with barely concealed pride.

Cullen tore his eyes away from the feast on his desk and gaped at Dorian, who was leaning against his door frame looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“I don’t think – I’m certain the Inquisitor does not sanction the use of the help this way, Dorian,” he stammered.

“Don’t worry about it,” he moved to stand in front of Cullen, effectively blocking the girls’ view of the Commander and dismissed them with a wave.

Cullen did not even notice them giggling. All of his attention was on Dorian. The mage noticed his reprimanding look and smiled winningly at him, “They volunteered, the kitchen staff practically fell over themselves in delight when I said this was all for their beloved Commander.”

Cullen squinted at him, not certain if he was telling the truth or adding his usual embellishments to prove a point.

“Trust me,” Dorian insisted, “They wanted to see you well-fed. Well, the cook does, at least. I think the girls just wanted a chance to ogle. Besides, none of us have seen you in the mass hall lately, so you have either been eating cold leftovers, or not eating at all.”

Cullen growled low in his throat, and Dorian laughed in response. Dorian reached over to the wooden box Solona had gifted him, and whipped out a pouch of herbs.

“Also, you look like a druffalo sat on your face and took a dump. Have you even slept at all? It’s your Maker’s mercy that I, your humble servant, am here to ensure you follow your orders to the tee,” Dorian proclaimed, emptying the pouch into a waiting mug, and pouring the boiling water all over it.

They watched as the water sizzled and steamed in a satisfying way, Cullen still unsure of what to say. He did not know if he should be affronted that they thought he was unable to take care of himself, or if he should be touched that he had friends willing to do all these for him.

Looking at his friend smiling at him with such sincerity, Cullen decided on the latter, silently admitting that he had been neglecting his own health in Solona’s absence but not willing to let Dorian know he was right.

“There,” Dorian said happily, “It should be just right once we are done with dinner. This should help you sleep.”

“I – You should not have,” Cullen began to say, “I really am grateful that you went to all this trouble. I don’t know how to thank you…”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice, my dear Commander,” Dorian dragged a chair to the other side of his desk and settled in it, primly arranging his dashing robes around him.

“Well…thank you,” Cullen said hesitantly.

“You really are not used to this, are you? Favours among friends, allowing others to do something nice for you…” Dorian mused, distributing the food onto plates that lay at the side of the tray and pushing one to Cullen.

“No, I – not really, I suppose. It has been a long time since…once I became Knight-Captain in Kirkwall, friends were rare to come by. It was better to…to keep to myself then.”

“Oh, Cullen,” Dorian exclaimed, his smile faltering, “Those days are long gone. Leave the atrocities where they belong and look around you…the Inquisition is a family and you are like the father to all of Skyhold!”

Cullen choked on his bread. He stood up and gave a couple of loud hacking coughs before finding the strength to say, “What?!” he looked at Dorian in shock, barely able to see through his watering eyes.

Dorian chuckled, “Yes, you are. You dote on your men, everyone knows that.”

“I most certainly do not. I am their commanding officer, they fear me.”

“They respect you, surely you must know the difference,” Dorian said, “You flutter about – nagging them, mothering them…”

Cullen’s jaw dropped in horror at his words. Dorian laughed and conceded, “In a manly way, if you must know. Tell me honestly, do you know each and every one of their names? The older recruits, at least.”

Cullen stopped to think. He made it a point to meet each new recruit when they joined the Inquisition, and the amount of time he spent training with them made it difficult to keep yelling “Recruit!” each time he wanted to address an individual.

Besides, he had always been blessed with a good memory. He knew he could reproduce the map of Thedas and each of the Inquisition markers’ position right there and then if the situation called for it. Yes, Cullen thought, it was just a gift.

He told Dorian so, and received a disbelieving snort from the man.

“Just accept it, Commander,” he said, “Who do you think has been leaving cakes and biscuits and scones on your desk in the late afternoons?”

Cullen coughed uncomfortably, “Well, Sera handed a slice to me once…I thought it was a prank, but I ate it and it seemed fine. The other times - I thought maybe the cook distributed tea around Skyhold occasionally.”

Dorian snorted elegantly (if such a feat was even possible), and said, “Hardly. Eveyone is looking out for you, Cullen. I believe that there is some sort of roster in place to ensure that their Commander does not go hungry in the day. Now, with your good memory, tell me truthfully – what did Solona say regarding this whole situation?”

“She said that she wouldn’t…ah, leave me,” he admitted.

“So why are you brooding in the dark recesses of your study in her absence? Are you worried she may change her mind? Don’t you believe her?” Dorian challenged.

“I do…it’s just…” he trailed off, not knowing how to explain his thoughts on Alistair to the other mage. He was from Tevinter. He would not understand the sacrifices the two Grey Wardens made in the Fifth Blight.

“You feel that it is too good to be true? That you are unworthy? That you couldn’t possibly risk angering the King?” Dorian ticked off his imaginary list.

“I – How did you –”

“How did I know? Because I felt the same way about Bull, because Solona confided in me, because it was not difficult to notice you shying away from King Alistair’s glares in the brief period of time he was here…any one of those reasons would do,” Dorian finished.

“Why would you have felt that way about Bull?”

“Because I am a Vint,” he replied simply.

“That hardly matters to the Bull,” Cullen argued, “And you have met Krem, right?”

"And I am a mage," Dorian reminded him - his eyes glinted as he recalled the way the Qun sews the mages' mouths shut.

"Bull isn't like that."

Dorian shrugged, “I could say the same to you. Your past hardly matters to Solona, now. Perhaps, our tendency to self-flagellate has done more damage than we realized. Anyway, don’t change the subject. We can discuss me some other time, it would be my pleasure. But right now, I am under strict orders to remind you not to give up on the woman who is currently traversing halfway across Ferelden with our beloved Inquisitor.”

“She told you to say that?”

“Not really, no, but we are more alike than you think, Commander. I know what you must be thinking – how you couldn’t possibly compare to the King, how he would be able to give her so much more, how you are not whole enough to be with anyone, much less Solona Amell...”

Cullen looked surprised. The other mage had just recited all of his insecurities in one breath, without blinking even once.

“Did I just hit the nail right in the head?” Dorian asked, grinning at him.

“I didn’t know you felt that way before,” Cullen admitted, slightly embarrassed at how little he knew of the person he considered one of his closest friends.

“It was a well-kept secret. You know why the Inquisitor followed me to Redcliffe? The whole fiasco that was my father?” his voice dripped with acid on that word.

Cullen nodded uneasily, “Vaguely, you have mentioned it in passing. I dared not press for further details because…well…”

“Because you were afraid to offend me,” Dorian completed his sentence, “And you were too busy with the Inquisition or too engrossed in dealing with your withdrawals at other times to notice more. It is understandable, Commander, but you need to realize that you are not the only person to feel less than human sometimes.”

“Less than human…” Cullen echoed distantly. With just three words, Dorian had summed up the entirety of what he felt most days. The mage never ceased to surprise him.

“You have already made it clear that you would accept whatever decision she made. And she has made her choice, Cullen. Respect it. Trust it. Do not doubt her,” Dorian said.

“At the cost of another man’s happiness? I have stolen too many lives and dreams from the people around me. I do not want to leave another casualty in my wake.”

“That will be for them to work out. Just trust in your own worth…which does exist, Commander, and let her decide what to do with the King. And for your Maker’s sake, stop brooding!”

“If I step aside…” Cullen thought aloud.

“You will break her heart. I have not seen a woman set her heart on another man as easily as she did. You are a master at chess – so think about this way. You’ve made your move. Now it’s her turn, and she has promised to bring her Queen to your King. In other words, you will allow her this victory. She means to claim you for herself, and by Andraste’s sword, man, do not over think this or become an obstacle in her way!”

Cullen sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He could feel the strands curling in defiance as he disturbed them and hastily patted them back down.

Perhaps Dorian was right. Maybe, for once in his life, he should accept the Maker’s design. After all, if this was not fate – why would Solona have been thrown into his path again and again?

His eye flicked to the drawer by his knee. At times, especially since Solona left with Alistair, the bottle nestled inside the plain brown box sang so loudly, he had to resort to clapping his hands over his ears to drown it out. Not that it helped much.

It had brought him to the brink of madness – the cravings compounded by the sheer helplessness he had felt in the light of Alistair’s arrival. It was only her final farewell that kept him straining on the ends of his leash. 

No lying about your health, promise me? And he had steeled his own resolve - so that he would not give in or do anything that might tempt him to write her lies.

He loved her. He loves her. He will always love her.

There and then, Cullen vowed to leave it to the Maker’s hand and just await her return patiently. Whatever choice she made, he had promised to stand by it and support her, and he will do so.

With that thought, he found that he could breathe easier and a fog lifted from his mind. Trust in the Maker, trust in Solona…these he could do - he was good at this.

He leaned back in his chair, cradling a bowl of berries in his lap, refocusing his attention on Dorian.

“Sometimes, it still feels like a dream – that something this precious could never have happened to me in this lifetime. I still can’t understand how she came to look at me this way,” he sighed again, a relieved one this time.

Dorian scoffed loudly, “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re bloody gorgeous, that’s why.”

Cullen shook his head and ignored the comment. He studied the mage carefully, trying to gauge whether it would be inappropriate to ask…but he decided to throw caution to the wind and plunge headfirst into this new friendship that had crept up on him unawares since the mage showed up at Haven.

“Would you…tell me about your father…about Bull?” he asked tentatively.

Dorian’s face lit up in surprise, “Of course. I thought…that maybe you would not be interested,” he said.

“I am. I just – I’ve been distracted. But you’re my friend,” he ventured, reddening slightly, but managing to give him a small smile, “and friends know things about each other. I want to know…all of it, if you would be willing to share.”

Dorian flashed him a grin, and Cullen found his lips curving in return on their own accord.

The mage and ex-templar spent hours talking in his study. It was not until Cullen finished the rapidly cooling tea and nearly fell off his chair as he started to doze off that Dorian stopped mid-story, laughed and helped him to his feet.

He ushered Cullen to his ladder, and deposited the empty tray outside his door before making his way to his own bed, holding a ball of magelight in his hand to guide his way.

As the Commander’s door swung to a close behind him, the last candle flickered out with a soft puff.

Extract from Alistair’s journal (written in some unknown campsite in the middle of Orlais)

I am ashamed to find that Crestwood has languished in this state for so long under my rule.

Even before the Fade Rift made its appearance, the region was already ravaged by the Blight with minimal repair works carried out since then. I need to do something about this…it cannot be the only area left abandoned by the Crown in the whole of Ferelden. I need to take this up with Eamon and Anora in my next report. I will not have my people living in such conditions.

And what the mayor did…herding the sick and blighted into the caves and flooding them…I cannot even...

I knew that Solona, although disgusted by his actions, agreed with the necessity, even if she did not speak it aloud. It made me sad. She has always been the one to make the most difficult decisions, even if they were less than merciful sometimes…and in the process, she is no longer the bright-eyed, innocent, sheltered mageling fresh out of the Circle.

But I cannot judge her for it, and maybe I love her even more because of it. Without her, without those difficult choices during the Blight – we might not even be alive.

We met Warden Stroud in his hideout, which seemed like it was hidden in the middle of the blasted lake and it was madness to traverse through. After several washes, I still feel like my skin has some foggy, rotten dampness clinging to it.

Stroud is a level headed man, seasoned and qualified – which was a surprise, given that he is an Orlesian.

I’m sick of the fog. I’m sick of the damp. I’m sick of Solona trying to talk to me about Commander Cullen. What does she expect me to say? Go to him? Leave him? I can’t bring myself to utter the first sentence, nor do I have the heart to deny her something that finally…can be truly hers - and hers alone.

It is not in my power to offer her my fidelity, as much as I want to.

Still, I’m sick of hearing that man’s name everywhere I go.                    

Orders from the Commander…Commander Cullen says…Reports to the Commander… Requisitions signed by the Commander…

Maker’s balls!

We are riding west at breakneck speed to meet Stroud and Hawke at the Western Approach. The missing Wardens are gathering there, and Solona is very, very unsettled to hear of this. The Orlesian Warden-Commander has not replied to any of her missives. We do not know if she is alive or if the wardens in Orlais have all gone rogue.

Whatever has happened – we are worried beyond belief and dread to imagine the possibilities. This does not bode well for the wardens. The Inquisitor looks upset.

Solona is too quiet – she worries for the wardens stationed in Amaranthine, and she has been inquiring about their well-being and responses to the False Calling in each letter to Nathaniel.

Even I fear that our brothers will take up arms and journey to join the Orlesian Wardens, or head to Orzammar once the Calling overwhelms them.

I have to write to Anora to inform her of my whereabouts and I am not looking forward to her reply. Stepping into Orlesian territory is perilous, and we are all taking extra precautions to keep my presence secret.

The only blessing from this mad journey is the deathly fatigue that greets us as we make camp and Solona’s silence which means I do not have to hear another word about Commander Cullen.

As long as it is not another Archdemon that awaits us at the other end of Orlais…I can deal with this. Andraste and Gods above, just let us walk out of this alive.

I cannot bear to lose her after we have come this far.

Leliana hummed as she walked up the steps to her rookery, looking forward to ending her day by reading the titillating pieces of news and scandal that arrived amidst the cawing of her beloved ravens.

She swung herself up the last of the steps with a joyous bounce when the Lady Ambassador’s golden sleeves flickered into view.

Josephine was leaning against her desk, her fingers thrumming the wood impatiently and her full lips were pursed in annoyance.

Leliana thought it took her long enough.

“Josie! What a delightful surprise!” she smiled winningly.

“Do not Josie me, Leliana. Explain yourself,” she ordered through gritted teeth. Leliana thought she may be able to see smoke rising from her ears if she squinted hard enough.

The Spymaster repressed a tell-tale sigh, and fingered her sleeves thoughtfully, keeping her tone light and airy, “You know, Josie, Cassandra and Varric just resolved their differences. We should make more of an effort to get along - we wouldn’t want the rank and file to suffer from low morale due to our in-fighting again, would we?”

Josephine paused her thrumming and brought her quill to her board, temporarily distracted, as if preparing to take notes again, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. How did Varric make her forget it? I have never seen the Seeker so livid after the Champion showed up. But last night, I saw her speaking to Varric at dinner without a single grunt of disgust!”

Leliana’s eyes twinkled in amusement, “Ah, a long story…if you have time…”

“No,” Josephine slammed her quill on the desk suddenly, “Do not try to distract me. How could you, Leliana? The King of Ferelden arrives and there was no one to greet him at the gates or announce his arrival properly. I had no time, no prior warning…I had nothing prepared!”

The Ambassador’s voice was escalating to near hysterics and Leliana sobered up, knowing how seriously she took her job and how Alistair arriving to the absence of pomp and ceremony was as good as a catastrophe to her.

“Hush, Josie. The guards on duty did a marvellous job announcing his arrival, I am certain he did not mind the lack of fanfare. I know Alistair well,” she said.

“You know Alistair well. You are on first name basis with him. I am not! If word gets out that I allowed the King to arrive in the middle of the night without a feast to welcome him, or that I allowed the King to sleep in the guest quarters, I may as well quit!”

“Oh Josie, I am sorry, I truly am. But I could not allow you to make the preparations without tipping Solona Amell off. She would know at once that you are preparing for a royal arrival and she is not ignorant enough to believe that Empress Celene would be the one paying us a visit.”

“I – I know that. But at least proper accommodations could have been made…or a proper Ferelden supper…anything would have been better than stew with bread and cheese!” Josephine lamented as she recalled the unfortunate events of that fateful day.

“I can, with good authority, assure you that it was the best meal he had since leaving the palace. You cannot go wrong with cheese when it comes to Alistair, and you had the foresight, my dear, to stock the best Orlesian and Ferelden cheeses in Skyhold,” Leliana patted her gently on her arm.

“I am just…never going to think about that day again,” she cried, hiding her face in her hands.

“That would be the wisest decision. Just focus on throwing the most lavish and grandiose ceremony to welcome him back from the mission and no one will remember that he was in Skyhold before,” Leliana lied.

“Wishful thinking, Leliana,” Josephine sighed, flicking her quill to fluff up the squished feathers in resignation.

“Now tell me, before I lose my mind worrying over this - What happened with the Warden-Commander after King Alistair arrived? Cullen is still breathing and stomping around Skyhold unscathed…so it must have gone over rather well. And how did Varric convince Cassandra to put the Hawke fiasco behind them?!”

Leliana smiled conspiratorially- one that used to frighten Alistair when they traveled together - and invited Josie to sit before filling her in on the latest, juiciest bits of gossip she managed to glean from Cullen's soldiers.

Chapter Text

(On the Spymaster’s desk, sides are slightly wrinkled as if gripped too tightly in excitement)

Leliana,

I cannot believe you hid Alistair’s visit from me and stole his letters.

As retribution, you will not know what happened between us since then, or what we have been talking about, so stop asking.

You are only allowed to report back to the other advisors that we are both still alive, and have not murdered each other yet.

And you are not allowed to read my letter to Cullen. Leave it alone.

P.S: Otherwise, on hindsight, it was fortunate that you kept me in the dark, for I would not have stayed.

P.P.S: That should tell you more than you actually deserve to know.

P.P.P.S: I am still really, really angry with you.

Solona Amell.

(Handed to the Commander, seal already broken)

Dearest Cullen,

I will not write much here, lest a pair of unwelcome eyes seek to amuse their owner by reading my letters to you.

Just know that I am safe, and I think of you often.

We will speak more when I return.

Solona Amell

(With Scout Harding’s personal effects – on the way back to Skyhold)

Dearest Cullen,

I am sending this via Scout Harding with strict instructions to pass it to you personally, so it will reach you late, but hopefully before my return.

Remember to smile at her more as a thank you from me!

I am hoping that this will manage to escape the Spymaster’s attention.

We are now on the way back from the Western Approach. It’s bad news. Worse than anything I could ever have imagined.

I’m sure Leliana would have filled you and Josie in on what we discovered, and you would have known everything by the time you read this, so it might all sound redundant but it’s all I’ve been able to think of since we stumbled on Erimond (another Venatori magister) and Warden-Commander Clarel using blood magic (blood magic, for Maker’s sake!) to raise a demon army.

I'm sorry...I did not intend to let these negative thoughts sneak into my letter to you...

It was horrifying – even surreal, at times. To think that we went through all that we did to defeat the Blight, and now our own Order is trying to bring on some form of demon blighted army into the world.

Is this how you felt when you left the Templars, Cullen? I ask, because I just realized that I have never given the reasons for your departure much thought before this.

In other news, I am healthy and uninjured, apart from some minor scrapes and bruises from the unforgiving sandy crags (even the rocks are covered in sand!) and maybe one or two gashes from a stubborn, brainwashed warden that I had the misfortune of battling.

The healer said they might scar – one on my shoulder and the other on my left side, right above my waist, and I was a little upset about that, since I already have so many...and scars do not make me more attractive the way they seem to do for you.

But it is a stupid thing to worry about, and you are surely thinking the same right now.

Anyway, Alistair said that my fears are unfounded, but he is also a male and wouldn’t understand…

Never mind. It’s such a silly thing to fret over.

Moving on, I have spoken to Alistair at length about our relationship and also briefly about us (you and I) - that did not go too well, but he has not actually lost his temper or blown anything up. This was before Erimond and his blood magic - so I fear that any progress we have made on that front came to a screeching halt after this discovery.

We have not spoken of anything else but how to deal with this since we left the Western Approach. Everyone is far too disturbed to contemplate anything else.

I hope that I am not worrying you by telling you this, but I am more confused than ever. Please do not take this the wrong way, I know how you like to imagine the worst. My feelings for you have not changed. And I hope Dorian has been there to remind you of this.

I am coming back to you, one way or the other, perhaps not as whole and unblemished as I would like to be…but do not doubt my feelings for you, my dear Commander.

Have you been taking care of yourself? Are there any further symptoms? Have you been monitoring your temperature? Walking around with such a high fever is not good for you, Cullen.

Missing you and your ever calming presence,

Solona Amell

P.S: I love you.

(Laid out on the War Table with a stone owl figurine resting on one corner)

Advisors,

Report on the wardens’ activity enclosed. Please prepare a dossier on this Lord Erimond, Spymaster.

They have retreated to Adamant.

I fear that we may need launch a takeover to stop them once and for all. Request that the Commander begin preparations for this.

On a lighter note, we have secured the Griffon Wing Keep. It is a sturdy base for the Inquisition in this blasted desert, but it is not without its own problems. I have done all I can to assist but the remainder of the tasks will have to be left to Cullen’s men and Leliana’s scouts.

We will begin the journey home at first light.

Trevelyan

(Kept in Solona’s pocket, received at the outpost in Val Royeaux)

Warden-Commander Amell,

I only need to know that you are safe. Nothing else matters.

And you are still as beautiful as ever, I am certain of it.

Awaiting your return,

Commander Cullen.

(Overheard near the Herald’s Rest)

Scout Harding: Varric, do you have any idea why the Commander has been smiling at me each time we meet?

Varric: Not at all, Harding. Why do you ask? Afraid that Curly has designs on you?

Scout Harding: Pfft. Just tell him to cut it out, will you? It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

The Inquisitor’s return from the Western Approach was met with relief. It washed over the whole of Skyhold like the morning after a thunderstorm. It never occurred to Solona how worried everyone was at the news of their Herald riding off to confront an army of warriors gone rogue.

The tales of Grey Wardens and their legendary exploits had been making their way around the camps, and the stories of their bravery had reached epic heights from each retelling, as if being responsible for ending Blight after Blight was not enough.

Such was their reputation that many of the Skyhold inhabitants had serious misgivings as the Inquisitor went after the fearsome Order.

The relief was evident in Varric’s jokes and stories that became more and more exuberant after Hawke returned with the travelling party.

In Josephine’s rush to welcome Lady Trevelyan and to command her attention to deal with a couple of particularly demanding nobles who refused to leave without meeting the Herald in person.

In Dorian’s wide and earnest smile as he helped the Iron Bull unsaddle his horse, and in the faces of Bull’s Chargers as they broke open new barrels of ale in celebration of his homecoming.

It was evident as Leliana monopolized Stroud’s attention in her rookery, interrogating him on all he knew of the Wardens’ disappearance, finally able to send out missives containing reliable updates to her scouts across the lands as a result.

It was also evident in the Commander’s posture as Solona alighted from her horse in front of him – his mood brighter and happier, even though it was slightly tinged with apprehension at the sight of the King coming to a stop right behind her.

Now, they were clustered in the War Room – Solona and Alistair also in attendance to discuss their next approach on laying siege to the legendary Adamant fortress.

At least, that was the plan when the Inquisitor convened the council. Until Alistair’s tightly leashed fury unravelled itself mid-way through the meeting.

He had reached a breaking point after an hour of watching Solona and the Commander skirt around him, avoiding each other’s gaze, and all around making him feel more uncomfortable than he already was.

He had thought that whatever remained between them might have improved – weeks of sleeping next to her, limited to touches and cuddles that he had craved for once upon a time soon led to a desire for so much more – but Solona had been steadfastly stubborn and refused to allow anything more than chaste kisses on the cheek.

Bashing in the Commander’s face with his severely underused, gleaming shield would be the perfect end to this blasted journey.

Alistair removed one of his gauntlets and threw it down onto the war table, scattering the little pieces of markers around.

"I propose a challenge...a duel, if you will," the King declared, glaring at the Commander who stood on the opposite side of the war table.

The women in the room gasped in tandem. Solona recovered her wits and hurriedly grabbed the thrown gauntlet off the table and clasped it to her chest, her head swivelling rapidly between the two men.

"He withdraws the challenge!" she exclaimed, eyes wide as she glanced at Alistair.

The King smirked at her. Insufferable git, she thought.

The Inquisitor rearranged her features to remain passive, watching them carefully. Leliana laughed softly to herself, too familiar with Alistair to worry. Josephine was enraptured - watching the scene before her with barely concealed excitement.

If Cassandra had been there…well, Solona actually wasn’t sure if she would have scolded the King into submission, or if she would have joined Josephine in fawning over the gallantry of it all.

Cullen merely sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in resignation.

"Is it a headache, Cullen?" Solona paused her glaring to ask him, concerned.

"No," he exhaled loudly, turning his gaze to Lady Trevelyan, "Will that be all, Inquisitor?"

At Trevelyan's nod, despite not having achieved what they had set out to do, he withdrew from the table and sauntered to the door. There was really no other word for it, Solona thought. Then, he turned back and tilted his head slightly as he pinned an indecipherable look at the King.

Solona held her breath.

"I accept, Your Majesty," he said calmly.

Her breath whooshed out of her and she gawked at him, "No, no. You will not."

Alistair's jaw tightened and he strode to her, gently reclaiming his gauntlet and putting it back on, but completely ignoring the indignant mage.

"No! Listen to me! You mustn't!"

She ran around the table to stand in front of Cullen, partly to block the door and partly to separate the two men.

When Alistair showed no sign of stopping and neatly side-stepped her, she threw an arm out to physically restrain him (or try to, at least, given how much taller and larger he was compared to her). Not for the first time in her life, Solona Amell cursed her short stature.

"Your Warden-Commander forbids it! Lady Trevelyan, please!" she resorted to beseeching the Inquisitor in her desperation.

The inquisitor smothered an amused grin and addressed the Commander of her Inquisition, "I strongly suggest an alternate option, Commander. This is not a wise thing to do...so openly."

Alistair threw an unimpressed look to the Herald, "Really?" He asked incredulously.

Cullen, however, nodded obediently and said, "I defer to your judgement, Inquisitor," he turned to Alistair and bowed deeply, “By your leave, Your Majesty.”

Without waiting for a reply, he spun on his heels and swung open the heavy doors.

Solona slumped in relief and watched as the Commander left the room, his long strides swallowing the length of the corridor effortlessly.

First crisis averted. Maker preserve us.

 "What were you thinking?" Solona rounded on Alistair the moment they stepped into her room. 

A quick glance around showed her that he had ordered for his belongings to be delivered here and had taken the liberty to unpack and slot his personal items among hers. Seems like he was holding firm to his principles of not sleeping apart, after all.

She grimaced and shoved that argument aside for now.

Alistair stood imposingly in front of her, his hands behind his back and gazing down at her with one raised eyebrow. It was confusing and kept throwing her off - the way he morphed from being angry to looking amused. He did not deign to reply this time, settling for a little satisfied smirk that only served to enrage her further.

"It was foolish!" she pressed on, "Foolish and not fitting for a man of your station!"

He just shrugged.

"Alistair, I am being really really serious about this. I will not have you antagonizing Cullen each time the both of you are in the same vicinity. He has done nothing to deserve this from you, and has treated you with nothing but respect!"

He rolled his eyes.

This elicited a strangled scream from her and she stomped her foot angrily in an effort to release her anger in some way that wouldn't hurt him physically.

"You - listen to me," she seethed, "Cullen means everything to me, and I will not let you torture him this way. You will be civil to him, or I will leave Skyhold and you will never be able to find me. Do you understand?"

This time, his confidence cracked and the smile dropped off. His heartache was written plainly on his face. Solona immediately felt guilty - never before had she intentionally said such cruel things to him.

"Fine," Alistair said in a clipped voice.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to lash out at you," she began, rubbing her eyes sorrowfully, "I just - can't you understand? What you are doing - to him, to yourself - it hurts me. I love him, Alistair, and you refuse to listen to me whenever I try to speak to you on this."

"Because I don't like what you have to say. I refuse to back down on this, Solona, can't you understand that? I know you care for him," and he said this with a flinch, "but what about me? I told you before that I will not leave you, and I meant it."

"What would you have me do? I made my choice, and I'm not changing my mind," she said sadly, "We both have lives of our own, and maybe that path no longer intersects for us."

"As long as you care for me, I will carve out my own path. I told you - no one is going to dictate how I live my life for me. And until you come up with another solution, do not speak to me of him," Alistair said, his words were harsh but his pleading tone belied the way he truly felt.

"Are you asking me to be unfaithful?" she asked.

"It is what I have done for you all these years despite my marriage," he retorted.

"What Cullen and I have - " Solona started to say, but was cut off by her King in a rush.

"Cannot mean more than what I am to you!" he forced out, pain and fear forcing his tone down to a whisper.

"No, I didn't mean that, you were - you are still...please don't think that I don't love you at all," she was quick to assure him, yet unwilling to give him any false hopes concerning their future.

Solona laid a hand on his arm instead, trying to comfort and placate him, not knowing what else to say in the face of his persistence.

Alistair's brow furrowed, and he squeezed the hand on his arm before saying, "You chose him. I know that. Because I'm wedded to another. Because I cannot give you what you need. But I...my heart belongs to you, Solona, it always has. Please don't cast me aside...I don't want to live this way."

She almost broke apart at that, and opened her mouth to say something - that she had made that choice for him at the Landsmeet and deserved to be blamed for it, that it was not her plan for him to feel punished for it, that she really did care for him, that she wanted him as badly as he seemed to want her, but for both their sakes and sanity, she was doing what she thought would be best, and wouldn't he at least try to understand that? -  but Alistair interrupted her again.

"Let's not talk about this, until...later, if we even survive this upcoming battle," he said, turning his face away from her, his expression so tightly controlled that Solona was afraid he would crack if she prodded any further.

"I still...care for you. A lot," she said softly, putting aside Cullen for the time being.

"You still love me," he said, sounding half hopeful. She bit her lip and refused to meet him in the eye. She couldn't very well lie to him so blatantly, neither could she afford to admit it so openly and destroy all she was trying to do. From the soft grin that appeared on his endearing face, she knew he understood her too well.

"You're not going to Adamant, Alistair," she said instead.

"We'll see about that," was all he would say in reply, wrapping his hand around her arm and gently ushering her to the dining hall, where Sera's tavern song and Varric's new book were the main focus of everyone's conversations and the sullen thoughts were pushed from their minds amid the raucous laughter.

Although Solona did notice that Cullen failed to appear for dinner.

Extract from Solona’s journal

That council was not a productive meeting.

What would the nobles have thought?

What would the soldiers have thought?

Maker, Alistair, a duel... - what was he thinking?

Varric’s eyes have been following me closely each time I venture out. The dwarf knows something. Dorian smirks each time our eyes meet, and I just know that he is dying to make some sort of witty remark, and the Bull has been dropping obscene suggestions loudly from his seat in the tavern.

I’m avoiding all of them. Well, I owe Dorian a lot and will make it a point to suffer in silence should he wish to subject me to relentless teasing.

 I could not even get a minute alone with Cullen since our return. 

If it isn’t Alistair - doggedly following me around, only disappearing each time I so much as mention Cullen’s name, or when I dare to ask of his plans to return to Denerim, or the fact that Anora would be pretty brassed off if he postpones his return any longer - then it has been a stream of captains and generals passing in and out of Cullen's office, holding maddeningly long discussions, and taking up all of his time.

Seriously, if Alistair doesn’t come to his senses sooner or later and agree to listen to me, I will tie him up and force him to! Consequences be damned.

I know that Cullen will continue staying away from me, and he has been stubbornly doing so – I only see him at mealtimes, and even so that has been very sporadic (I think he has not been eating properly) – until we sort this whole affair out. And I miss him so much that it physically aches. I am tired, and all I want to do is settle it all and just enjoy being with him after each exhausting day.

I had a page send up some food for Cullen after he failed to show to dinner following Alistair's duel challenge, and I know that Dorian drops in on him from time to time, which brings me a little relief, at least.

We only managed to steal a couple of minutes the day after the disastrous War Council. All that happened then was Cullen going “let me see” immediately after the door closed behind us.

And my robes were being tugged off, and my tunic rolled up and his gentle yet calloused fingers were tracing the new pinkish skin that had grown over the wound on my waist.

Cullen’s frown deepened when he saw the one on my shoulder. I had neglected to tell him that it was a particularly long one, extending over and behind to my back. A curved sabre had done that – something I have rarely seen among Wardens.

He did not seem too pleased, his lovely mouth drawn in a tight hard line and frowning down at me. Thankfully, he kept his thoughts to himself and spared me his lecture.

He surprised me when he placed a hand on the back of my head and slowly drew me to his chest, as gentle as can be, and just held me there - cheek against his breastplate.

It was such a tender gesture, and it had been so long since I felt such love that I nearly teared. He was breathing quietly, and when I peeked up at him, he had his eyes closed, worry lining his forehead. 

I must have worried him more than I realized, my sweet, darling Commander...

Then, Alistair had stormed in – acerbically polite, looking at me so pointedly that I knew he was doing it on purpose to show that he had listened and acquiesced to my request, but the situation still felt so tensed that I excused us as quickly as humanly possible to spare Cullen from any further discomfort.

From then on, we have been completely drowned in work – Alistair roped into training the newer recruits and receiving nobles from the nearby bannorns wishing to pay homage to their liege, I had to oversee the mages’ practice sessions and Cullen was practically planning the whole battle from beginning to end from his command centre.

There hasn't been time to make plans to corner Alistair and force him to see things from my point of view.

I love Alistair, I really do. But I have accepted that our time has come, and I thought he knew this. Why is he making it so much harder to do what we both know must be done?

Why is he being so stubborn?

He must have picked up some rogue talents, because each time he decided to disappear on me, he has been impossible to find, only appearing after I have fallen asleep and slipping into bed beside me.

I’m afraid that my own willpower to see this through will diminish with each day I spend with him. It brings back too many memories, too many old comforts, too much familiarity…

Andraste, grant me wisdom and strength. Show me what to do.

Extract from Cullen’s journal

We prepare to march on Adamant. It is with a heavy heart that I draw out the plans and assign troops. How many soldiers will fail to make it back? How many men will give their lives for this?

They are ready. Eager and enthusiastic, even. After months of brutal training, they have all volunteered for the chance to go to war, to finally apply their skills.

The King himself is adamant that he will be on the front line and is defiantly unheeding of my advice to stay out of harm’s way in Skyhold – no pun intended, truly.

The Inquisitor has tried her hardest to change his mind, but I can tell that the man is not willing to let Solona charge into battle without him at her side so soon after their reunion, nor is he the type to sit in safety while those around him fight for the Inquisition.

For that, I can relate to very well. It is a relief for me to be able to finally rally the troops in person on the battlefield, and be there physically to protect the men under me, and the Inquisitor, and Solona.

Having said all that, I would not be surprised if the Queen herself shows up one of these days to drag King Alistair back to Denerim. No one in the council is supportive of his desire to join us in this siege.

The Ambassador has threatened me bodily to keep my best guards around him at all times. I do not know why Varric insists on calling her Ruffles. Lady Montilyet is deadly.

It has not been pleasant – the meetings with the council with the King and Solona present. If he was a mage, I would probably be a pile of ash by now. Solona tries her best to shield me from the King’s glares but he is much taller than she is, so I bear with it as well as I can. Mercifully, he has not made any further snide remarks, for I would not know how to respond without offending him.

We have continued to keep our distance since she returned – 8 days and 14 hours since, on my last count.

When I first saw her, it took all my willpower to refrain from manhandling her to check on her injuries.

Her letter had been worrying, and her flippant attitude scared me half to death. I know her well enough to know that the more she tried to play off her injuries, the more severe they were.

Thankfully, the healer was right, her wounds did scar…but they seem to be the kind that would fade over time.

And I was right, she is still as beautiful as ever.

But there has been no time for romantic dalliances - not with this battle to prepare for and the logistics of moving an army and whatever siege weapons that the Inquisition can spare across the country.

We barely have time to see each other, as it is. Sneaking in rushed conversations, and occasionally a meal or two together is all that we can afford.

In a way, I am thankful for it, since the understanding between us that we will allow nothing to happen until Solona resolved her issues with Alistair has been easier to uphold with all the ever piling reports and…

And the need for the sweet release of lyrium is sharper and harder to ignore as I test the limits of my endurance.

I miss her desperately. After months of having had the pleasure her company, I am left feeling like a starved man.

It has been a very trying week. And the possibility that we might all die in the siege has haunted my every waking thought.

Death feels as if it is creeping closer…hungrier and greedier than ever. It has not been easy to shake this feeling off. I agonize over it…that one of those I have come to care for – Maker forbid that it would be Solona, or the Herald, or Cassandra, or even Bull, Dorian…Maker, no.

I want us all to come out of this alive. Every. Single. One.

I must give my best in this war, I will offer nothing less. And I will do it without lyrium.

The losses will be heavy, but I will ensure that the Inquisition prevails. This is my duty.

They have to survive.

Even if it means giving up my own life.

The Inquisition army will give our all – for the cause, for the Herald, for the Inquisition.

A fortnight later (too soon, Cullen thought), once Josephine received the Orlesian Empress’ acknowledgement of troop movement across her lands, Cullen - with the warriors and cavalry that would make up the bulk of the Inquisition’s offensive force, began their long march to the Western Approach.

They were leaving a full month ahead of the Inquisitor and her smaller contingent of troops. Mages and rogues could be mobilized much quicker, and Cullen still had to make a detour to the nearby nobility who was offering their siege equipment for the Inquisition’s cause to collect the ballistas and trebuchets in exchange for favours.

It had taken all the willpower left in his spirit to leave Solona with a simple goodbye and chaste kiss.

Nevertheless, he found the journey to be a refreshing change from the daily humdrum of holding the commanding post in Skyhold. The scheduled mealtimes made it difficult for him to skip dinner and the fresh air and exhaustion after a day’s worth of travel made it easy for him to drift off to sleep at night.

That was until they came to the edge of the parched dessert. Tempers all around were running short by the time the Cullen and his army arrived at Griffon Wing Keep. The sweltering heat from the overhead sun had them all melting under their heavy plate armor, and more than a few soldiers succumbed to temptation and removed it altogether. Cullen kept his own on, doing away with his ever present fur mantle although it felt like that made no difference.

He felt like a puddle of goo, barely hanging on to his warhorse's reins as they rode into the Keep.

There, they would wait for the rest of the army to join them. Cullen kept himself busy – inspecting the new fortifications, ordering repairs he deemed necessary to be made, assessing the new recruits, making reconnaissance trips to Adamant Fortress, amending his battle plans after personally scrutinizing the fortress’ defenses, bolstering morale, and feeling immensely satisfied at the end of each day with what he was able to accomplish on the field.

They were to set out immediately once the others arrive and the Commander had plenty to do to ensure that everything would be ready in time.

It was another full month that passed before the Inquisition’s army took up their positions beneath the towering ruins of Adamant fortress. By the time they had assembled and readied their weapons, it was approaching nightfall, and the stars were twinkling prettily in the sky.

All around Solona, the soldiers stood at attention – surveying the impenetrable fortress before them in apprehension.

The atmosphere was eerily hushed, the artificial calm before a battle.

Solona concentrated on breathing as Cullen readied his men to fire - battering rams began to move, creaking and groaning and finally thudding dully against the heavy doors, carried on the shoulders of mere mortals – volunteers who risked their lives for the Inquisition’s cause.

Trebuchets released, volley after volley soaring across the distance to strike at the crumbling stones of the old fortress.

The mages raised their staffs as one. Barriers up, keep the barriers up, she recited as she cast her spells again and again.

Keep as many alive and uninjured as possible! Cullen had ordered the mages minutes ago. As the arrows started flying down from the battlements, he had given up his position next to the Inquisitor at the head of the army, and rushed to the rams, heaving up his shield to protect his soldiers from the onslaught.

Solona swallowed her worry at the sight, and raised barrier after barrier, drawing from the deepest recesses of her mana pool so that Cullen would always be shielded, to ensure that they may break through, to ensure that the wardens in there may be saved. Her bottles of lyrium clinked at her side with each move she made.

Alistair was shuffling impatiently beside her, working his jaw agitatedly and fists clenched tightly. He was not used to holding back during battle - just waiting and being able to do nothing. But he would be of no use to the soldiers if he was taken out before they broke through. Solona angled herself so that she was blocking him slightly from the front, just in case.

With a final thud and a slow, agonizing creak as the iron rungs bent into themselves, the heavy gates gave way to the cheers of the soldiers. The inquisitor cleared the rubble blocking the doorway with a well-aimed fireball that had the wardens stationed above the portcullis tumbling to their deaths, and the soldiers stormed into the hold.

Cullen signalled for the troops to begin scaling the walls and ran forward to counsel the Inquisitor. Solona and Alistair followed behind, her staff already firing off immobilizing spells at the incoming horde of wardens, his sword and shield already held at the ready.

The Inquisitor quickly agreed to clear the battlements and gestured to Solona to take care of the right wing. Cullen was to stay behind to command the assault on the main hold. Before he could move away, Solona caught him by the arm.

“Cullen, wait!” she called.

He looked at her, brows furrowed, his mind already strategizing their next move, “Solona, what-?”

She leaned into him and reached up to pulled his head down to hers, meeting him with a sweet, sorrowful kiss, drinking in the feel, the smell, the taste and cupping his lower lip with hers, sighing against him as she felt him respond to her, then let him go reluctantly.

“Stay alive,” she ordered, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as she forced herself to release him.

“You too,” he said, fear and worry spilling out from his beautiful eyes. He swiftly planted a kiss on her forehead before disappearing back among his troops.

She watched him for a while - easily a head and shoulders above the other men, striking in his red coat and lion helmet that screamed Commander . A target for the enemy. A magnet to the demons pouring out of the fortress. 

Her mind raced as she thought not enough time, we did not have enough time together, and bit her lip in worry as she forced herself to turn back to the waiting King by her side.

Alistair’s features had morphed into silent fury– she could tell by the way he twisted the pommel of his sword and the throbbing vein in his temple, and the way he gnashed his teeth when she caught his gaze. He had largely ignored her exchange with Cullen, and was surveying the destruction before him in disdain. Anger radiated off him in waves, his blue and silver armour glinting menacingly under the torch fires. Like Cullen - his height and blond hair, the greatsword in his hand and the regal aura surrounding him were a beacon to the enemy, and troves of wardens were forcing their way towards them.

She moved to him, and Alistair appraised her carefully, before nodding at her once and assumed his battle-ready stance.

To battle, he was saying, finally...with me by your side, and Solona could read him as easily as before, falling into tandem with him as if they had never been apart.

As they fought their way to the right wing of the fortress – frost and flames erupting from her staff, and his shield bashing the opposing Wardens off the battlements, all Solona could hear was her heart pounding a rhythm in her chest –not enough time with Cullen, not enough time with Alistair, not enough time to love, not enough time to live.

She willed her heart to be still.

She must survive this.

Chapter Text

Extract from Solona’s journal

My eyes are about to fall out. My face seems like it is all cotton and wool and totally numb. I think I have not stopped crying since we left Adamant.

Cullen made it.

He was a force on the field – all precision and fierce and glorious and leonine in his cloak and helmet. Strong, protective, proud. A shepherd watching over his flock.

Even now, he has been my rock – showing up during meal times with trays of food that I have had no appetite for, sending over pots of tea that I could barely swallow, and threatening to drug me with a sleeping potion when I refused to sleep.

Not once did he bring up the uncertainty that is our future. He must have known that I was in no frame of mind to think about all that.

When all this is over, when I regain my sanity, I need to make it up to him. The poor man must be imagining the worst possibilities in that wonderful brain of his. I only hope Dorian has been bothering him enough to keep his mind off it.

But Alistair…my darling Alistair…

Inquisitor Trevelyan, Maker bless her, wrote personally to inform Queen Anora of what transpired at that blasted old fortress.

I should have done it…but I could not, I still cannot bring myself to…

It is so different – the pain you feel when you write to families of fallen wardens where it hurts yet it is bearable and you know that you can live through it. There is regret, and sorrow, but it is nothing compared to this.

Losing the one you love intimately and personally and so absolutely...

It is difficult to breathe, sometimes.

Especially when my mind replays images of Alistair. Every time I close my eyes to rest, to sleep, or every time there is a free moment and my brain begins to idle - the memories of him are still as vivid and real as ever – healthy and whole, tall and strong, cheerful and witty…always smiling.

I can still picture him as if he stands right in front of me - tentative and young, shadows flickering over his face by the campfire, his beautiful brown eyes glittering in the dark, making him look so much older than his twenty years.

Sometimes I remember him smiling at me, shy and bashful, holding the most beautiful rose I have ever seen, looking at me with those same warm eyes that sends shivers down my spine.

Or a sad, pensive smile, telling me that we shouldn't be together, that I could never be what the King needed…yet bowing to my will again - of course, Solona, I am King, no one should tell me what to do…

A bittersweet smile from across the Chantry, his arms stiff at his side, shining golden in his glorious armour. His new wife, the Queen of Ferelden next to him…as I force my nails deeper into my skin. Any pain would be better than the one that was clawing at my heart.

A sardonic smile years later, telling me that they have been trying, but Anora just couldn’t conceive…wasn’t it ironic? That the woman he made Queen, the woman he wedded, could not offer him what the King needed either, and maybe we should give it a go instead. Miracles have happened, after all. And I laughed and said, isn't that what we have been doing all along, Alistair?  We certainly did not consider using any form of protection. It was about that time that I realized he had slowly begun to change - his wit and cheeky humour solidifying into sharp sarcasm. 

A soft smile, pleading and careful, telling me to go to Amaranthine. To be the Arlessa they needed. To be as far away as possible from court, without being too far from him.

A wickedly charming smile - challenging and snide, sniping at Cullen at every opportunity, and Cullen just standing there, enduring it so patiently like a father humouring his child.

A relieved one, so full of warmth and love when I failed to lie to him in that tent, to say that I no longer loved him.

My Alistair. Ferelden's King. Anora's husband.

He had always been able to read me like an open book. Time and distance have not dulled that ability whatsoever.

But it has been a long time since I’ve seen him truly happy. I have broken his heart again and again…and Maker, I regret it so much now.

If I could turn back time, I would never have said half the things I did to him. He did nothing to deserve this. It was all my fault - my temper, my irrationality, my own insecurities and jealousy...

I just wanted him to be happy.

The Orlesian Wardens have really screwed up. An army of demons? To defeat the Old Gods before they are awakened? Have they gone mad?

Warden-Commander Clarel is dead. The Inquisitor has been more than lenient and allowed the remaining wardens to serve under my command, temporarily. It was a relief that she did not send them into exile, as we have almost been completely wiped out in the Fifth Blight.

They have much to do to regain the trust of the people of Thedas again.

When the dragon attacked Clarel, I was too far away. I could do nothing as the fortress crumbled under the Inquisitor, Solas, Blackwall, Varric, Hawke, and Alistair. I still dream of it sometimes – the image of my dearest friends and Alistair falling into what looked like a deep abyss - to certain death, and then a flash of sickly green, and …nothing. Absolutely nothing. No bodies, no weapons…they left nothing behind.

Nothing to mourn, to hold, to lay to rest…

I was furious. I should have done more to keep him off the battlefield. I was so frightened and livid that I struggled to breathe, and my vision clouded over in mists of red like blood and I felt like my entire soul had detached from my body and was just floating above, watching the horror unfold beneath me.

It was impossible to think, I could only hear someone screaming for Alistair.

Cullen later told me that those screams were all coming from me, that I fell to my knees amongst the broken stones and sobbed.

I only vaguely remember that Dorian was there, and the horns of Iron Bull looming behind him, I can remember the weight of Cullen’s hand over mine, pulling me back, away from the rubble.

And I can clearly remember, with startling clarity, the emotions that roiled within me – I was not ready to lose him. After everything we have been through, I would not lose him like this. I would rather watch him fall in love and have babies with Anora than to live in a world without Alistair.

Cullen told me that I refused to move away, praying and ranting and howling and crying that the Maker would hear me and bring him back.

It felt like centuries, as if the Fade had trapped me and I was caught in between the realms of the living and the dead, as if life continued without me knowing, and all I could do was watch helplessly and wait...for that golden-red haired man to appear, with a grin and a wink, to tell me it was a joke. That the Maker had played a joke on me, and this could not be reality.

Solas, Blackwall and Varric appeared first. The Inquisitor tumbled out – screaming about a sacrifice left behind…and no, no, no! Not my Alistair, not my heart! Have we not given the world enough?

Maker, Andraste, Andruil, Falon’Din – release him! Send him back!

And then he really came back. My heart stopped beating, I am certain it did.

He fell out of the rift, one arm bent at an unusual angle, armour covered in so much blood.

Severe injuries, Vivienne had declared after several heart-stopping minutes of examination, but he would live. I have never loved that woman more in my entire life.

Alistair came back.

Hawke did not.

Is this wrong? To be so happy that Alistair made it, while I lost my only blood family, however distant, to a Nightmare?

Varric would think so. The Maker has dealt him the hardest hand. He would curse that day to the ends of the Fade.

I still believe it should have been me to walk the Fade with the Inquisitor, and Alistair should have been safely back at Denerim if it were not for my rash decisions.

It should have been me instead of Hawke to pay for the sins of the wardens.

Solona laid her quill down and dragged tired hands over her face.

Stroud had been tasked to oversee the rescued Orlesian wardens, and to set them to work under the Inquisition’s banner. She had been granted a reprieve from her other duties as she focused all her attentions on her injured King.

Varric had disappeared after they arrived back at Skyhold. No one has seen him. His spot by the hearth in the Great Hall remains worryingly vacant – a fact that darkens the Inquisitor’s face each time she passes by.

Alistair was unconscious in her bed – their bed, passed out in the wake of the pain as Stitches and Vivienne worked to reset his arm earlier in the day.

In light of the extensive lacerations on his stomach, and the crushed ribs, punctured lungs, and Maker knows what else, resetting his arm was the least of the healers’ worries.

He had been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since they brought him back. When he first opened his eyes, Solona nearly fell to her knees in thanksgiving.

Solas had drained himself from overnight vigils at the King’s bedside and had been ordered to rest – which he had obeyed willingly, exhausted and missing the tranquillity of the Fade.

Solona owed them all a lifetime of gratitude.

She still thanked the Maker to this day that Alistair survived, although she was itching with impatience for him to recover fully so that she could really lay it into him on how important it was to listen to her about charging into battles that had absolutely nothing to do with him.

Well, perhaps that would be a little unfair, but the memories of that night still plagued her relentlessly – nightmares whenever she slept, and horrors each time she let her mind wander.

Solona forced herself to remember the last time she had seen him alert and awake, mentally accusing herself of not doing enough, of not being in control.

It had been right before he left her side to chase after Clarel. Solona had stayed back to attempt to persuade the remaining wardens to lay down their arms.

A swift, penetrating glance, a hard and bruising kiss on her lips and he was gone despite her insistence that he remained by her side, his tall form slowly swallowed by the roar of war cries and clanging swords. Come back here! Alistair! No!

Maker bring him back to me safely, she had prayed fervently, watching his broad shoulders squared in determination, ignoring her cries on purpose, until it disappeared from view. With a frightened gulp and dread crawling in her veins, she flung herself back into the thick of battle.

Now, he was sprawled out on the bed, his arm resting in a cast that lay at his side. He looked so young, the sun rays licked at his beautiful skin, no lines of worry clawed at his forehead, no sadness that seemed to be perpetually there ever since he arrived at Skyhold to mar his handsome features.

Solona sat down gingerly next to him, and ran her cool hands over his cheeks, shoulders, bandaged abdomen – feeling the rise and fall as he breathed and reassuring herself that he really is alive. He almost did not make it.

A knock sounded at the door, and Solona looked up and softly called out, “Come in.”

Cullen appeared, her other golden warrior. She briefly thought it was unfair how the sun seemed to favour them, making them look utterly gorgeous as they bathed in its light – whereas it only brought out the dark shadows under her eyes.

She frowned at him, noticing the tightness in his face, and the clench of his fist on the pommel of his sword. His other hand shook in slight tremors, and she knew that he was experiencing particularly bad symptoms of lyrium withdrawal.

“Cullen! Sit down, and I’ll make you some tea,” she exclaimed, getting up in a rush to ease his pain.

“No, I’m all right. How is he doing? I just wanted to check in on you –”

“I should be checking in on you. Sit down,” Solona ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, directing him to her bed.

His eyes closed as a jolt of pain throbbed through him, and he staggered into her room. When he opened his eyes, they were blank and unseeing. Solona cried out in dismay and went to him, guiding him to her bed.

“I need to return to my tower. Solona, please let me –”

“Cullen.”

He groaned and sat down heavily, jostling Alistair slightly as the bed tilted to the side. He buried his face in his hands, “I cannot be seen like this,” he insisted.

“No one has to know,” she said. Spooning the dried elfroot leaves liberally into the steaming cup, she brewed the strongest tea she could, slightly alarmed at the way his face was drained of all colour and the increasing gauntness.

She had been so wrapped up in Alistair’s recovery that she had neglected to notice the tell-tale signs of the onset of acute withdrawal symptoms.

Solona shoved the tea into his shaking hands, cupping them with hers as he struggled to alleviate the tremors. Solona helped him lift the cup to drink and said, “Is that better?” as he exhaled in relief after the first swallow.

“Slightly, I’m just thankful it held off during the siege at Adamant,” he replied, but his eyes remained tightly shut and she could see the throbbing vein in his temple.

“Drink up and then lie back, Cullen. You need to sleep this off or it will continue to eat at you,” she instructed.

“I just need to hand off these signed reports to Josephine - it is to sanction the support troops for the Chargers to destroy the blasted fortress completely. Once that is done, then I will return to my tower,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly.

“You won’t make it two steps out that door, Cullen. And you will never make it up that ladder of yours. Pass me those reports, and I will see to them. Now, sleep.”

Cullen squinted at the figure lying prone behind him and argued, “The King-”

“-is completely oblivious to the world,” Solona finished for him. “Don’t worry about it…let me deal with that.” she said, sounding more confident than she actually was of handling Alistair when it came to Cullen.

Cullen grunted in pain as the ache clawed at the back of his head relentlessly and allowed Solona to push him down. He was hardly in a state fit enough to argue further. Against his better judgement, his eyes closed drowsily on their own accord as the tea worked its effects on him.

She lightly ran her hands over his handsome face, feeling the scabs forming over the shallow wounds he had sustained in the fight and thanking the Maker again that he had emerged unscathed.

She lovingly cupped his face and sighed, how is it possible to love both of them so?

She bent over them and planted soft kisses on their foreheads – I love you, and you, tucked her own guilty two-timing feelings back into her black heart, and made sure that they were soundly asleep.

Then, she picked up the stack of reports Cullen had been carting around and slipped out of her room as quietly as she could.

The ambassador’s office was just across the Great Hall, and Solona noted Varric’s absence from his usual spot on the way with a frown, and suffered through Josephine’s giggles and winks when she explained why she was delivering reports on the Commander’s behalf.

When she returned, Solona sat down and appraised the two men, relieved that they were still soundly asleep in her bed, no signs of pain or nightmares haunting them, and muffled a groan at the thought of them waking up to each other. She couldn’t decide who would be the first one to react.

Oh, I hope Alistair doesn’t lose it.

As she sat in her chair, the sizeable space between them seemed to beckon to her. She stifled a yawn and forced her drooping eyelids open. Maker, she could not recall when was the last time she had a good hour of uninterrupted sleep. Solona eyed the peaceful slumbering men before her, and could not resist. She climbed over Cullen and settled in the space between them, drifting off before she could form another thought.

Alistair woke with a start. His dreams lately have been of large taunting spiders and eerie grave stones. He had dreamt of seeing Solona's name on one of them, Duncan's, Cailan's, Anora's...and as he looked out over the horizon, it had been dotted with tombstones bearing the names of all the people he had ever met and cared for.

He glanced around in mild panic before allowing himself to relax once he realized that this was not the Fade. One of his arms was encased in a stiff cast, while the other was pinned down by a heavy weight. As Alistair bent his head down, his nose tickled and he realized in surprise that it was Solona who curled against him, her hair grazing his nose lightly and he breathed in her scent.

The weeks before the siege had been hell – the advisors busy preparing and seeking support, Solona training and overseeing the mages, mostly keeping to herself and writing letter after letter back to Amaranthine in her spare time. Alistair had tried to help wherever he could, but he had his own duties to see to, nobles to entertain and a stack of royal documents to authorize.

He barely saw her awake, and fell into bed unconscious every night. The journey they took to the Western Approach had seemed like a vacation in comparison.

It had been too long since he had her in his arms like this, and he grasped the opportunity to really look at her.

Her eyes were swollen and dark circles stood out prominently against the pallor of her skin. Alistair clenched his jaw, she looked fragile and exhausted. His mage must have been neglecting herself. He had faint memories of Solona weeping over him as he dozed on and off, pleading for him to wake up, and he had tried but something heavy had tugged at his lids and he had reached out for her, but his limbs refused to move.

A light groan beside Solona caused his head to jerk up. His frown deepened when he saw the Commander sleeping fitfully on her other side. His fists curled in anger around Solona’s waist, causing her to stir slightly. Alistair immediately released his grip but he must have emitted some sound of disapproval for the Commander opened his eyes suddenly, only to freeze when he saw Alistair looking directly at him.

Alistair breathed deeply, willing himself to refrain from beating the lights out of the man before him, broken arm or not. All the years of practice of being a dutiful ruler kicked in, forcing him to think logically.

He had weeks to digest the fateful news Solona had delivered, weeks of bared teeth and veiled insults to the silent Commander, weeks of internally howling at the unfairness of his life and why couldn’t the Maker let him have the one thing he ever loved more than life itself? Weeks to observe just how much the Commander cared for Solona, and weeks to admit that he saw too much of himself in Cullen than he would like to.

Finally, he had a couple of days to realize that he could not deny the other man Solona’s love any more than he could deny it for himself, and it was sealed with the kiss he witnessed at Adamant.

That was before the Nightmare in the Fade heaped blow after blow on him, and he barely remembered anything after that.

If Cullen was anything like him - as Leliana loved to point out their similarities, and if he was as in love with Solona as Alistair believed he was, then the man must have been watching out for her. And if that was true, he could very well tolerate his presence in return for looking after her.

With a soft grunt to indicate his disapproval of the other man's presence, he asked in a hoarse whisper, the words rasping painfully from his dry throat, "Has she been eating?"

Cullen blinked warily, he had half expected the King to rage at him for daring to defile his beloved's bed, and answered cautiously, "Not nearly enough. But it is better than nothing." He nodded to somewhere behind him, and Alistair lifted his head as much as he could to note the half-eaten plates of Fereldan pastries and Orlesian chocolates. 

Cullen sat up with a grimace, and reached over to pour him some water. Handing the goblet to the King, both men froze awkwardly. Alistair had one arm under Solona, and the other restricted by a heavy cast.

He grinned weakly at Cullen, all traces of hostility gone and was replaced by a raised eyebrow. Cullen huffed and shifted slightly, reaching over the sleeping mage and bringing the goblet to his ruler's lips, tilting it forward.

Alistair heaved a sigh of relief after drinking as much as he could and glanced back at Cullen, asking again, "Has she been sleeping well?"

Cullen briefly looked at Solona, his cautious features softening as he drank in the sight of her, and answered, "Very little, but much better now since you regained consciousness and Madame De Fer pronounced you to be safely out of the woods."

Alistair nodded at him, silently conveying his gratitude for watching over Solona. He contemplated the other man without saying a word, and Cullen met his challenging gaze without flinching.

Finally, Alistair broke the silence and said, "And may I ask what you are doing in my bed?

Cullen sighed in resignation, wondering if his whole future would consist of these two words, "Lyrium withdrawal," he stated curtly.

Alistair nodded, needing no further explanation, having spent enough time with the Order to see the effects it had on older templars and closed his eyes again. His good arm remained wrapped around Solona. Cullen looked at the resting king for a while before reassuring himself that he was not about to be executed in his sleep and did the same, unconsciously inching closer to Solona as he drifted into slumber.

When Solona finally emerged from the Fade, it was to a tangle of muscled limbs and toned abdomens.

She yawned and wriggled a little, eyes still closed, reveling in the warmth that surrounded her. When she finally opened them, she blinked in surprise, noticing that Alistair was awake and was looking down at her.

"You're awake!" she whispered, tilting her head up to get a better look.

Alistair rewarded her with a grin and brushed his lips over the tip of her nose.

"How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Should I get you some water?"

"Hush. I'm good."

She squirmed out of his grasp and turned over on to her belly to inspect him. In doing so, the mattress beneath them surged and Cullen shifted slightly.

In a rush to defend Cullen’s presence, she immediately opened her mouth but Alistair was quicker. He covered her mouth with his hand and shushed her again. "It's all right, I know," he said softly. Her relief whooshed out of her.

"Alistair, you must never do that again. I absolutely forbid it. Ferelden will not survive if you’re gone. Why do you insist on always getting yourself hurt?" she scolded him, struggling to keep her voice down.

Her anger and frustration welled up and Solona felt tears spilling over and this time, she did not try to stop them. He let his hand cup the back of her head and brought her face down to his. He pressed his lips to her forehead and squeezed her slightly. "I'm sorry, Solona. But to protect you -"

"No! Never again, Promise me," she interrupted.

He smiled at her wistfully, and Solona knew he would never promise such a thing. He kissed the tear tracks that made their way down her cheeks and gently nuzzled at her wet lashes with his nose.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly. She would let him off for now, seeing as he was still immobile and hurt and not as whole as she liked him to be.

“Like I’ve been sat on by an armoured ogre,” was his dry reply.

Solona choked out a laugh, happy that he had recovered enough to make light of his ordeal. “Do you…want to talk about it? What happened in the Fade?”

Alistair took his time, recalling the painful memory with a shudder, “I- Not really, Sol. You know how it is, all twisted and misty and…” he forced a smile out, but her expression remained serious and he dropped the act.

“There was…too much. He – it, whatever it was, knew too much about my fears - losing you, the throne, my life, and the mistakes I have made…not happy memories, I must say.”

“Don't believe it, Alistair…they aren't true. I’m here with you…and you are a good man, despite all that has happened to you,” she soothed, rubbing his uninjured arm absently.

He winced and closed his eyes again, his arm drifting down to hug her warmth to him, trying to block out the surge of recollections that filled his mind.

“Alistair, we still have a lot of things to work out- “ Solona whispered, breaking into his thoughts.

He tightened his hold around her waist and squeezed, weaker than usual, and said, “I know…give me time, Sol, please. I can’t-” he paused, cringing as if her words had caused him pain, “I’m not letting you go. We’ll find a way, somehow. We always do.”

“Yes, of course,” she acquiesced quickly, unable to bear seeing him suffer more, “once you are well.”

He smiled at her then, a soft yet happy one – tender and loving, and she felt her chest hurt from the joy of seeing it. Her heart hammered and expanded and threatened to burst out of her ribs, but outwardly she only allowed a silent tear or two to fall, and a watery smile to form on her own lips.

His lids grew heavy and he struggled to keep them open. Solona raised her hand to his jaw and stroked his stubble softly, “It’s all right…sleep, my darling. I’ll be here when you wake.”

His eyes closed fully and she buried a sigh. How would they find a way out of this? It was only going to end in heartbreak. Oh Alistair, be strong for me.

Chapter Text

Warden-Commander Amell woke again to a tentative knock on her door, blinking at the setting sunlight and wondering where she was for a moment. She groggily picked her way out of her bed as the knocking became louder, careful to avoid knocking into Alistair and Cullen – both of whom were still out cold, and opened the door slightly – just enough for her to peek out.

“Your presence is required at the War Council, ser,” a maidservant stood behind the door, looking at her fearfully.

“Now?” Solona asked dazedly, her mind slow to wake and not understanding the necessity of such a late meeting.

“Yes, immediately, Lady Commander,” she replied.

Solona was trying to recall any urgent matters at hand when she noticed the servant still holding her position and asked politely, “Anything else?”

The servant’s fear only increased, and she gulped nervously and cleared her throat, “The lady Ambassador said…that if Commander Cullen is with you, I mean – if you know of his whereabouts – could you please summon him along, milady,” she stammered.

Solona retreated further behind her door, hoping that the thick wood and the diminishing light of day would hide her blush from the servant.

“Yes, of course. You may tell Josephine that I have received your message and will be on my way,” she said, glancing once at the sleeping men and making up her mind quickly, “and that I have no idea where Cullen is.”

The servant curtseyed and left. Solona knew that Leliana and Josephine would not believe her for a second, but Cullen deserved his rest. He had been working non-stop after Adamant – seeing to his wounded soldiers, clearing up the mess left behind after the battle, personally informing the families of soldiers who did not survive…

She hastily scribbled a note for Cullen or Alistair when they woke up – so that they would not worry or murder each other. Then, she closed her door behind her and made her way to the War Room, raking her hand through her hair in an attempt to tidy it up.

When she entered, she heard Leliana saying, “The splendour, the magnificence – it has been too long, Josie. I cannot wait to return to Halamshiral.”

“In Orlais?” Solona said, alerting the three women to her presence.

“Good evening, Warden-Commander,” the Inquisitor greeted, giggling slightly behind her hand. Solona nodded respectfully at her, wrinkling her nose slightly at Trevelyan's levity.

“The Winter Palace – Empress Celene’s grand retreat,” Leliana affirmed.

She rested her piercing gaze on Solona and said, “I wonder where the Commander has disappeared to. No one seems to be able to find him.”

The Inquisitor laughed out loud this time, and Solona spotted Josephine smirking behind her writing board. She gritted her teeth, knowing that nothing escaped Leliana’s notice and she had no doubt shared her intelligence with the others, and forced herself to recite the Canticle of Benedictions to smother her rising flush and maintain an innocent façade.

Thankfully, Josephine graciously decided to spare her and spoke up, “We will be travelling to the Winter Palace in three days’ time – I have managed to secure invitations for the Inquisitor and several companions to the masked ball, including the advisors, of course.”

“So soon?” Solona gasped, “But we have only just returned!”

The Inquisitor nodded, “The date for this ball has been set many moons ago – if the peace talk is jeopardized…Orlais will fall to Corypheus without any resistance.”

“I do not want to leave Alistair yet -” Solona said.

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary…you will remain behind in Skyhold. We cannot risk your presence so openly in Orlais,” the Inquisitor said.

“What? Why not?” she asked, bewildered.

The three women exchanged glances that Solona could not interpret, and she bristled with annoyance.

“Speak to the Commander about this, Solona. He is to oversee the safety and security of the Inquisition during this masked ball. Once he gives his consent, we will comply,” Leliana said.

She gaped at the Spymaster in restrained annoyance, “You cannot be serious! What if something happens and -”

“Warden-Commander,” the Inquisitor interrupted, her hands clasped behind her back nonchalantly, “we will be suitably reinforced and will take no unnecessary risks. If the Commander opines that your presence there will not jeopardize us, you may come.”

She was looking sternly at Solona, but softened her gaze as she continued, “Otherwise, you will remain in Skyhold and look after the King. Half of the Ferelden nobility is still upset that he has been injured under my command, and I have received an angry letter from Queen Anora herself for letting him fall under mortal peril.”

Solona shut her mouth, swallowing her objections. She was forced to submit to the Inquisitor while she remained in Skyhold under the Inquisition’s banner, and she was still feeling thankful that she had reached out to the Queen on her behalf.

“Very well, I will speak to the Commander,” she agreed, knowing it was futile but resolving to try anyway, “But please…please be careful and come home safely...all of you.”

“Oh, dear one, we will. We have seen enough death to last us a lifetime,” Leliana promised and the other two women nodded and smiled kindly at her.

“Since that is settled, there is not much we can do without the Commander. Let’s convene first thing tomorrow morning,” Josephine concluded and they filed out of the War Room.

Leliana paused mid-stride and placed a hand on Solona’s shoulder, “It is time you allow another hero to save the world, Sol,” she said, “Stay and rest – and talk to Alistair.”

With a last smile at her old friend, the Spymaster glided gracefully out of the room, leaving her to her own thoughts.

Leliana paced silently along the western wall of Skyhold. It was a secluded place, boxed in by crumbling stones and hidden next to the barn. No one would find her here.

It was her favourite spot in all of Skyhold. Not just for its exclusivity, but also because the only flowers that grew here were Andraste’s Grace.

When her duties allowed for it, she would sit on the grass, in front of the blooming petals and will the hours away long after the sun sets.

She would remember the days when she had been so much younger – free from Marjolaine, from the Chantry – led by a mere vision sent to her by the Maker, and all the times she spent bickering, travelling, fighting, searching, worrying and…

And she missed them dreadfully.

Within the Inquisition, she was surrounded by people - her agents, her scouts, her advisors, but none of them could replace the void left in her heart when her closest friends went their separate ways after the Archdemon’s defeat.

She still thought of her companions fondly and wished she could see them all again. Having Alistair and Solona around made it better, but they were still figuring their relationship out and the long lost camaraderie between them and Leliana had altered slightly because of it.

She felt lonely.

She longed for Zevran’s reality-defying stories and innuendo-filled remarks. She missed confiding in Wynne and hovering around her while she brewed her potions. To this day, the scent of a health potion still sent a sharp ache straight to her gut.

She wished for Sten and his stoic comments, for Shale and her scepticism of humans. She keeps an eye out for Oghren in the Herald’s Rest just in case he decides to stop by for a visit, although Solona told her that he had a little one with Felsi and is unlikely to travel so far from the city.

She even wondered where Morrigan was, and if she has changed at all. Then, she wondered if they would get along now – years after they last met, surely much older and wiser than before.

Leliana wondered if she was still the same girl with a vision from the Maker, waiting in Lothering for a couple of lost wardens to show up.

The one who found unrivalled joy in a stalk of Andraste’s Grace.

The one who called it providence and fate that she had been there to see Andraste’s ashes in person.

Or was she colder now? Different? Lost? Malicious?

What was her purpose? What did the Divine mean when she said “I’ve failed her”?

Has she strayed too far from the Maker’s path?

She thought of the many times she played her lute in camp, with laughter and music her constant companion.

Those days were filled with darkness and death, yet she had been happy.

Perhaps Valence would hold the answer.

Maybe she would be able to convince the Inquisitor to take a slight detour in Orlais after the Halamshiral ball.

Maker willing, she would finally find her peace.

The next morning, Solona woke bright and early much to Alistair’s surprise. She had never adopted the habit of being an early riser – the way both Cullen and Alistair were, thanks to their stringent training during their Chantry days.

But today she felt well rested and refreshed. She had probably slept more in the previous day than the past month combined. Alistair had slept through the night, still drowsy from his medications, sufficiently recovered that she no longer needed to keep vigil.

Cullen had returned to his own room after dinner the previous night with strict instructions to refrain from work and to rest, and she hoped that he had obliged, or she would box his ears – Commander of the Inquisition and titles be damned.

“Are you going somewhere?” Alistair asked, half asleep as she bustled around the room to dress.

“No, I just need to run an errand,” she said, leaning over him to kiss his cheek softly, “Sleep, my love, I will be back soon.”

He grunted and was soon fast asleep again. Solona continued practicing her lines in her head – excuses and reasons and methods of persuasion to convince Cullen to allow her to attend the ball. Her coercion skills were still unparalleled but she doubted her ability to change Cullen’s mind once it was set. He was the most stubborn man she knew.

In Orlais, however, the threat to her friends would be great, and she would not be able to forgive herself should anything happen to them. She had to try, or at least have Cullen talk some sense into her to remind her that the Inquisitor and her companions were more than capable enough to handle the danger.

She hated the idea of leaving Alistair alone in Skyhold, but at least he would be safe here. And Cullen had been struggling with migraines ever since their return; almost as if the desert sun and dry sand had kept them at bay, and the absence of the summer heat now brought them back tenfold. She could not possibly let him go alone to Orlais – to deal with simpering nobles and wafts of heady perfumes – and suffer in silence as he was wont to do.

Thus making her mind up, she silently left her room, speeding up from a jog to a run when the Great Hall revealed itself to be almost empty.

As she emerged from Solas’ study, the bright blue sky welcomed her. She squinted at the sudden brightness. Perhaps, if she could lure Cullen out of his drafty tower and into the gardens, or the courtyard, for some reason other than work, it may help.

He used to love the colour blue – a symbol of nobility and hope, renewing and restorative – a young templar with stars in his eyes had once told her back in the circle. But Solona knew that it only reminded him of the tight leash around his neck now, the pure melody of lyrium that calls to his soul – the vivid and enchanting shade of bottled blue now bringing to mind only hateful memories of suffering and longing.

She wondered if he spent more time relaxing outside -  whether the blue of the lyrium could be replaced by the blue of the sky, or of the wildflowers that grew by the castle walls.

Solona paused by the ramparts to think. They no longer played chess, ever since they progressed to something more, she had given up all pretences of being able to play the game properly and left Dorian to take over her chess times  – which he had happily accepted.

She had tried persuading him to play diamondback with her instead of chess, but failed miserably when he steadfastly refused to humour her. He had said that he would only give it a try in the confines of his office if she really insisted upon it. The Wicked Grace episode must have really done a number on his confidence at card games.

Her eyes travelled to the west of the tavern, where a couple of kids were kicking around some straw-hewn balls. She could try that, although she would probably end up with a twisted ankle. Gracefulness was not her strong point outside of battle, although the thought of Cullen outside of his armour and all golden under the sun and covered in sweat made it harder to breathe suddenly.

Sparring tended to draw a crowd, especially when it happened to be the Commander in the ring, and that would hardly be relaxing for him, so that was crossed off her short list.

Still, being under the sun and the fresh air would not do him any harm. She will find a way, she resolved, to entice him to leave his tower somehow. She pulled herself from her musings and hurried to his door.

Solona crashed into Cullen’s office clumsily, her toes caught the bottom of the heavy oak door and she hopped about clutching at her throbbing feet, cursing in pain.

Cullen looked up from his reports in alarm, already elbow deep in work in spite of the early hour, “Warden-Commander! Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes,” she said, “Can you spare a moment of your time?”

Cullen raised an eyebrow, dark circles under his eyes, and stepped back from his desk, “For you, always.”

She blushed at the heat in his voice and barely managed to gather her thoughts again.

“Were you not ordered to rest?” she asked.

Cullen gave her one of his charming lopsided smiles and said nothing.

She shook her head at him and was about to tell him off, when she remembered the reason why she came, “I heard you were headed to Halamshiral.”

He frowned at the reminder of the upcoming ball and looked down at his reports again, “Yes, in three days – what of it?”

“Leliana told me to ask you if I could go along. Just me – one additional person, who is fully capable of taking care of herself,” she persuaded, grinning at him hopefully.

Cullen sighed to himself, irritated at the Spymaster for handing over the task of rejecting Solona to him.

“No,” he said decisively.

“Wh-what? Are we not even going to discuss this?” she asked in disbelief.

“No. Leliana told you to ask me, I’ve said no, so there you have it.”

He moved to his bookshelf to search for his missing text on the geology of the Exalted Plains and purposely avoided meeting her gaze.

“Why not?” she questioned, her voice taking on an authoritative air, probably the same tone she used to discipline her newer recruits.

A knock sounded on his door and he happily accepted the distraction in the form of one of his best lieutenants, delivering a much welcome stack of reports to be signed.

He nodded at the soldier to signal him to wait – certain that Solona would not push it further with an audience, but a sharp – “Why not, Cullen?” from her shattered that illusion.

“It is far too dangerous given your station in Ferelden,” he offered, noting that his lieutenant stiffened considerably at her tone.

“No one needs to know who I really am. It is a masked ball and -” she wheedled.

“That will not be wise,” Cullen said, signing off the delegation of duty to Knight-Captain Rylen with a flourish and handing it over to the waiting lieutenant, who left in a hurry.

“I am sure that having the Hero of Ferelden in attendance would be an unrivalled feat for Empress Celene, but only if she did not happen to be the King of Ferelden’s mistress. Besides, I quite like the idea of having you stashed safely away in Skyhold, where you won’t be able to run into any danger, especially after Adamant,” he continued to explain, finally done with his paperwork and sparing her a glance. He was grinning his lopsided smile – the one that made her knees weak and her fingers itch to run over the soft stubble around his jaw.

Solona bit her lip hard to stop herself from pouting, but her disappointment showed too plainly in the droop of her mouth and bleakness of her eyes.

Cullen noticed and crossed his arms, easing his grin into a gentle smile, and watched her patiently, “Why do you want to attend the ball so badly, anyway? I would give an arm and leg to have someone else take my place.” He shuddered visibly at the thought.

“I just…we only just got back from Adamant and now you are leaving again, to some ball where an assassination attempt is to take place, where I will not be able to look after y-…everyone,” she lamented.

He raised an eyebrow at her and tilted his head back to appraise her better, trying hard to stifle his laughter, “Do you mean to protect me? Solona, that is unnecessary and you know it. It will only be for a week, or less, even – if I can convince Josephine to leave the palace earlier.”

She shuffled closer to him, lifting her hand to tug at the fur he always wore. Her fingers pulled and plucked at the tufts of fur and Cullen knew she was still fretting needlessly.

“It feels too soon. I’ve just managed to gather everyone I care about in one place – alive and safe, and now you are riding off to some unforeseen danger with assassins hidden in the shadows, in a foreign land and…”

“Solona…” he said calmly, his hand reaching up to still hers lest she succeeded in pulling out all the fur in his coat, “I have to be there for the Inquisitor and my men. I will be fine - we are well prepared. We spent the entire morning planning out every single possibility and outcome, mapping out every known entrance and exit point.”

She exhaled noisily - more for theatricality than for necessity, Cullen was sure, and lifted herself on the tips of her toes to kiss his scar softly.

Cullen stood there patiently; he has never understood her fascination with his scars, but never dreamed of denying her the pleasure.

She teasingly licked the spot where his scar met his lip and aligned her mouth to his, beginning to work relentlessly against his.

He groaned and brought his hands up to cup her face, stilling her ministrations reluctantly.

“Solona…we agreed,” he breathed, his voice tortured and frayed, “We wouldn’t…not until King Alistair…”

She paused, and then softly kissed him one last time, and his hands tightened their grip as he fought his instincts to deepen it.

“Right,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin, “not until then.”

“I don’t want to pressure you in any way –” he said.

“No, you’re not. I know…he knows that our time is running short. We all need to come face to face with reality sooner or later,” she said, although she felt sickened at the thought of making Alistair face another rejection.

“No rash decisions,” he reminded her, the words on his lips warring with the battle in his mind and heart, each beat calling for him to claim her for himself, and to the Void with the other man.

But the logical chantry boy within him called for him to remain fair and noble. Both Cullens were tearing him apart, intensifying his need for lyrium.

Cullen hugged her tightly as she laid her head against his breastplate, willing the barbarian in him to settle down, and for the lyrium song to be silent.

The battle call within him was muted when she tilted her head up to him, and by his lips coming to rest gently on hers – a soft, parting kiss. “I love you,” she murmured against him.

“You love him, too. Don’t deny yourself, Solona,” he forced himself to say. He saw the guilt twisting on her face and hastened to add, “Stop feeling guilty about this. You have done nothing wrong and I…I completely understand. I do not love you less for it.”

“Even though you should,” she retorted, resentment at herself flickered in her eyes, “Your very own two-timing mage.”

Cullen stiffened in shock, “How could you think that?”

Solona sighed and scrubbed at her cheeks with her gloves, “Forget I said that. Just…”

“No! I don’t want you thinking like that, Sol! You’re not…that is not what you have done,” he ground out vehemently.

“I…I know. I’m just exhausted. My mind is running away from me. I’ll feel better by the time you return, I promise.”

Cullen was still peering at her with concern, and she felt a stab of regret for making him worry even more. His dark circles became even more pronounced as he frowned.

She feigned a bright smile, knowing that he would not be fooled, but continued in a cheerful tone, “Remember the herbs I made for you? Bring them along. I do not want you suffering alone among the Orlesian fancy-pants or being enticed by some frilly masked pansy with a heaving bosom. And come back to me safe, Cullen,” she urged.

Cullen stared at her for a beat, before relaxing his shoulders and allowing her to brush his concern off. He threw her a small smirk, amused, “Fancy-pants? Heaving bosom? Have you been spending too much time with Sera? Or Lady Cassandra's secret stash of books?”

Solona just shrugged, too innocently, her relief at his acceptance of her avoidance was apparent, and her bright smile dimmed into a sincere one.

Cullen released her waist and cradled her upturned face in his large hands, “All right, you have my word,” he solemnly promised.

To the Queen of Ferelden, Anora Theirin, Queen Anora of Ferelden,

It is my duty to write to you to inform you of Alistair’s recovery. His injuries are healing well and he will be good as new in no time at all.

I will remind him to write to you to reassure you of his well-being once he is up and about but for now, please accept my solemn vow to keep him safe from further harm.

I am sorry I did not write to you earlier, but I have been assured that the Inquisitor has sent her personal regards and updates to Your Majesty.

Your faithful subject,

Warden-Commander Amell.

“Hey there, Warden,” Varric greeted her as she emerged from Solas’ study, still contemplating the wisdom of writing to Anora directly.

“Hey Varric, what are you up to?” Solona said, her tone gentle. She had been toeing on eggshells around him since the loss of Hawke.

“Nothing much, but I do need to speak to you,” he said enigmatically.

She eyed him suspiciously – his carefree manner was absent and he was looking at her rather grimly. Varric had never warmed up to her the way he did with Hawke, or the Inquisitor. She supposed that it was understandable as they lacked the bond that formed so naturally between a unit of fighters who looked out for each other on the battlefield.

He had names for all the Inner Circle in Skyhold, but had only ever called her “Warden”, or “Warden-Commander”.

The dwarf beckoned her to follow him, muttering, “Not here, the walls have too many ears.”

Solona hesitated, wondering if this was trap. But Varric was a trusted friend of the Champion and the Inquisitor – so she quietly trailed after him, surreptitiously checking to see if anyone noticed their departure together, and gripping her staff closer to her side.

He brought her to the hall adjoining the kitchens. It was deserted; the household help probably resting for a few stolen hours before the dinner rush.

Solona tapped her foot against the stone floors impatiently as the dwarf positioned himself in front of her, unsheathing Bianca from his back and polishing the already shining steel with a sleeve.

“When you’re ready, Varric,” she said, after a few heartbeats of silence.

“Right.  Now, Warden-Commander, you should know that I consider you a friend, and your business with the King is none of anybody’s concern, but…Curly is very dear to us,” he said, leaving the unspoken threat hanging in the air as he squared his shoulders after he placed Bianca lovingly on the floor.

“That’s good to know,” Solona replied drily. She still wasn’t sure what Varric was up to, but she would be damned if she showed him how unnerved she felt, especially since the basement was void of servants or other potential witnesses at the moment.

“None of us want to see him hurt,” he clarified further, a veiled hint of warning even more evident behind his cheery tone.

Solona couldn’t help but laugh aloud when she heard that, and said, “Are you serious, Varric?”

He growled at her, “It’s not a joke. After Hawke, I – ” he stopped when his voice cracked at the mention of the Champion’s name.

Varric cleared his throat and continued, the sconces danced behind him, casting a shine to his wet eyes, “Friends are far and few in this lifetime, Amell, and the Commander has been through too much.”

“I know that, Varric. I do, but you need to know that I would never hurt him. Cullen is too precious to me,” she vowed solemnly.

“I don’t know, Amell, this whole affair stinks of trouble to me. I have no doubt you will come out of it alive, knowing you. Just make sure Curly does not get caught in the crossfire, or there will be a bounty on your head.”

Solona rolled her eyes at him, “It might look like a mess, but we will work it out ourselves. I would appreciate it if you and your friends left your noses out of it.”

 The dwarf grunted and heaved Bianca onto his shoulder again, making for the stairs. She felt a stab of guilt at her harsh words, knowing that he had meant well.

“Varric,” Solona called after him, and smiled when he turned to face her warily,” For what it’s worth, I am very glad that Cullen has friends like you looking out for him.”

Varric smirked, recognizing her truce for what it was, “Curly knows he can count on us. He’s all steel outside, but a softie inside, and we’ve got his back.”

She returned his salute and watched him leave.

Well, as if she did not feel dirty enough – stringing both the Commander and Alistair along while she tried to sort out her personal mess.

Maybe the history books should be rewritten. Her life was certainly scandalous enough after the defeat of the archdemon, and would bring her legacy and her name crashing down from the pedestal it had been sitting on all these years.

Her lips curled up, her humour wry and tired. Perhaps then, people would cease looking at her as the paragon of virtue.

Maybe the glass covering Alistair’s eyes would crack and fall, and he would see her as she really is.

Maybe Cullen would realize that she is not the woman he fancies himself in love with.

All that was left of her was a broken soul, with no more purpose in her life but to chase after an elusive cure. A shredded sense of righteousness and a tired heart was all that remained of her.

A haggard-looking, war-torn and scarred abomination.

Certainly not deserving of the two greatest men currently living in Ferelden.

Maybe then, she would not have to choose, and there would not be hearts given to her to break.

The Hero of Ferelden should die alone, as she should have all those years ago atop Fort Drakon.

 Alistair lay on the bed, thinking. The mattress felt too soft beneath him, and he contemplated moving to the ground with his blankets.

The thought of a guard or servant walking in to the King on the floor, and the shrieks or fuss that would follow chased away the idea as quickly as it had formed.

Solona was still gone. He wondered what errand had pulled her out of bed so early in the morning.

Maybe she left to visit the Commander.

He frowned. The thought did not jar him as it used to. The roiling anger in his belly no longer appeared. Rather, all he felt was a dull ache and dampened jealousy that she was choosing another man’s company over his.

He was the injured one, the bed-ridden one. She should be fussing over him instead.

Alistair frowned even more. Such a childish thought for a King.

He forced his mind back to the matter at hand. It was good that he was injured, even if he was getting tired of being confined to the bed. It just meant that he could put off his return to Denerim with a valid excuse.

Alistair did not want to leave without Solona. That, he knew for certain.

He may have led her to wrongly believe that he wished to end their affair. He may have, unwittingly, made her think that he fell in love with another woman. And he may have, definitely unintentionally, pushed her towards the Commander.

But with Andraste as his witness, Alistair had vowed that he would return to the palace with his woman by his side.

He had no intentions of reliving the months leading up to the Landsmeet in a too large, too empty, too grand palace.

He had gazed out at halls teeming with bickering Lords of his Kingdom, and found their concerns to be empty and meaningless. He had glanced at his Queen, friend, his wife-in-name, and found himself imagining the wife of his heart sitting in her place. The longing and the ache had been too real, and he wished the Landsmeet over and done with every single day.

It had felt cavernous. Unending hallways and unreasonably large rooms with a throne that made him cringe each time he saw it. He had sat on his throne day after day, with sadness in his eyes, a hole in his heart, and arms that hung too heavy and hands that felt too large.

Nothing seemed to fit without her.

The castle stones had yawned and the wooden beams creaked loudly. His steps echoed even more in her absence.

No, the King would not leave without the Hero of Ferelden. Alistair would not part with his runaway mage again.

If that required some form of concession on his part to her newfound infatuation, he might have to bow to it.

He stretched his fingers, the ones on his injured arm, opening and closing his hand slowly. The bones in his arm screamed in rebellion and he sighed.

He was tired of lying around all day.

Alistair bent his good arm and heaved himself up. His legs protested as he swung them out of the bed and onto the ground. He would send for his afternoon tea, fresh bread with cheese making his mouth water after days of broth and clear soup.

He had letters to write, new trade policies to review, addendums to revise…and a mage to win over.

Chapter Text

The Inquisitor, council advisors and most of the companions were away from Skyhold, leaving behind an eerily silent shell of a fortress, void of the usual hustle and bustle that trailed after the acclaimed warriors.

Only Varric remained behind with Blackwall and Dorian, still reeling from the loss of his dear friend. His return had been met with relief. He refused to say where he had gone but no one felt the need to push him for answers. Dorian had been reluctant to give up the opportunity at making a grand scandalous entrance at the Empress’ ball but he could not bear to leave Varric to grief alone and decided to stay behind.

Blackwall had seemed withdrawn lately, and Alistair – knowing of his past and the secrecy surrounding it, left him largely to himself.

They were all relieved that Varric was being looked after, as they still felt guilty for being grateful that Alistair had survived at the expense of Hawke’s life, despite the dwarf’s sincere assurances that he would never resent them for it.

Lady Trevelyan’s entourage was due to arrive any time now, sans the Inquisitor who had taken Bull and the Chargers to the Storm Coast on a tactical mission.

Leliana had dispatched news of the Empress Celene’s arcane advisor and new liaison to the Inquisition - Morrigan, almost immediately after the ball.

Solona looked excited at the prospect of having all of them in one place after so long, but Alistair’s nerves were tied up in knots at the thought of seeing the witch and her child, their child… for the first time.

“My focus is shot, Alistair. Let’s wait for them in the courtyard,” Solona had said, and he could not help but agree to a few more stolen moments with her alone coupled with fresh mountain air, chilled with the early morning dew, to ease his nerves.

They left the confines of their room and made their way to a pretty pavilion in the garden. She sat down next to him, breathing in the fresh scent of Arbour Blessing and Felandaris - tokens of the Inquisitor’s successful voyage to Emprise Du Lion.

She spared him a glance and laughed softly, reaching out to pry his hand off his sword. Alistair had been unconsciously gripping the pommel, his knuckles white, worrying at what he would say to the child he never met.

“It will be all right, stop fretting,” she whispered.

Alistair flexed his fingers, forcing out a weak smile that did nothing to reassure her, and they lapsed into silence again as each returned to their own thoughts.

Things between them were better, but they still had inevitable moments of awkward silences as they danced around certain topics or subjects that could evoke unpleasant memories of past hurts.

After waking up in Solona’s bed, Alistair and Cullen kept their distance from each other. This time, Alistair tried his hardest to hold his tongue and glares when it came to meetings involving the Commander, and Cullen, as usual, had been nothing but respectful to the King.

He had started finding it difficult to hate the Commander on a personal level, and aside from the fact that he was involved with Solona, Alistair knew that Cullen was a man of honour and was noble to the core.

He was also very appreciative of the fact that Cullen held Solona at an arm’s length during the remainder of his recovery to avoid antagonizing the King, although he doubted Solona was as grateful as he felt.

That was why he graciously said nothing when Solona visited Cullen for an extended period of time before he left for the ball in Orlais and emerged with swollen lips and a mussed braid – the Commander probably did not look forward to their forthcoming separation and decided to disregard Alistair’s feelings for a change.

Nor did he comment on the number of letters she seemed to be writing to him during the Commander’s absence, despite feeling slightly bitter that she did not afford him the same treatment during their months apart.

Solona, on her part, must have known what he was thinking for she looked slightly guilty each time she went to the rookery to borrow one of Leliana’s ravens.

He had refused outright to allow her to discuss the Commander initially, adopting a fierce scowl each time she tried and resorting to leaving the room altogether if she persisted. He secretly took delight in the fact that he had surprised her with his new streak of obstinacy, if her frequent wide-eyed and flabbergasted expressions were to be believed.

Not the best strategy for a man of his stature to employ, he admitted guiltily, but then ignorance was truly bliss sometimes.

As the weeks passed, he had relented slightly. They had very brief discussions of his future, their future. It had become increasingly apparent to Alistair that the Commander’s presence would be inevitable.

He had held long discussions with her on his ideas for reforms in his country, and slid in hints of her return to his side and eventual role in his future plans. He had made his intentions clear in the most unobtrusive way – a necessary feat given her temper.

She, in return, had consulted him on the placement of new wardens and general matters of all the Warden holdings across his land, interspersed with tentative mentions of the Cullen and small panicked glances at his face each time she brought up his name. She had firmly insisted on having him in her life, without saying so outright to Alistair.

He knew what she was doing, just as she was aware of the implications he had made. Neither backed down, and it was an uneasy truce on the matter, but they both felt that progress had been made, albeit very slowly.

He was smiling softly at the memories their uninterrupted time together, when the clarion sounded twice. The Inquisitor’s party had returned.

Alistair started in surprise, jolted out of his thoughts suddenly. His palms became clammy and he desperately swiped them on his leather coat.

He was frozen to the spot for what seemed like centuries until Leliana appeared – with an imperious Morrigan, swathed in fine silk and velvet, following her. Alistair felt his throat constrict in anxiety again when he glimpsed a young boy peeking out from behind her voluminous skirt. It took great effort to force his muscles to cooperate as he heaved himself up to stand.

It was a joyous reunion, at least for Solona and Morrigan. Alistair had spent the time shuffling uneasily as the young boy locked his eyes onto him - looking eerily like his mother, but with warm, brown eyes that were unmistakably Alistair’s.

He felt himself breathe easier when Solona descended upon the quiet child and engulfed him in a hug, temporarily shielding the large, tall man from the boy's unwavering gaze. He took the chance to examine him from head to toe. He had dark hair, Morrigan's pale complexion, her lean stature - so unlike his own bulk.

“Kieran, it is such a pleasure to meet you…finally!” she said. Kieran, Alistair's heart thumped wildly, his son - Kieran.

“Lady Commander,” the boy greeted pleasantly, craning his head to peek at Alistair over her shoulder again, and Alistair was startled at how…normal he sounded.

“Solona to you, my child,” she smiled charmingly at the boy, and then turned to face Alistair.

The King of Ferelden swallowed nervously as four pairs of eyes settled on him at once, and wished that the ground would open and swallow him whole. He had no idea what to say to this child…his son…and all along he had been trying to conceive one with Anora, when his own flesh and blood was to be found in Orlais.

“Kieran, this is the King of Ferelden – Alistair Theirin,” Morrigan announced haughtily, snatching him from his increasingly depressing thoughts.

Alistair cringed at the introduction, even as the boy bowed low and muttered a soft, “Your Majesty.”

He saw Solona nudge the witch, and his eyes narrowed at Morrigan in annoyance.

“Call me Alistair,” he said, sounding harsher than he expected, and immediately softened his tone, “I’m just a Grey Warden, like the Commander here.”

Kieran’s eyes flickered with interest at that. Alistair wondered briefly if it was the soul of the Old God in him that held his interest or if he genuinely nursed a fascination for the Grey Wardens.

“A Grey Warden? Mother says she travelled with some of them before I was born,” he said, his voice was smooth and strangely melodic.

“Yes, she did,” Morrigan intervened quickly before Alistair could reply, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going.

Solona bent down slightly to his eye level and stole the boy’s attention once more by saying, “Lady Josephine had several trays of Madeleine and petit fours brought in from Val Royeaux. Would you like to have some?”

Kieran glanced at his mother eagerly, although his emotions seem muted for a boy his age. Morrigan gave him a small nod and he placed his hand in Solona’s waiting palm and allowed her to lead him to the nearby kitchens. He heard her softly asking Leliana on Cullen’s whereabouts but Alistair ignored it, too distracted by the sight of his son.

Alistair stared after him as they walked away. Despite being prepared for the child’s arrival and steeling himself for it, he was rendered speechless by the actual meeting.

“How did you spend your time here while we were away at Halamshiral?” Leliana asked, a little too innocently to fool Alistair, but mercifully stealing his attention away from Kieran.

“Uh - work, mostly. We have assigned the remaining wardens to be stationed at the warden outposts across the country. That should keep them separated enough to stay out of trouble until the First Warden sorts out the new leadership for Orlais.”

“Interesting,” Leliana mused, “Spent a lot of time with our dear Amell, then?”

Morrigan perked up slightly at this, much to Alistair’s bemusement. That witch was always on a lookout for any opportunity to make fun of him.

 He felt a scowl form on his face and did nothing to hide it from them, “What of it?” he bit out.

“Surely, you must have spoken at length of your future,” Morrigan said, pinning him down with her deathly glare. Alistair felt his insides shrink and wondered if he had somehow been transported back in time to when he was a mere boy trying to stay in her good graces and not be turned into a toad.

He cleared his throat, reminding himself that he was now a capable leader of a whole kingdom, and that Morrigan had his son, and things were so different, but oh how he wished sometimes that it was not.

“I do not see how it is any of your business,” he forced himself to say, glaring back at her.

“Now, now children,” Leliana warned, “Play nice!”

She turned to Alistair but her smile did not quite reach her eyes this time, “I trust that all your problems have been sorted out then? It was not easy – arranging it such that you both remained behind. It would have been very beneficial to our cause if the Hero of Ferelden had made an appearance at Empress Celene’s ball.” A little lie, and a little dash of guilt never hurt, the Spymaster thought.

Alistair didn’t dare say that her effort were all for naught, as he had spent a blissful two weeks with Solona. It was as if the past year did not happen, and he had cherished the moments of having her to himself. He did not dare tell Leliana that he had been tolerant of every single time Cullen had been mentioned, yes, but they were not even close to settling on any form of arrangement.

The Spymaster was squinting at him with a dangerous glint in her eyes, so he wisely remained silent, content to let her draw her own conclusions.

Morrigan let out a derisive scoff and looked at Leliana, “Predictable! He tucked his tail between his legs and fixed nothing.”

Leliana’s eyes filled with disappointment, and her shell-pink lips drooped in a way that made Alistair want to apologize to the redhead for wasting her efforts, despite knowing that every simple act of hers was a deliberate attempt at manipulating his feelings.

“Oh Alistair…what do I do with you? Nothing will be resolved if you refuse to speak to Solona about it.”

“It’s not something I look forward to discussing,” he snarled, “If she had her way, I would be packed and sent back to Denerim in a blink of an eye while she remains behind with him.”

“’Tis not what she truly wants,” Morrigan said patronizingly.

“She’s right, Alistair,” Leliana injected sadly, “Solona may say that is what she wants you to do, but only because she thinks it is for your own good. Don’t you see? She has spent most of her adulthood making decisions for everyone around her – appointing kings and sparing lives and all of it was done for the good of the people. It is a habit she will not willingly break, especially not if she thinks it is to fulfil her own selfish wishes.”

“Yes…and my track record of changing her mind is so very encouraging,” he said bitterly, thinking of the times she made him King, recruited Zevran against his wishes, left him at the castle gates while she stormed Fort Drakon just so he would not attempt to slay the archdemon himself, all in case Morrigan’s ritual failed to work…

“Your battle is already half won. Sometimes, our hearts are mightier than reason,” Leliana quipped cheerfully, and Morrigan rolled her eyes next to her at the bard’s sentimentality.

She reached out to lay a comforting hand on his arm – still encased in a hard cast, and said, “Perhaps, you could share? At least for now,” she suggested.

“I beg your pardon?” he sputtered, turning red in fury.

Any mere mortal other than Leliana and Morrigan may have wet themselves at his simmering rage - honed and sharpened over the years of ruling over stubborn nobles, but the two formidable women held their ground, smirking at him knowingly.

Morrigan drawled, in an insufferable manner, “The possibility must have crossed your mind.”

He looked to Leliana, hoping for her to be a voice of reason against the mad witch, but she just shrugged and said, “It is not unheard of. She shared you, Alistair.”

He sputtered indignantly, “That was political – it was…it was arranged! It cannot begin to compare –”

“It was a decade of sharing you with another woman,” Leliana insisted, “And she put up with it wonderfully.”

Leliana’s knowing gaze landed squarely on him and Alistair could not hide his flinch, both of them well aware that Solona’s infamous temper had been miraculously reined it during the years of dealing with the knowledge of Anora sharing his bed.

He sank down on the garden bench and rubbed his face with his calloused palms, groaning as he admitted to them, “I know. Trust me. It’s just – I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know how-”

Morrigan cut in abruptly, “She did not know how either. She learned, as will you.”

Leliana was quick to soften the witch’s words, “You can try, at least, Alistair. After all she has done – and all you have done, I will not stand by and let you both throw this away.”

“She has to return to Amaranthine, or at least Denerim. The Grey Wardens have always operated near the city. What will happen then?” he asked.

“That is for them to work out. If it does not last the distance, then you have nothing to worry about. But, Alistair, give her a chance to see this through. If you force her to choose, and she chooses you, she will wonder for the rest of her life if it could have been something more,” Leliana warned.

Alistair sighed, a tortured one that had even Morrigan flinching at the sudden sympathy she felt for him.

“That will all be unnecessary if you cannot convince her that she is not doing your reign any harm by remaining by your side,” the witch said quickly, anything to brush away the uncomfortable surge of feeling she had for her child’s father.

“That is not even up for discussion. She knows that. I will not leave her. If she chooses…if she wishes to stay with the Commander, I will…try my utmost to support her. But I will not let her go again,” he swore.

“Tenacity,” Morrigan drawled, attempting to inject her usual cruelty into her words, but failing hopelessly, “is not something I ever thought I would see from you, Alistair.”

Alistair allowed himself to offer her a small grin at the unintended compliment, and choked when the witch’s lips tilted up slightly in response.

“Did you just –” he stuttered and coughed, as Morrigan swept her robes aside and tilted her nose up haughtily.

“Did she just…did Morrigan -” he turned to Leliana instead, waving his hand at the witch, “did she just smile at me?”

Leliana laughed softly, “The world is turning upside down, it seems. Give her a chance, Alistair. Let her see how much you truly love her.”

“There is no questioning that,” he frowned at her.

“But she did question it, and she half believes it. So now you must show her.” Leliana advised, before sweeping up her travelling cloak and leaving Alistair to brood in the gardens, muttering under her breath about being late to an advisor's meeting and risking the wrath of the Lady Ambassador.

Morrigan sniffed down her nose at him, but she did not leave. He fiddled with a twig absent-mindedly, racking his brain for something to say.

“That’s him? I thought he’d look, I don’t know, more demonic. Tentacles and fiery breath,” he blurted unthinkingly, his thoughts automatically returning to Kieran.

Morrigan growled at him defensively, “He is a normal boy, Alistair.”

“Uh-huh. And what does he know of…how he was made?”

She straightened her back, squaring her shoulders and admitted in a reluctant manner, “He knows his father was a good man. I – I thought you deserved that much.”

He gaped at her in shock, saying in an awe-filled voice, “He’s changed you.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she snapped.

“No, I didn’t mean to – he is very well-mannered,” Alistair settled on a compliment, hoping to appease the witch.

Morrigan merely glared at him without saying another word.

“I…uh, I was hoping you would allow me to spend some time with Kieran,” Alistair said, his voice wavering on his son’s name, still disbelieving that such a soft spoken and endearing boy could come from him and the witch.

Morrigan’s nostrils flared and Alistair braced himself for the incoming assault, but surprisingly she shook herself and crossed her arms, looking like a ruffled hen, “Under my supervision, or it shall not happen,” she conceded.

For the third time that day, the witch had managed to pull the rug out from under his feet. She really has changed, he thought to himself.

“Of course - as you wish, Morrigan,” he said gently, still dazed from their amicable conversation as he watched her follow Leliana’s path into the Great Hall.

He missed Solona.

Cullen was no blushing virgin. He had his fair share of templar recruits and even one or two pretty ladies during his station in Kirkwall.

His past experiences had been satisfactory, and his partners never failed to achieve their own completion.

None made it past the first night, though, despite all their efforts at snaring the Knight-Captain of the Templar Order.

Yet a mere touch from Warden-Commander Amell could ignite his senses and send flames down his spine, leaving him with wobbly knees and a pounding heart.

Not a single one of those ladies held a candle to Solona, or even Lady Trevelyan. He was destined to be surrounded by attractive, capable and downright fearsome women in his lifetime. Decorative nobles and professional …ah- ladies were of no interest to him whatsoever.

Which was why Cullen was particularly bothered on the return trip. He had spent the last few nights in Halamshiral in discomfort, feeling hounded at every turn and with a perpetual itch on his back that had nothing to do with the bright red uniform Josephine had procured for all of them.

That uniform, Cullen thought with a shudder. The colour made him stand out in the ballroom like a sore thumb, or as Josephine said with a giggle at his complaint – a sight for sore eyes.

Maker, his own behind had been sore after the event ended. If he ever ran into that bloody noble with pincers for hands, he swore that he would not hesitate to run a sword through his gut.

After the ball, Josephine had insisted they remained for a few more days to wrap up discussions and seal their newly established reputation within the Orlesian gentry before leaving for Skyhold. Cullen tried with no success to hole himself up in his own lavish rooms – whereby he was subsequently accosted by Lady Chermaine from the House of Baars, wearing nothing but a silk handkerchief and a purple hand fan.

That image, and the horror that accompanied it, would forever be ingrained in his mind. He had resorted to trailing behind Leliana or Josephine at all times, even though this meant that he had been forced to sit through hours of small talk or relegated to carrying their purchases from the visiting Orlesian merchants. At least they served as a small barrier between him and ambitious mothers with their dolled-up daughters.

He had heard Leliana say that Lady Trevelyan had received no fewer than thirty marriage proposals, but Cullen’s far exceeded that number. While her offers had been mere inquiries by several interested men of potential alliances, Cullen’s held actual offers of marriage with generous terms in exchange.

At least, that was what the Spymaster gleefully told him with a glint in her eye on one of her shopping trips that he had no choice but to accompany her on.

He hoped that Josephine had listened to his advice to burn all the offending pieces of marriage contracts before the Inquisitor would have a chance to review them and decide to have him accept one in the interests of the Inquisition.

All in all, his heart gladdened with each mile they put between their party and the oppressive halls of the Winter Palace. Further away from the harpies’ claws, and each step brought him closer to Solona, to home.

He really, really missed her.

As luck would have it, the moment he rode into Skyhold, Josephine summoned him to look at plans for their next move and the incoming updates on the Inquisitor’s journey to Storm Coast on Bull’s recommendation.

Leliana was in the gardens with their new arcane advisor, and Josephine had questions on the Qunari’s war strategies and hierarchy of command. They estimated the Inquisitor to return later in the day – her little group of travelers had left a full day before them and would have made far better time journeying from Orlais to Ferelden than their larger one.

Cullen was a patient man, so he did not understand why the ambassador could not wait for the Inquisitor to return before besetting him with questions that the Iron Bull would be able to answer from firsthand experience.

He handed his stallion over to Master Dennet with a deep sigh and started down the path after Josephine. Seeing Solona would have to wait.

After a rather awkward yet satisfying afternoon with Morrigan and his son (Maker, he still feels so uncomfortable with that word), Alistair sat in the gardens until the little chapel’s doors opened and the multitude of lay-sisters spilled out into the fresh air, their chatter and prayers rising into the sky and disrupting his brooding.

He made his way back to his room, or more accurately – Solona’s room. He had taken up residence in her bedroom even after recovering enough to move about on his own, unheeding of her concerns about protocol and etiquette, and steadfastly refused to sleep alone when she was around.

His mood brightened when he saw her sitting on her bed and looking out the window contentedly, knees drawn up to her chin.

“Spying on us…were you?” he asked lightly, knowing full well that her window afforded her an encompassing view of the courtyard.

“Hello,” she greeted Alistair happily. She looked so genuinely delighted at his presence that he couldn’t help but to smile widely at her.

“Did you enjoy your time with Kieran?” she asked, sounding a little wistful and something tugged at Alistair’s heart.

“Yes I did,” he confided, sounding surprised at that fact, “He is an amazing child, and he seems wise beyond his years,” he said.

“Having an Old God for a soul would do that,” she said blithely, too casually that Alistair stopped in his tracks and considered her carefully.

“Solona…if it bothers you-” he started to say hesitantly.

She gasped, and turned to look at him properly, “No, of course not, Alistair! I would never begrudge you spending time with your own…” she hastily stopped mid-sentence, and lowered her voice to a whisper, “you know.”

“It still doesn’t feel like…like he is mine,” he whispered in return, searching her face for any hint of sorrow. He closed the door shut and made his way to her.

“He is, though. And the way things are going…” she gave a short bitter laugh, “he might be the only one to carry your lineage.”

“Please tell me that you don’t blame yourself for that, Solona,” he warned.

“I don’t…not really. You were a Grey Warden before I even came along. But, Alistair, if you had never met me, you could have taken another mistress, one who might be able to bear you an heir,” she reasoned, her eyes were clouded over with pain at the thought and Alistair hated it.

He hated that after all these years, they still argued over the same matter again and again and again.

“And if I never met you, I would be dead. I wouldn’t even be the King. Even if I had survived Ostagar and the Blight – I would never have accepted the crown without you…and none of this would  matter,” he said earnestly.

She clambered off her bed and stood to look him in the eye, an argument already brewing at the tip of her tongue.

Alistair took both of her hands and clutched them to his chest, interrupting her before she could begin and said, “I wish...Maker, sometimes I wish so hard that you were my wife, the mother of my child…children, even. But that is not our fate, and I have to accept that. I do not want to have a child with another woman, the crown be damned. It would not mean anything if it were not with you.”

“Oh Alistair, do not say such things!” she said, her voice breaking in agony.

“It is all true. Waking up next to you, every morning, and kissing you goodnight or whenever I please – that is the next best thing, the best thing in my life right now, and nothing will ever change that,” he said.

She said nothing but continued to shake her head, her eyes imploring him to stop and she tried to pull her hands back.

Alistair tightened his hold, resolving to not let her run away again, “How else can I convince you, Sol? Tell me…tell me how to fix this. Because I hate this…feeling that I will wake up one morning and find you gone again.”

“I- I won’t…Alistair, but I don’t know how to fix this! You need to return to your Queen, and my place is here with Cullen. We cannot-”

“We can. We can do whatever we want, Solona. Forget about our duties, forget about what you think you are responsible for…and tell me honestly, do you still want to be with me?”

“No, please do not force this. We cannot –” she continued to insist, tears threatened to spill over again.

Alistair lost his patience and backed her up against the wall, his eyes flashing in anger and his handsome face strained with pent up fury.

“Be selfish, Solona. For once! For me!” he almost yelled, “Tell me what I need to know...forget Cullen, forget everything else…just think of us. I need to be with you…will you please, for the love of Andraste, stop trying to leave but stay with me?” he bit out, sounding almost frightened.

She let her head fall against the wall behind her with a loud thud and squeezed his hands, “Alistair, please…”

He snarled, pushing her almost violently against the wall, “For my sake, Solona! Stay with me.”

She was breathing raggedly at his sudden shift in demeanour and closed her eyes in surrender as she sighed, “Yes, oh Maker, yes…Alistair. As unfair as it is –”

Alistair released her, and slammed his palms against the wall, caging her in, “Enough,” he ordered angrily and captured her lips with his own. It was almost brutal, the kiss. But Solona revelled in it, she more than met his searching lips and welcomed the invasion as he nipped on her lips, holding her own as his tongue swiped out against hers.

“Alistair,” she moaned, when he withdrew slightly to allow them to breathe.

“Don’t even think about the crown or Anora or being fair. Life has not been fair to us, so I don’t give a Void about anything else. We are going to try again…be it unfair to me, or to you, or to Ferelden. I don’t care, we just need to make the best out of what fate has dealt us,” he declared resolutely.

She just looked at him with tear-filled eyes, and he could read the unspoken question in them. Cullen.

Alistair rested his forehead against hers gently, and ran his thumb along her swollen bottom lip, “I…do not ask me to like the fact that you love another. But, he is a good man. And you deserve to have anything you want. I will allow it. I will bear it. I will not ask you to choose,” he shushed her when she opened her mouth to speak, “Let me finish. You will not choose. See it through, be it to the end of our lives. But you will not leave me, my love, that I will not be able to bear.”

 “I hate that Anora legally shares your last name and your bed, even though I am selfish and have monopolized your attention for so long, but I cannot possibly ask this of you, Alistair,” she began to argue.

“You are not. I am asking you to let me,” he said resolutely,

“It would be horrible. I should know. It killed me, each time I had to hear you bedding her," Solona admitted in a rush, the words spilling out of her before she could think and retract them.

“What? What do you mean?” he drew back in alarm.

She let her eyes fall shut in frustration. Stupid, stupid, he was never supposed to know.

“Solona?” his hand fell on her shoulder and she felt his grip tighten.

“I…Maker. Can we forget this?”

“No.”

Her eyes flew open and locked on his – brown irises swirling with questions and a hint of dismay as he waited for her to confirm what he suspected.

“Fine. If you insist. Did you have to enjoy sleeping with her so much, Alistair?” her angry tone dissolving into a familiar hurt one, the same ache she felt those very many nights ago flared again.

“How did you-?” his face fell at her question.

“I was there. I looked for you sometimes, and that’s when I…It was never intentional,” she said defensively, “and it wasn’t something I could ignore, or forget. You- I love you so much, and I wanted…this was not something I was prepared for. But she is your wife, I know that -”

“Stop that,” he said softly, the sorrow in his eyes nearly bowling her over, “Anora and I – we are nothing more than friends, I promise you. I will not share her bed again, not when we have tried all these years and it has been for nothing.”

He looked so sad and weary as he admitted that, and he looked away to hide his pain until Solona squirmed in his arms.

“No, Alistair. Do you expect her to live the rest of her life as a cloistered nun? And I…I know the pleasure you both bring to each other,” she bit her lip.

His features twisted in despair, “Believe me. It’s nothing compared to what we have. Her great love was Cailan, just as you are mine. Nothing will ever change that. I think of you, most of the time when we...she – it never felt right. She’s like a sister, or at least a distant relation.”

Solona shook her head, banishing the memories of echoing moans of pleasure that reverberated within her skull. Her bruised heart yearned to believe him.

“Even if you are willing, I…I do not know if Cullen will agree to this,” she bit her lip and gazed at him warily from beneath her lashes.

Ailstair tightened his jaw, considered her words, and then said, “Talk to him, make him see – tell him that I refuse to let you go. Sol, if he doesn’t want to -“

He broke off, the words not forthcoming as he dreaded voicing the possibility of it. The pain in her eyes told him all that he needed to know, and he touched his forehead to hers gently, “Please –”

“I can’t leave him, Alistair…I w-won’t, I’m sorry,” she whispered, her tears tracing lines down her cheeks.

He kissed each drop away, turned his attention back to her and asked sadly, “Won’t you fight for me?”

“You know I would die for you,” she replied.

“That was not what I asked, and you know it. Convince him. Or I will make him agree to this myself. I would move the world for you - to give you anything you want. This is no different. Just…just give me your word that you will not try to leave me again.”

“I-,” she struggled.

He could still see the doubt lingering in her eyes and lightly kissed her on her lips again, “Your word, Solona, void and damnation to everything else!” he demanded.

“As long as he accepts this, I… I promise, otherwise we will need to find another way, Alistair,” she finally agreed, much to his relief as he allowed himself to relax against her.

He would force the Commander’s hand if he had to. He was king after all, with more than a few tricks up his sleeve, he would manage something.

She freed her hands from him and ran her fingers through his fine hair, mussing it up and pressed kisses on his jaw as she could not reach his lips, apologizing profusely, “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I hurt you…I’m sorry I was unfaithful…I have been unspeakably horrible to you.”

“Hush, I owe you a mountain of apologies as well. But we will hurt each other many more times, and we will work through it. I will try to be more patient, but you must talk to me, love,” he pleaded.

“You are already a saint to me,” she muttered, half laughing and half sobbing against his throat.

“Please remember that the next time I do something stupid,” he replied, "I never wanted to do this king thing without you."

"That is not entirely true, you planned to leave me that day. For duty," Solona reminded him gently.

"I was a fool," he insisted, "But after you convinced me, I would not have had it any other way. The past few months were torture, Sol. You know what happens when you leave me alone to lead, bad things happen and -"

"Alistair," she stressed, frowning at him, "Are we lost? Is Ferelden lost?"

"What? No - I don't get why -" he drew back slightly to look at her.

"Did anyone die because of you?" she interrupted.

"Maker, I hope not! Why are you -"

"Are you stranded now?" Solona continued, ignoring his questions.

"What? Sol, I don't - oh! Ohhh...For the love of cheese, you really do pay attention to my nonsensical ramblings!"

"And last I checked, your pants are snugly wrapped around your tight royal arse. So I'd say you've done a good job at this king thing, and you should really stop doubting yourself. It has been ten years, and the people adore you," Solona finished with a smile.

"Then this Elder One surfaces and -"

"And we're dealing with it. Together. For everything else, that's why you married Anora," she joked.

Alistair's face fell at the mention of his wife, and an adorable wrinkle appeared on his forehead. Solona frowned, "Oh dear, too soon for jokes? No? Sorry. My point is - we will face this together. We've worked too hard to let some insane Darkspawn destroy everything."

He sighed and pulled her closer to him, mumbling, "Yes, together. That's the best idea I've heard of in a long time." 

He nuzzled her hair, breathing in her scent and felt light-years younger. This issue with Solona had been weighing him down mercilessly ever since their argument in Denerim and right at that moment, he wondered why he had refused to hash it out earlier.

And after his confession to Leliana that he could bear with this new arrangement for the sake of being with Solona, surprising even himself at the sudden realization, Alistair felt that maybe the pieces of his life were falling into place again, finally.

Chapter Text

“Letters for you, Warden-Commander,” one of the Inquisition's messengers stopped by Solona's quarters and handed over a bundle of crumpled parchments.

Solona spotted the royal seal and frowned, her thoughts immediately flew to the worst scenarios – Anora finding out about her and Alistair, ordering her exile, civil war breaking out in Denerim in Alistair’s absence, an usurper to the throne?

She walked out to the gardens and glanced around to see if Alistair was anywhere in the vicinity but could not see his fair blond head towering over the Skyhold inhabitants. She wanted to ask if this was one of his letters that went astray under Leliana’s manipulations.

Both of them were already emotionally exhausted after the morning's events – from meeting Kieran to trashing out their issues, and she did not think she had any strength left to deal with another one of Anora’s political dramas.

In an attempt to diffuse the tension in the aftermath of their argument, Solona and Alistair had resorted to a less demanding activity and spent a good amount of time wading through his stash of figurines – along with numerous new additions from Solona’s travels to Orlais.

Even though their relationship had been on hold (Alistair told her she must have been dreaming for thinking that), she could not resist purchasing the many intricately carved, stunningly painted figurines of Orlesian legends and creatures. There was even a little figure of Cassandra brandishing a sword as large as her frame, with a little plague beneath labeling her the Hero of Orlais.

She had not dared show it to the Seeker, and kept it safely hidden in the bottom of her pack until she was able to hand it over to a delighted Alistair. She hoped he kept that one out of Cassandra’s sight. Maker bless that man, but he had the tact of a druffalo sometimes, and she didn’t like to think what Josephine would do if the Seeker was caught raging at the King of Ferelden in public.

As the morning faded into noon, she bravely told him of her desire to see Cullen, after so long. And apart from a slight twitch and grimace he could not fully hide, Alistair had just nodded and waved her on as supportively as he could. He had gathered several figurines in a small pouch and told her he was going to look for Kieran. Solona suspected that he was just eager to see if the boy had inherited his love for toys.

Thinking of Kieran led to thoughts of Alistair’s heir, which led back to the Queen of Ferelden, sitting on her throne far away in Denerim, and who had apparently sent a letter to her husband’s mistress which was currently held in her hands.

Solona clutched that particular scroll in her fists, and schooled her features to betray nothing, too aware of the many faces turned toward her as she strolled past the hall to Solas’ study.

It was not until she arrived at the Commander’s office, that she allowed the worry in her heart to wrinkle her brow. Cullen was still holed up at the war council with Leliana and Josephine. She had not seen him since the Winter Palace attendees rode into Skyhold. Every human and elf, templar and mage seemed to be clamouring for his attention to resolve matters that had been left pending his return. Now, the advisors appeared to be deep in discussion despite the Inquisitor’s absence.

She leaned against the crumbling stones of the ramparts, glancing at the scroll in apprehension. Looking around to ascertain that she was alone, she inhaled deeply and broke the seal, readying herself to read whatever message the Queen had for her as she unrolled the vellum within.

Warden-Commander Amell,

Thank you for your letter.

I will await word from Alistair directly.

In the meantime, I will hold you to your promise.

He will sacrifice himself to protect you, but Ferelden cannot lose her King – I am certain you know this very well.

Do not let Alistair come to any harm, or you will feel the brunt of my wrath.

All I ask is that you make him happy - for he deserves this more than any other mortal soul in Thedas and unfortunately for the women of Ferelden, no other person in the world will do for him.

I know that you feel the same.

While I do not condone it, I will not stand in your way either. I am fully aware of the circumstances surrounding our union, and the role you played in securing my position for me.

Perhaps, we could have approached the past years differently. I am not fully absolved of blame for making the palace inhospitable to your presence. Allow me to make my apologies on that front.

I still hold you in high regard, and will not be an obstacle to your own desires.

Queen Anora of Ferelden.

She exhaled, closed her eyes and slid down the wall in relief. When she opened her eyes, it was to an amused Alistair who was looking down at her with affection and love in his eyes.

“Good news from home?” he quipped, flashing a familiar boyish grin that had not changed over the years.

“Your home, actually,” Solona replied, not realizing that she had been smiling to herself as she read the letter. Thrusting the vellum up to him, she watched him closely and saw his lips quirk up fondly at his wife’s written words.

Seemingly catching himself, he darted a panicked glance to Solona and rearranged his facial features. She chuckled and shook her head at him, prodding him in a teasing manner, “You don’t have to hide it, Alistair. I know full well how fond you are of her.”

“Like a sister,” he insisted, “and you cannot fault me for being careful…this whole thing with Anora was what caused you to disappear on me for months.”

“I know. And I’m sorry…I do not know what else to do to show you how sorry I am for causing you so much worry,” she said, sounding trite at his reminder.

“I didn’t mean –” he paused and ran a hand through his hair, making his fringe spike and looking so much like a young Alistair that Solona heard her breath hitch.

He held out a hand to help her stand. He did not let her go, but looked her in the eye and smiled shyly, “We’re going to be just fine, aren’t we? We’ll make it.”

There was a trace of apprehension in his large, brown eyes and the wrinkle of worry that clouded his brow made Solona wish that Alistair’s past had not been so hard on him.

She cast her thoughts to Cullen’s possible reaction to her news, and bit her lip anxiously. “I’ll…speak to him,” she promised solemnly.

Right at that moment, she caught sight of a tall blonde general emerging from the battlements door. Oh no, something must have unsettled him.

Cullen strode to his office in a temper, sending scouts and agents scurrying terrified out of his way as he glowered at everything in his path.

“What’s put you in such a mood, Cullen?” he heard a voice asked from his left.

In his fit of pique, Cullen failed to notice Solona standing on the battlements right outside his office. Her hair was whipping wildly around her face and she was valiantly trying to keep them in place. His heart sped up at the sight of her.

He had been called immediately to the War Room after their return for a short de-briefing, already not in the best of moods and wishing he could get away as quickly as possible to seek Solona out, and was ready to call it quits when Josephine brought up those blasted marriage offers.

Then, Leliana had strolled in just in time to overhear it and made that comment and his head had begun to throb and his teeth hurt…

But now, there she was, smiling adorably at him, and he felt his annoyance ebbing away.

However, King Alistair was standing right next to her, eyebrow raised and his lips pursed in annoyance at him.

Cullen stifled a groan, and immediately tensed as the irritation slammed back into him – this was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Warden-Commander.”

Solona’s smiling face fell at his harshness and Cullen felt a stab of regret that he had lashed out at her. As expected, Alistair’s hand flew to his side, his reflexes kicking in to draw his sword, to shield Solona from the evil Commander.

Cullen scoffed. Right. As if Solona would be in any danger from him.

He turned away from the couple and continued striding to his office, he could see Solona scowling and shaking her head at Alistair out the corner of his eye. The King flexed his fingers on the pommel of his sword and rolled his eyes at her before he threw his hands up in frustration.

Cullen looked away, in no mood to be caught spying on them.

He heard her soft footsteps trailing behind him, followed by the King’s heavier ones, and tried to curtail his own rising irritation. He would not deal with the other man’s barbs and snipes today.

“Cullen,” Solona’s plea reached his ears. He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to her, swallowing the curt reply that was at the tip of his tongue. Solona was not to bear the brunt of his anger, he reminded himself.

She was standing a foot away from him, the hurt in her eyes betraying the small smile she wore. The guilt overwhelmed him and his hand fell back to his side.

“Did…something happen at the Winter Palace?” she asked tentatively.

“No,” Cullen replied, then frowned. That was harsher than intended. “Yes,” he amended, forcing his tone to soften, “Blasted politics and nobles, that’s all.”

He saw the King standing behind her, arms crossed and glaring at him – obviously with no intention of leaving Solona alone with him, and that raised his ire further, so he cruelly added, “No offence intended, Your Majesty.”

He snorted, “None taken, believe me.”

And for the first time, Cullen felt a sort of kinship with the Fereldan ruler, and swallowed his frustration, remembering Alistair’s own ordinary past.

Solona interrupted them, “You are not yourself, Cullen. Tell me, please,” she reached out to take his gloved hand, letting her own small one sit comfortably in his, and it made Cullen feel infinitely better, although he ducked his head, half expecting a sword to land on his neck at any moment.

He waited with bated breath, and Solona was looking at him in bafflement, when he realised that Alistair had not tried to behead him and looked up to see what was holding him back.

The King remained in the same stance behind Solona, to Cullen’s amazement. He did not even draw his sword, but Cullen did notice that his fists were clenched at his sides.

“I- he…” Cullen tried to reply but only managed to stammer in explanation to Solona’s puzzled look. His gaze swivelled from her hand clasped in his to Alistair and back.

“Oh! Well, uh…we had a talk while you were gone,” she said, blushing under his gaze and made no effort to remove her hand from his.

Cullen noted briefly that it the results of their talk seemed to favour him, but before he could dwell on it, Solona was urging him to tell her more about the Winter Palace.

“Well?” she coaxed.

“Ah. It’s nothing. There were some…enquiries into my lineage from some interested parties and I told Leliana that I refuse to be bait for her schemes. But, she told me to just stand there and look pretty,” the last two words were said in a low growl and a clenched jaw.

Alistair let out a loud barking guffaw and immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, shocking the Commander momentarily.

“What – why is he- Maker’s breath, forget it,” he said, bemused. He could feel his temper beginning to rise again.

Solona’s eyes were flashing dangerously, and Cullen had no idea what caused it until she said, “Were there – these interested parties…” she faltered, and tried again, “Did you...I mean, did anyone, er…did you fancy any of them?”

“What? No! Of course not,” Cullen said, his skin taking on a flushed tone as he gripped her hand indignantly.

“Oh. Well, then it is quite funny, Commander,” she said, clearing her throat shyly.

Her impish grin had returned.

“It is not. I assure you, as I have told Leliana, that –”

“Hush, darling. You know you are the prettiest –” Solona began until a cough behind her made her pause, and she corrected herself, “- as pretty as Alistair, and we all know that you are not just an ornament. Remember the times you beat everyone at chess? Leliana was just teasing you, you know how she is.”

She soothed his ruffled feathers and Cullen found himself being led into his office, with the King trailing after them, still sporting the same amused grin on his face.

“Yes, the greatest Commander, blessed with such a powerful strategic mind and-” Alistair intoned. Cullen thought to himself that it was unfair that the King was allowed to take such pleasure from his misery.

“Alistair.” Her warning tone had the King looking properly chastened.

“Now, Cullen – I want to know exactly what happened, and what those nobles did at the ball.”

Cullen felt himself turning red as he tried to imagine himself describing all the inappropriate things the nobles had done and said. He would not be able to find the right words, and he knew Solona would not relent until she had every name and deed stored away in her memory.

Maker preserve me, he thought in horror.

Alistair felt no remorse over the enjoyment he displayed at the Commander’s discomfort, figuring that he had had his share of pawing noblewomen hoping for a chance to warm his bed in the years that followed his coronation. But out of respect, he had forced himself to hold in his laughter and that had made his ribs ache.

It was almost a shame that he had to leave, as he had truly enjoyed watching someone else have the same problems he had suffered through ever since ascending the Ferelden throne.

However, he had promised Kieran to take him to the armoury and show him the basics of sword fighting, and Alistair found that he quite liked spending time with the boy. So he excused himself, effectively ending Cullen’s misery of having to repeat the events at the ball.

Alistair shot Solona a look that clearly meant convince him and winked cheekily at Cullen. 

If Cullen was surprised at his sudden affability, he did not show it, and Solona wondered if something transpired between the two of them while she left them asleep in the same bed. Alistair dropped a kiss on her forehead and left, without a single hostile glare in Cullen’s direction.

 He closed the door after the King and rested his head against the wood, exhausted and drained – not from the journey back, but from the accumulated stress of dealing with simpering and ridiculously decked out nobles.

“You must wear the uniform for me some time,” Solona teased.

He groaned and closed his eyes. She must have taken pity on him for her hands rested on his shoulders and guided him gently to sit at his desk.

“Do I dare ask why King Alistair is in such a good mood?” he asked.

Solona grinned at him, “We talked…and worked things out.”

Cullen’s shoulders immediately stiffened, worry worked its way across his features and he drew away from her touch.

“Then you should not be alone with me –”

“Let me finish, my heart. He will allow this…us.”

“You are leaving him?” he asked.

Solona pursed her lips, hesitating before answering, “Not exactly.”

“What? How is that – how does that work?”

“The same way I have been with him although he is married to Anora.”

“That is – what? That is different! Everyone knows that was a political union,” he said, looking more confused than ever.

“Why does everyone always say that? It’s not that different!” she sniffed.

“So I am to be a…mistress? What is the male equivalent to that?” Cullen asked incredulously.

“No, of course not. In all matters and appearances, I am wholly yours,” she said.

“I can’t – I don’t think -” he began, but faltered when her hopeful smile disappeared to reveal her anxiety.

She noticed his uncertainty and interjected hurriedly, “Oh, it is out of the question isn’t it? But…would you just think on it, for a little while? I know it is unconventional – but nothing in my life has been anything close to normal. I know it will not give you the ideal family life you have always dreamed of…and that this is a lot to ask for, but I love you, and I will not leave you, for as long as you will have me. Alistair feels the same, and well…” she admitted with a helpless shrug.

He frowned, clearly trying to wrap his thoughts around her suggestion.

“If you are not comfortable with it,” Solona said, biting her lips in dismay at the possibility, “I will let him know, and I will tell him that I belong to you – and you only, I will not abandon what we have between us,” she promised.

“You want to be with him,” Cullen stated bluntly.

“Yes, I love him, as much as I love you. I know it sounds terrible –”

“No, I – I have never had anyone serious in my life, I don’t even know what constitutes as normal in a relationship. But I know that this is nothing close to it.”

Solona nodded understandingly, her eyes glittering with fear, and held her breath – almost certain that Cullen would denounce her in his next breath.

“Yet I know what it means to love you, and I know that you are what I want - have always wanted,” he corrected himself, “if the King allows it, I do not have it in me to deny you anything, Solona.”

“So, you agree to this…” she waved her hands in the air, frowning as she tried to come up with the right description.

“- arrangement?” Cullen interjected helpfully.

At her shy nod, his lips quirked in the attractive lopsided manner that always made her knees weak, and said, “Yes, as unconventional as it is. Nothing wrong in giving it a try, is there?”

She beamed at him, full of hope and wonder.

“And if one day, you change your mind about this, you have to let me know, Cullen. I will not have you unhappy in any way,” she implored.

He nodded, seemingly unconcerned at the possibility.

Solona was rather shocked at his acceptance; she had always been of the opinion that he was a straight-laced, chantry-grown, religious man.

Even though Cullen showed a certain deference and respect to Alistair that he rarely did for anyone else, Solona did not think that it would have extended to such an arrangement, and had actually expected to return to Alistair with an apology and rejection to his proposal, with her broken heart served on a platter.

Before she could question him more or continue assuring him, a knock sounded followed by a messenger she recognized as one of Josephine’s.

“The Inquisitor is back from the Storm Coast with the Chargers. The council demands your presence in the War Room immediately, Commander,” the boy said, saluting Cullen as he did.

Cullen sighed but nodded at the scout, “I will be there shortly,” and dismissed him with a wave.

He turned back to Solona and drew her closer to him, and she fell into his arms willingly.

“Does Lady Trevelyan not rest? She went straight to the Storm Coast from Orlais – she must be exhausted,” she asked, distracted from her own moral dilemma for a while.

“It was something urgent concerning the Qun, I believe. I had better go. Find me later,” he said, smiling down at her with something akin to wonder on his face.

“Yes. Yes, tonight…Maker, Cullen, I have been waiting so long for you,” she admitted, hiding her flaming cheeks in his ever present fur coat. The implication in her tone, holding not-so-innocent promises had him blushing to the roots of his curly hair as well.

He cleared her throat and gently released her, “Tonight,” he affirmed, and willed himself to step away from her enticing warmth.

They smiled at each other bashfully before Cullen finally turned around and left her standing like a foolish girl in his office – the tips of her ears a pretty shade of pink, and unable to stop grinning.

When she emerged from Cullen’s office and skipped down the stairs to the tavern, the Iron Bull was striding into it alone.

“Bull!” Solona greeted happily, “How was the –”

She stopped when he looked at her, his usually blank or cheery disposition replaced by such anguish that shocked her.

“Talk to the Boss,” he glowered, and continued marching to his seat.

She stared after him, the pieces falling into place at once –the messenger’s haste in delivering Josephine’s summons to Cullen, a War Council being convened so soon after the Inquisitor’s return…

A bad feeling settled in the pits of her stomach. Something terrible must have happened.

She traversed the towers and crypts of Skyhold, rumours and whispers floating to her ears of necessary sacrifices and dreadnoughts blowing up.

By the time she came upon the Inquisitor, hunched over a dusty chair in a dark abandoned roomed, Solona had a pretty good idea of what had happened.

“I chose the Chargers,” Lady Trevelyan stated emotionlessly, when Solona appeared, “for Krem, Dalish, Stitches…I could not…”

“I would have done the same,” Solona said softly, hovering at the door, not certain if she was welcome at this time.

“I cost us the alliance with the Qun,” she bit out, her hand gripped the wooden desk so hard that it began to crack and the mark on her hand flared – casting everything in the room with an eerie green glow.

“It was the right decision. We protect our own,” she replied, “no matter the cost.”

“Even if it would endanger thousands of lives?” the Inquisitor asked warily.

“We don’t know that, and welcoming the Qun to our shores would have had its own implications,” she said.

“I’m tired of making decisions. Tired…of being the Herald,” she whined softly.

Solona sighed and crouched next to her, “Is that why you are not at the War Council?”

“I did not feel up to facing the wrath of our three advisors right now,” she said, sounding so exhausted and helpless that Solona’s hand reached out to cover her marked one automatically, “Let them analyze the consequences of my actions to death without me. I’m sure I have disappointed them enough for one day.”

“Why do you think they will be disappointed? They would hardly support sacrificing the Chargers-”

“But they would. At least, the Spymaster and the Commander would – the alliance would have brought insurmountable influence and intelligence that the Inquisition could really use at our disposal. It would have opened a whole new network of informants to supplement our own. Strategically, it would have been a coup for us.”

“They will stand behind you, no matter what. You need to be there,” Solona urged.

“Yes, I suppose I do…” Trevelyan agreed listlessly, but made no move to stand up. Her disbelief at the suggestion of her advisors’ support was plainly written across her face.

Solona hesitated before saying, “This burden…it never becomes easier, but we still need you, Inquisitor. You need to rest – you must have ridden hard to arrive so soon after the others returned from the Winter Palace. Wearing yourself out will not make any of this easier.”

“It makes it easier to sleep at night – no dreams, no nightmares, no regrets…” she said drily.

“Talking about it will help. I know that, at least. And…and I am always here for you, you know that, right?” Solona asked, the curve of her lips tilted downwards in empathy of her dear friend’s plight.

The Inquisitor flexed the hand that held the mark, flashing the glowing light at Solona as she examined it wordlessly.

After a while, she stood up and made her way to the door, pausing to mutter a quiet, “Thank you,” and then disappearing into the fading day.

It was after dinner by the time Solona found a slot in Cullen’s schedule to speak to him. She waited until the last field agent filed out of his tower before slipping in. To her surprise, she found Alistair already deep in conversation with him.

Alistair’s eyes had lit up and a slight blush tinted the apples of his cheeks at her entrance. Solona felt the same flutter in her belly – and she marvelled at the occurrence of the familiar sensation that never seemed to diminish throughout all the years each time she laid eyes on him.

“Some concerns in Redcliffe – His Majesty has been kind enough to provide some input,” Cullen explained before she managed to ask. A dark shadow had appeared around his jaw as the day wore to an end, and Solona thought it made him look even more distinguished.

“He is being too kind,” Alistair chuckled, “we were bonding.”

Solona shuddered involuntarily. The idea of them actually talking to each other frightened her even more. What do they talk about? Do they compare notes?

Cullen laughed at her distrustful glare and said, “Stop worrying, love. We were smoothing out some…ah, technicalities.”

“Technicalities?” she croaked.

Alistair nodded eagerly, and Solona forced herself to swallow. Before she could demand further explanations, the Spymaster appeared at the doorway.

Leliana made a clucking sound, like a mother hen, and snatched her attention away from the two men. The red head was smirking at her insufferably, her hips cocked to one side and a hand rested against it.

“What?” Solona asked suspiciously. She looked like she knew what transpired between the three of them earlier and mentally cursed the Spymaster for knowing everything that went on under her nose.

“Shall we head to the tavern for a meal, gentlemen? We seem to have missed dinner,” Leliana said, still smirking but thankfully refrained from teasing the glaring mage.

Alistair and Cullen made vague noises of approval and Solona held up a hand, saying, “Wait, I need to talk to you – the both of you,” she gestured to Cullen and Leliana.

“It’s Lady Trevelyan. Have you noticed how exhausted she has been lately? With all the travelling she has been doing, without any rest in between? She is having a difficult time – with what happened today, she needs all the support there is,” Solona chided.

The Inquisitor had holed herself up in her private chambers immediately after leaving the War Room and failed to emerge for dinner. From Leliana’s flinch, it seemed that this fact had not escaped her attention either. Solona wondered if she had a magical device that alerted her to the comings and goings of her subjects.

“We have spoken to her at length of the repercussions of her decisions,” Cullen said, crossing his arms and turning to face her, his head cocked to one side curiously.

“That’s just it – she needs to hear about how she did not make the wrong decision, and not consistently think otherwise. Cullen, you cannot be serious about sacrificing the Chargers?” she asked.

Cullen frowned thoughtfully, and Solona briefly considered how attractive he was when he was in his Commander mode, when he broke her trance, saying, “In that room, I am still the Commander of the Inquisition Forces. It cannot be denied that this is a major setback in our strategic alliance, and it is my duty to highlight the penalties we will pay.”

He was looking at her intently, “However, out here – yes, I am infinitely relieved that the Chargers are safe. The loss to the Iron Bull, and also to all of us, should it have gone the other way…I am thankful that the Inquisitor made that decision,” he finished, smiling slightly at her.

“She needs to know that, Cullen. Sometimes, she needs a friend instead of an advisor. I -” she looked at Alistair and he smiled at her in understanding, “I have been in her shoes once. It is…I wouldn’t have survived without my friends around me.”

Cullen considered her words for a while, before nodding and setting a paperweight on his reports, “You may be right. We should see to it at once?” he glanced at Leliana to gauge her reaction.

She smiled, “Yes, Warden Amell, sometimes it is easy to forget how to be human in the War Room. It is different...not being out in the field ourselves. I do appreciate the reminder."

To Cullen, she said, "I will fetch Lady Josephine, while you gather the rest of our companions in the tavern, Commander." With a final nod at Alistair and Solona, she glided across the room soundlessly and made her exit.

Lady Trevelyan,

Your presence is required at the Tavern.

The Iron Bull and his Chargers are waiting for you, and so are we.

Josephine, Leliana and Cullen.

Chapter Text

The tavern was dark and drafty. Solona hugged her knees to her chest and breathed in the slight stench of sweat and smoke happily.

Alistair sat in front of her, telling her stories from his time back in Denerim after she left in a temper. He made her laugh at his kingly antics, and cry at the way he missed her but tried not let that fact bleed into his tales.

“So I told Leliana, to warn me the next time if our correspondences were not a private matter. Maker, when I remember the informal letters I sent to her, and knowing that she shared those with the Inquisition…they must think me a fool! I should really teach those scribes a lesson,” Alistair was saying.

The two of them were huddled in a corner in the tavern, away from the noise and laughter that accompanied the Inquisitor’s entrance. Solona was glad to see that she was looking better, and in much higher spirits than before.

The Iron Bull had commandeered Cullen into a drinking match, and she had been surprised that he could actually hold his ale well. Maybe it was a templar thing, like how Grey Wardens had a higher tolerance for alcohol.

Alistair, however, had seemed withdrawn, despite the cheerfulness he tried to portray, and it worried her.

“Do you believe that I love you less, Alistair?” Solona asked him suddenly, cutting him off from ruminating over his mischievous scribes, who seemed hell-bent on making a fool out of their King.

“What- Maker, why would you say that?” he asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“You’ve been very…different, since leaving Cullen’s office earlier. I mean, you were fine – and then…did something happen? With Kieran?”

“No, everything is fine. He is lovely and attentive, and looks at me with too much wonder in his eyes. It shouldn’t be long before Morrigan dispels that notion, I suppose.”

“She wouldn’t. She baits you, you should know that by now, but she does respect you. You have been a fine King and a wonderful person, Alistair,” she said.

He didn’t say a word, only offering her a small smile and turning back to his mug of ale. Solona’s heart ached as she looked at him, and she reached out to tug his hand to her lips.

She pressed a kiss into his palm, earning a soft smile from him.

“I love you, Alistair. I really do – I loved you every night that you strolled back into camp, completely oblivious to how beautiful you looked, I loved you when you gave me that rose,” she said, pausing to finger her locket with her free hand, “I loved you each time you stood in front of me with nothing but a shield and a sword, unflinching and steady and taking each blow that was meant for me, I loved you when you took the crown despite your misgivings, and when you waited for me so anxiously each time I travelled on Warden business. I love you, Alistair, more and more with each passing day. I’m so sorry if I made you doubt that.”

He choked, looking at her in surprise, wondering where the sudden confession came from.

Solona saw his eyes wander to the mug she held in her hand and she laughed, shaking her head at him and smiling wickedly “No, I’m not drunk on ale. It’s cider,” she said, tapping her glass.

She leaned closer and kissed him softly, her lips soft and pliant – so familiar and yet the sensation was every bit as wonderful as their first time.

“I’m sorry I ran away from you,” she whispered against him, “that I presumed so much about you and Anora, and that I doubted how you felt for me, that I tried to leave you.”

“Don’t, Sol, please,” he said, pulling away from her. Hurt flashed across her eyes and Alistair smiled, running his hands through her hair soothingly, “Stop being sorry. I was at fault as much as you were – for allowing you to believe that I stopped loving you for so long…”

He released her and took a swig of ale with a sigh, “I promised that I would never hurt you, didn’t I? But I did…Maker, did I ever…over and over again. After the Landsmeet, Morrigan – yes, I know, that decision was made together, and we wouldn’t be alive were it not for her, but still…I caused you pain. And once the Blight ended, I should have devoted myself to your happiness, but instead…you had to watch me wed another, take her to bed again and again…knowing that you would hate it…”

“I made that decision for you, Alistair, without consulting you beforehand,” she said quietly, a pained look on her face as she avoided his gaze.

“Yes, but I let you think that you were no longer – that you meant less to me. I neglected you, more often than not in favour of her presence,” he said, realizing once again how true it was, especially as she had travelled so much, and Anora tended to command his attention more each time she came back.

He recalled with startling clarity that he had never put his foot down, and always allowed himself to be distracted by the matters that came to his attention at the expense of their limited time together.

“It was never because I felt anything for her, I promise,” he admitted, guilt and sorrow still plying shadows across his face.

“I know that now,” Solona said, placing her forehead against his lightly.

“Can you – would you promise me this, Sol? That you will never keep such thoughts to yourself ever again? If you even suspected or questioned what I feel for you, please just tell me and don’t leave me like that.”

“I promise, Alistair. I just…I did not want to pressure you, I knew you would hate hurting me, and I was afraid that you would hide it from me.”

“Never. I would never lie to you, or love you any less. You know that you are my world, Solona Amell. And if any of the nobles get on your nerves, you must not keep it all to yourself.”

Solona sighed, “I can’t promise that, but I will try.”

He closed the gap between them and slowly melded his lips to hers, swallowing the slight gasp that she emitted and running his tongue lovingly across her lips.

Her eyes were half-lidded in pleasure, her breaths came quicker and heavier. She did not have to say anything. The King knew her signals as well as the back of his own hand.

Alistair's eyes darkened, became almost black at the thought of her desire, and he dragged her off her stool in a hurry. Solona stumbled after him, expecting him to head for the door.

He surprised her when he took a slight turn and clapped the Cullen on his shoulder, interrupting Dorian and Bull’s teasing, “We’re leaving, Commander,” he ordered, in his kingly voice.

Cullen was startled, and eyed the King in confusion – the alcoholic haze he was in probably not helping him process what he was hearing any faster.

Solona blinked, once. Then, twice.

“What are you doing?” she finally asked, raising her voice over the din.

“Yes, Your Majesty, what are you doing? Are you stealing the Commander away from us this evening?” Leliana asked, her hood shadowed her face, blending into the background so expertly that Solona did not notice she was there.

“Yes,” Alistair announced decisively, “Yes I am. Come along, now,” he said, beckoning to Cullen imperiously.

Cullen swallowed his last sip of ale and set the tankard down on the table, still frowning in confusion but complying nonetheless. Solona caught sight of the Inquisitor laughing and Sera making an obscene gesture behind Cullen’s back, before Alistair dragged her out of the tavern.

The cold air seemed to nudge Cullen back to his sense, as he halted in front of the tavern doors and asked, “What-?”

“Save your questions for later, Commander. Our mage needs to be taken care of tonight,” Alistair said, a grin gracing his handsome features.

“I’m sorry? I – oh, wait a minute…” Cullen said, realization dawning on his face.

“Are you turning us down, Commander?”

“Alistair!” Solona cried, finally understanding what he meant, “You can’t – we have not even talked about this! Oh how embarrassing!”

She buried her face in her hands.

He laughed at her flushed face and said slyly, “We have.”

“What? When? What do you mean? Cullen, what is he talking about?” she asked, her gaze sweeping wildly from one man to the other.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck shyly, an exceptional blush working its way up to the tips of his ears. The look he gave her – part yearning, part embarrassed, spoke volumes and Solona felt the familiar aching pull between her thighs flare up at the thought of having both of them. Together.

Andraste preserve me.

They made it to her room in record time – or so it felt to her. After the revelation, she had trouble focusing on anything other than the warmth from Alistair’s hand around her, Cullen’s blazing heat radiating behind her, the darkened irises of both King and Commander each time she caught their eye, and it was all she could do to keep herself upright on her feet, and not fall over and curl up in a haze of arousal and lust.

Before she knew it, Cullen had gently laid her down on their bed. Alistair had the candles lit and Cullen made short work of her robes.

The cool breeze was cut off abruptly by the Commander leaning over her, still dressed in his tunic and breeches, kissing her like his life depended on it. She reached out for him, whimpering with want and need and Maker’s breath, Cullen was so very beautiful.

He broke away for air and tensed above her, shooting a questioning glance at Alistair who was reclining on the other side of the mattress, watching them with an unreadable expression on his face.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, clutching at Cullen’s shoulders to refocus his attention on her as she lay down onto the bed.

Cullen kissed her once more, before pulling away to trail kisses down her jaw and neck. She moaned and ran her hands along the strong planes of his back, fluttering her fingers on his skin in a way that drove him crazy.

Cullen ventured lower, his stubble grazing her sensitized skin and making her cry out with need.

She flung out an arm to reach for Alistair, and the King only hesitated for a moment before wrapping her hands in his and bringing it to his lips.

Alistair was surprised. He had thought he would feel revulsion, rage or grief. Or at least, some level of awkwardness at being undressed before another man. But instead, he felt the familiar stirring of arousal in his pants, heightened like never before.

They were both gorgeous. Solona was as beautiful as ever and the Commander’s strict training regime obviously paid off.

Alistair was thankful that he had recommenced his own workout routine before leaving Denerim, and was rewarded when Cullen shot him an appreciative look after he had stripped at Solona’s pleading.

That, and the slightly forbidden air to the whole scene had him straining against his breeches painfully.

“I’m here, Sol, I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured her.

With that final assent, she arched against Cullen and raked her nails down his back, “I can’t…” she moaned, “Now, Cullen, please…please…”

He pushed himself up and above her, lowering his head to capture her lips in a tender kiss again, and Solona gasped as her world imploded around her, light and sound absorbed into a single polarizing flash…

She felt Alistair squeezing her hand and then…her world exploded in a burst of pleasure and heat and men.

“Sharing her emotionally is one thing, but physically…that will be a challenge. I- I’m not sure how I will react to that.” Alistair said. His arms were crossed as he stood in the middle of the Commander's office, tall and imposing and trying not to let his discomfort show.

“I understand completely, Your Majesty,” Cullen said with a deep sigh.

Silence fell. Tentative and uneasy.

“I suppose…we could take things slow,” Alistair relented, running a hand through his reddish-blonde hair.

Both men blushed furiously.

“I thought you said-” Cullen began.

Alistair snorted, “I know what I said. But did you expect me to impose some ridiculous chastity sentence on her?”

Cullen looked up at him, trying to rein in the hope flaring in his chest.

Alistair met his eyes bravely, and admitted, “We’re both...attracted to her. I could never…be so cruel, I think. After all, I know how tempting that vixen can be when she puts her mind to it.”

“I think I may have a reasonably good idea, Your Majesty,” Cullen told him.

“You…you should call me Alistair,” the King said cautiously, “It would be awkward otherwise, hearing ‘your majesty’ while we are in the throes of passion.”

Cullen coughed into his gloved hand as he tried to hide his sudden burst of laughter. The images that popped into his mind did nothing to ease his blush.

“As you command,” he said after his coughing fit.

Alistair was grinning slightly at him. Then, his expression grew serious and he said, “I need to be there, when…you know. At least at the beginning, until I get used to this.”

Cullen nodded and agreed after some thought, “Yes, of course.”

The King frowned and said, “I can’t promise that I won’t try to sneak in a punch or two. I’ll try to hold off while you are both…uh, doing the deed. Can’t have you bleeding all over her.”

The Commander knew that beneath the King’s air of forced levity, he was struggling to hide his own insecurities and jealousy. He sympathized with his plight, but in spite of all the respect and gratitude he owed to him, Cullen could not bring himself to back down, so he nodded again.

He was so close to realizing his dream.

Alistair sighed and flopped down gracelessly onto the chair opposite the desk. “Who knows? Maybe after all this, we could experiment…with stuff.”

Their flushes deepened, and both heads immediately dipped down to avoid the other man’s gaze.

“Anything for her,” Cullen croaked, tugging at his fur cloak and feeling too warm all of a sudden.

Alistair gave a short chuckle, but then sobered up and said, “Don’t hurt her, Cullen. I’ve done enough of that to last her a lifetime.”

Cullen raised his head to look at the King. The man standing before him looked broken, remorseful and years of regret displayed openly on his handsome features.

Cullen nodded wordlessly, conveying all that he needed to in the hard lines of his mouth and conviction in his eyes.

“Well then, we should…get back to doing whatever it is that we should be doing,” Alistair said. He stood up and stretched out a hand, “Friends? At least, for a start?”

Cullen stepped closer to him and grasped his hand tightly, “It would be my pleasure, Your M-“

Alistair raised an eyebrow at his title.

“Alistair,” Cullen quickly corrected himself, smiling at the warden-turned-king.

Solona stretched, wincing as her sore muscles protested. She had woken up unbelievably happy and almost bouncing in excitement, so much so that her mood rubbed off on both Alistair and Cullen (already dressed and prepared to see to their daily duties) and any signs of awkwardness between them disappeared immediately.

She felt fulfilled, well-rested - the way she usually felt after a vigorous training session. She rubbed her aching back and leaned against the castle walls for support. Actually, it was more demanding than any training exercise. If she wasn't a Grey Warden, she probably wouldn't have been able to keep up with them. They had voracious appetites, and being apart for so long had not dampen Alistair's need at all.

“I missed you at dinner last night,” she heard a voice say, “Did you enjoy your meal? A serving of ex-templar with a side of dashing royalty?”

Solona glanced up.

Dorian had emerged from his nook upstairs and was bending over the railing, looking down and smirking at her.

“Alistair is not a side to anything!” Solona said, keeping her voice down and trying to inject as much heat as she could into her words. But her embarrassment overwhelmed her and all she wanted to do was run away from the smirking mage. It was fortunate that Solas was nowhere to be seen. She would probably expire from shame.

“Aha! Not denying it then?” his moustache seemed to curl even more at the ends as he grinned at her.

She glared and scowled half-heartedly, her words lacking venom, “No comment, Dorian.”

He laughed good-naturedly and flashed her a thumbs up, “No words are needed, Hero. It is written all over your face, or more accurately, your posture. Perhaps you need some salve for the aches and pains?”

She grabbed a cushion on Solas’ nearby couch and lobbed it at him. It barely reached the lowest rung of the railing he was leaning on before it started falling back down.

The Tevinter withdrew from her sight, but she could still hear him chuckling in mirth at her expense.

She rolled her eyes at his antics, even as an overwhelming feeling of affection for her new mage friend bubbled in her chest. Solona scurried up the first flight of stairs and fondly tugged at Dorian’s belt before running up the next flight. She would have mussed his hair, but that would have brought on a massive fit of hysteria.

The Spymaster was already there at her desk. Her crows were lined up in front of her like troops readying for inspection. Leliana looked up as she emerged from the dark stairway and smiled in delight when she saw her.

“How was Valence? Did you find anything?” Solona asked.

“Nothing and everything,” was the vague reply. Leliana stood and gestured to a box. Solona reached out and took it in her hands. There was nothing remarkable about it.

“Open it,” Leliana said, in response to her quizzical glance.

The lid slid open smoothly. It was empty, save for a small inscription within. Solona lifted the box higher and squinted.

“The Left Hand should lay down her burden”

“It is an absolution from Divine Justinia,” Leliana muttered softly, “She must have known that the toll of doing what I do would catch up with me sooner rather than later. She wanted to remind me, she –”

Her voice caught and faltered. Solona looked up and saw the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. The usually composed Spymaster was hunched over her desk, sorrow and regret written plainly on her features.

“Oh Leliana, my darling! I did not know you felt this way! Why didn’t you say something?”

She shrugged, and moved away from Solona. In a strained voice, she said, “How could I? I was not sure of what I was anymore, of my purpose. I felt lost, adrift…but the Divine knew, and she took precautions so that I would not forget. She has done so much for me, for Thedas. But Corypheus took her away so needlessly!”

Solona was at a loss for words. She placed the box down carefully and stepped up to Leliana, wrapping her arms around her from behind.

“I will always remind you of who you are, Leliana. All you need to do is ask, or just...talk to me. You are my sister, the Maker’s gift. And I will help you put an end to Corypheus, I promise.”

Leliana nodded. Her hood shielded her face but Solona could feel her breathe in deeply.

“I feel much better now,” she said in her lilting Orlesian accent, “Forgiven and relieved. I pray that the Maker will ensure my work to be aligned to His will from now on.”

“We have each other. If one of us loses our way…“

“Yes. I’m glad you are here with me, Solona. I have missed you,” Leliana turned to face her, a tender smile on her pretty face.

“So have I,” Solona said, returning her smile.

Leliana sniffed and dabbed at her eyes daintily, “Shall we talk about something else? Such grave matters so early in the morning do not bode well for the rest of the day! Did you have fun last night?”

Her cheery tone had returned. She sounded so much like the young Leliana years ago that Solona felt better at once.

“Do you even need to ask?” she replied mischievously.

“At the same time?” Leliana asked, her eyes twinkling.

“Oh Maker, I’m not telling, Leliana!” Solona cried, hiding her face in her hands.

“Very well,” her friend giggled, “You are hiding such wonderful stories…you do know I have my ways to get you to spill one day?”

“Not today, I don’t think I can,” she replied, her voice muffled and embarrassed.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, until the noon bell tolled and Leliana started clearing her desk, preparing for lunch.

“Leliana…you work with the advisors in a very close capacity, yes?” Solona asked, wrinkling her nose as she forced her question out.

The red-head smoothly raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued, replying, “Of course, Solona. We see each other every day.”

The mage cleared her throat and looked away as she answered, “I meant…physically.”

Leliana frowned at that, and said, “I don’t quite understand.”

Solona huffed and blew at the wisps of hair that fell across her eyes in embarrassment.

“Right. It’s just…I work with all sorts of plants and herbs for my potions. But, well…there are some that I am not familiar with and I was wondering if you would know what they are.”

“Do they grow in Skyhold?” Leliana asked, still wondering what plants had to do with the other advisors.

“No. Ah…this is not how I wanted to do this,” Solona muttered.

“Amell, what is it?” the former bard asked bluntly.

“Don’t laugh at me. It’s Cullen’s scent. I have thought about it for so long, since Haven, and – Leliana! Stop laughing!” Solona cried, her skin already taking on a flushed tone.

“I’m sorry!” she gasped, clutching her sides and trying to stifle her giggles, “I am not - Holy Maker, Solona! You couldn’t have just started with that question instead?”

“Yes, because this is definitely not embarrassing,” Solona quipped petulantly.

“I’m sorry,” Leliana repeated, closing her eyes, “Let me think for a moment. His scent…I would say elderflower, definitely. And maybe…a hint of oakmoss? That and whatever oils he uses to polish his armour, I suppose.”

Solona said, “I’ve never heard of those.”

“You would not have had reason to. Their medicinal properties are not as prominent and often overlooked in favour of their fragrance, I believe.”

“Does Cullen…spray them on or something?” Solona asked, trying very hard to look stern to stave off another round of giggles from her friend.

“He might have. Or it could be in the hair pomade he uses. Solona, you really should ask him yourself. I cannot answer this one,” Leliana said, smiling knowingly at her.

The mage tucked her hand under her chin, deep in thought. After a while, she mumbled, “Alistair has this potion…thing…that he uses for when he shaves. Do you think –“

“You really have to ask the Commander personally. I do not actually spy on my colleague’s beauty regiment, dear one.”

“Oh, fine. Thank you, though. It has been bothering me. Do you know where I might find these plants?” she asked shyly.

Leliana laughed, “I will ask my scouts to keep an eye out. I think it would be easier if you just stole some of whatever it is from time to time. That’s what you still do with Alistair’s shaving cream, no?”

Solona’s eyes widened in horror, “Andraste’s Mercy, you knew?!”

She shrugged, “Most of us did. Including Alistair, that boy blushed like a girl when I teased him about it in camp.”

Solona gaped, hoping that a void would open up and swallow her whole. He knew? And never said a thing about it all these years.

Somehow, that little fact made her love Alistair even more.

It was an accidental habit that she picked up, longing to have something tangible to remind herself of Alistair each time she travelled away from him. It was how she survived being away in Vigil’s Keep, and the subsequent years apart.

She pursed her lips, deep in thought and allowed Leliana to lead the way to lunch. It was time for her to do some sleuthing of her own.

It took more than a week for Solona to successfully wake up in time to watch Cullen get dressed for the day, as he was usually ready before the morning sun fully rose, and she was infamous for her late sleeping habits.

When the Commander noticed her sitting on his bed one morning, blearily taking note of his personal routine, hair still tousled with sleep and pillow marks creasing her face, he merely smiled at her and planted a light kiss on her forehead before heading down to his office. He laughed softly when he heard the tell-tale flop of his mage falling back to bed and falling asleep almost immediately.

And if he noticed that his hair pomade tended to finish at a faster rate since then, he wisely said nothing but felt his heart grow warm each time he caught the familiar scent in her hair as they kissed on the ramparts.

Chapter Text

“What? Say that again.”

Solona had her sword hanging by her hip, dripping with blood and leaving a trail of crimson streaks on the ground as she stalked after the cowering messenger.

“I’m sorry, Commander. Ser Cullen wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Stubborn fool!” she muttered to herself. Turning back to Alistair, who was looking on in amusement, she said with a scowl, “Are all men like this?”

The King snorted and shook his head, “It is something you would do, my love.”

The messenger had already made a hasty retreat and was no longer there when the angry Warden-Commander turned back to address him. She huffed in frustration and threw her hands up in the air.

They were standing around, knee-deep in muck and mud and Maker knows what else languished in the dirt of this ancient forest.

For a long time, they had fought and strained to break the enemy's lines - Venatori mages and deadly, shadow elves that materialize from nothing – what were they? She would later discover that they were sentinels of the temple, bound and sworn to protect the Well of Sorrow from strangers.

Alistair had wielded his greatsword with such flair, that Solona found herself distracted more than once. She could not recall the last time she had the pleasure of watching him in action. Adamant had been dark, flashes of fire, swarms of bodies moving as one against the fortress.

Arbor Wilds met them with skirmishes, ambushes instead…with time to breathe and regroup and this eased Solona’s worry a little – knowing that their army should be more than capable of holding their own against the enemy, that Cullen should be safe holding their defense line right in the middle of the fortress.

Except that the stubborn man had apparently decided to forego the basic necessities of survival and was trying to disarm their opponents single-handedly.

“He is going to get himself killed,” she said, evidently sick with worry. She did not need another ex-templar to nurse back to health so soon after Alistair's close shave at Adamant.

Alistair’s large palm landed on her shoulder, “He is an excellent warrior. Give him some credit.”

“Two days! He has not slept in two days!” she started patting down the stray strands that escaped the tight confines of her braid anxiously. “He is not a warden, he no longer takes lyrium…nothing is sustaining him, Alistair. I am worried.”

“He will be fine. Come, let us move on. We might be able to reach him before nightfall.”

Solona chewed the bottom of her lip, torn between abandoning the fight and making her way straight to Cullen, and staying to push on with their current forces.

She exhaled loudly as she pictured Cullen losing his temper at her for straying from his battle plan and forced herself to nod at Alistair.

The King had refused to leave her side ever since they had begun their onslaught; he assumed his stance next to her unfailingly, muscles flexing under his armour as he shielded her, cutting down enemies with powerful swings of his sword and his earth-shattering blinding smites.

He deserved her loyalty as much as Cullen did, and both men had their minds set on one mission - to intercept Corypheus and foil his plans. 

Solona steeled her resolve and motioned them on. The next wave of foes surged against them the moment they rounded a corner and Alistair fell in with her rhythm seamlessly, as if it was just yesterday that they faced an army of darkspawn at the gates of Denerim.

Slicing through the last of her foes with her trusty Spellweaver, she made quick work of the foolish mages that tried to curse her at melee range.

Solona sagged against a broad tree, panting as she tried to catch her breath.

Cullen would be all right. He had to be.

Extract from Cullen’s Journal

Protect the Inquisitor.

Keep her alive.

Directives that I have failed to follow.

How can a three mages, a Seeker and a dwarf disappear into thin air?

Where are they?

The Commander emerged from his tent, worry biting into his bones – for the Inquisitor and her companions, still missing since disappearing into the Temple of Mythal with Corypheus and his minions hot on their heels.

For his men – many were nursing severe injuries, but thankfully not many were fatal. The waves of Venatori and elves had lessened considerably, and it was easy work finishing off the remaining troops. But morale was still low, with no clear victory or Inquisitor in sight. 

For Solona and her King – their regiment was yet to report in, and his heart was sick with worry over the lack of news. He had issued the command to all soldiers to abandon their stations in the tangled wild forest and return to camp, but there had been no sign of them on his way back.

For the Empress – she was hardly safe here with Corypheus still on the loose…and Josephine was no expert on the battlefield. If she was targeted in an assassination attempt -

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when a heavily armoured mage flung herself into his arms.

“Cullen!” he heard, and relief flooded his core at the welcome sound of her voice, “Thank the Maker you are safe!”

He staggered back, still trying and failing to understand why Solona insisted on wearing heavy armour to battle. Cullen was well-versed in the teachings of all magic, but the history of Arcane Warriors was not known enough to be taught to the Templars.

Solona clung to him, ignoring the gore and entrails coating his armour and hers, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Shoving thoughts of her armour away from his mind, he returned her embrace fiercely. His hands gripped her waists and he sealed her lips with a bruising kiss.

Murmurs erupted around them, along with the unmistakable laugher of the Empress and Josephine’s gasp, at the sight of the two Commanders publicly confirming the months of speculation surrounding their relationship.

When he raised his head, Alistair’s eyes met his, and the two men exchanged looks of similar relief.

They were all safe – now Cullen could focus on the missing Inquisitor.

Scout Harding approached them, “Permission to report, Ser,” she said, and his heart soared with hope.

He gently detached Solona from himself but kept an arm around her, still unable to let her go and gave his full attention to Harding.

“My scouts have found no trace of them – they reported footsteps into the temple but none making their way out. No bodies or signs of wounded,” she recited, sounding as puzzled as he felt, “There were, however, pieces of shattered glass surrounding a drained lake – and the remains of a charred frame. We have brought it back for your inspection,” she gestured to her right where two of their agents were heaving a large, familiar looking broken frame towards their direction.

Recognition dawned on him, and he had never been so glad to see the ancient artefact.

“It’s an Eluvian mirror,” Cullen noted, and turned back to Harding “And you are certain that Morrigan was with them?”

Harding and the surrounding men nodded in the affirmative, “They ventured in together, so that would be the most logical conclusion.”

“That is the best news I have heard all day,” he muttered to himself. Straightening up over the heads of those around him, he issued his orders, “This means that they will be back in Skyhold. Prepare the troops and see to the injured! We leave immediately!”

He had been wrong many times before in his lifetime, but he prayed fervently that he would not be wrong this time.

Leliana had sidled up to them, restringing her bow and face glowing with the flush of exertion, “That was exciting,” she said, smiling happily.

Cullen shook his head in wonder; the former bard unnerved him sometimes.

“We are moving out now. Have a few of your best scouts remain behind until we receive word from the Inquisitor that they are safe, just in case I have misread the situation,” he said quietly, “We need to get these men proper medical attention at once.”

Leliana nodded in agreement. Josephine was already busy drafting letters and missives to the relevant allies of the Inquisition in her tent.

Once she left and everyone returned to their duties, Cullen seized the chance to properly look at Solona.

“No injuries?” he asked with concern, his beautiful face lined with worry and there were shadows under his eyes.

“None, we are practically unscathed. Yourself?” she asked, patting him all over as if she could feel anything beneath the silverite steel.

“I’m fine,” he answered.

“Good. When we return to Skyhold, you are taking a day off to sleep. You are starting to look terrible,” Solona said, squeezing his face with her little hands and turning it from side to side. "And we will need to talk at length about your 'battle strategies' that you seem to be employing in the field. Honestly, Cullen? Did you even eat? How are you still walking?" 

“Solona, my darling, stop doing that…” he whispered, embarrassed at being seen like this in front of his men.

She glared at him but let her hands drop, reaching one out for Alistair to hold. The King complied obediently and allowed her to drag him into their tent. Cullen cast glances around to ensure that no one was watching and followed them in – intent on stealing a private moment before they had to be on the move again.

Before he could lift the flaps of his tent, a scout rushed up to him and handed him a long piece of parchment. Slightly annoyed, Cullen halted and gave it a quick look over. What he saw rendered him stunned and speechless.

Cursing, he flung apart the canvas of his tent and strode in, holding out the offensive report to the other Commander.

Solona and Alistair were visibly startled at his sudden shift in temper and Solona hesitantly reached out to accept it. Cullen then began pacing the short length of the tent, deep in thought.

Her eyes flew over the words quickly, horror dawning upon her and her blood grew cold. The report had been hastily written by the soldiers who were left at the Temple's gates after the Inquisitor disappeared into the ancient building.

Wordlessly, she handed it over to Alistair who was trying to read over her shoulder and met the Commander’s gaze. He looked equally upset as his pacing came to a stop in front of her.

The report brought news of what happened at the doors of the Temple of Mythal – the poor Warden’s knees shaking in terror as he fell with a bloodcurdling scream. The Elder One, dissipating and then clawing out of the prone body that had been lying lifeless on the ground.

Immortality. Undefeatable. A trait they encountered only from the Old God’s soul.

She had been hoping that she would not see another one in her lifetime, but if this Elder One really was…

Solona almost shed tears at the possibility of another sacrifice being needed of the wardens in slaying Corypheus – for this time, Morrigan might not be able to offer them a way out, and neither could she imagine having another Warden sacrifice themselves in her stead.

It would have to be her. Solona knew that Alistair would never allow it, but she also knew that she had the support of the rest of the Inquisition to hold him back, for Ferelden could not afford the loss of her only legitimate ruler or a Civil War right now.

And she had no intention of remaining behind in this world if he was not in it.

She could tell that the same train of thought was running through Alistair’s mind - if the stubborn set of his jaw and hardening of his glare was any indication.

Her gaze turned steely and she shook her head slowly. No, not now. They could not talk about this now. Cullen had no idea of the sacrifices needed from the Grey Order, and he was not to find out this way.

Alistair crumpled the report viciously, and the Commander looked at him in alarm.

“Do not even think-“ he began.

“Enough.” Solona’s voice was sharp as a blade. “This is a warden matter. As Warden-Commander, I will have the final say.”

“I am still senior to you! I will have a say in this and I did not spend the night with Morrigan –”

“What?” That was Cullen. He was staring at them with wide eyes as worry crept into his confused expression.

“It’s nothing,” Solona hurriedly said, shooting another warning look at Alistair.

“It does not sound like nothing,” Cullen bit out, “If I am to lead an army against Corypheus, I need to know everything. Tell me.”

It was a command, but Solona could not yield to this one. Alistair mercifully remained stoic and silent under the Commander’s glare.

“We are under oath, Cullen. And I still need to pack. We move out soon. Another time, perhaps. But I cannot speak of this now.”

With that, she turned on her heel and exited the tent, leaving the two men staring after her. Her heart was beating loudly against her ribcage, and blood pounded in her ears.

They thought they had escaped death, but it seems like death has caught up with her after all.

The journey back took its toll on everyone.

After leaving the lush forests of the Wilds, they were met with a heat wave that spanned the entire Southern Orlais. The fallen troops had been honoured in a small ceremony a short way outside the forest. The injured ones were carted behind horses. Their pace was slow and frustrating, with a sense of defeat permeating the air.

Worry for the Inquisitor and her party prevailed until a raven brought them news from Skyhold. By then, the tale of the Elder One at the Temple of Mythal had spread widely enough that the Inquisitor’s message failed to ease the falling morale.

Alistair and Solona barely spoke to one another, any attempt at a conversation ultimately led to arguments of wardens and duties and Cullen caught in the middle – uncomfortable and confused.

Their sleeping arrangements were the only saving grace from the cumbersome journey as she cuddled between both men in their joint bedrolls, the night air bringing a reprieve from the relentless heat.

All talk of business and troops and wardens were strictly off-limits, and it was a rare time of respite for all of them.

Otherwise, the advisors huddled in their large tents every night, pooling ideas and discarding them one after the other. Alistair and Solona huddled in secluded corners, debating fiercely over their lives as the King’s personal guard stood uneasily outside of earshot.

Tensions were at an all-time high, and tempers were barely being restrained when they finally began the trek up the Frostbacks.

The chilly air was a balm to their sun-burnt skin. Cullen’s curls behaved themselves again, Solona no longer snapped as much and amongst the troops, smiles were exchanged all around.

She was just flashing Alistair a little grin as he helped her down from her horse, when Morrigan flew down the steps of Skyhold.

“Come,” she ordered, “We need to talk.”

Solona barely had time to hand the reins over to a surprised Alistair, before the witch pulled her into a secluded hallway with a lone door at the end.

Looking around, she realized that it must be where Morrigan slept. A smaller cot had been set up next to her larger bed, and she recognized some of Alistair’s figurines laying among the knick-knacks that scattered the floor.

She smiled a little; glad to be reminded of the newly formed bond between Alistair and his son, despite Kieran not knowing that he was his father.

Morrigan sank down on her bed with a little cry, and Solona snapped her attention back to her.

“What? What is it?”

“I met my mother,” she ground out in disgust.

“Flemeth? Where is she?”

“She is Mythal. Of all tricks the Fade had to play on me…I am now bound to her!”

“Morrigan,” Solona said, “Start from the beginning, I am lost.”

The witch reluctantly told of the Well of Sorrows and her resolve to drink from it.

“It would have afforded me knowledge beyond our own realms, of the Elvhenan and all that is lost. And for a moment, it worked. I understood so much more. But as always, there is a price.”

She shook her head sadly as she recalled the events at the altar.

Solona felt her eyes widening, “We have a way? You found us a way to defeat Corypheus?”

The witch heaved a painful sigh, “I can defeat the dragon, for what it is worth… at a terrible cost.”

“Oh,” Solona breathed. They would not need a warden’s sacrifice after all.

Then, a longer and more tentative, “Oh,” followed. “No, I am awfully sorry. What does this mean for you?”

“I have to obey her commands. I do not know what will become of me, or what she will ask of me. If…” Morrigan paused, her eyes flickered with uncertainty and vulnerability that was so foreign on her, “If anything were to happen to me…”

She paused, and then waved her hand to dismiss it.

“What is it, Morrigan?”

“No. ‘Tis something I can never ask of you.” She moved to the door and lifted a hand to push it open, but Solona slid in front of her.

“You can ask me anything,” she insisted.

“I…it violates everything we agreed upon. I know what it cost you to send Alistair to my room that night. It was my greed that led you there, my own selfishness that brought forth that outcome. How can I expect anything more from you?”

“Morrigan, you saved our lives. We owe you a debt that can never be repaid. We thought Corypheus would be a repeat of the Archdemon, and again you bring us news of salvation. You have made enough sacrifices as well.”

The witch stared at her, unblinking. After a few moments, she said in a rushed, clipped voice, “I want you to look after Kieran. He has no one else. My mother…she cannot have him.”

“Of course.”

There was no hesitation at all in Solona’s voice, no momentary pause before she agreed – and it surprised both Morrigan and herself. For despite all her denials, Solona had always resented her friend and the child she bore with Alistair to some extent. Kieran had embodied everything she had ever wanted for him, but failed to give her King.

She clasped her hand around Morrigan’s and sincerely vowed, “He will be like my own, I promise.”

“Th-thank you,” Morrigan said.

The two old friends stood there in silence, wrapped in regret and pain and memories long lost with time.

“I need to attend the council. Solona, I…” There was a glimmer in her eyes that looked suspiciously like tears but then Morrigan blinked, and it was gone.

She just nodded once, gratefully, and then left the room.

Solona bit her lip, worry and relief fighting for dominance, before she caught a glimpse of a small Alistair lying at her feet.

She bent to pick it up. Turning it over, she saw a short engraving beneath it – So you will not forget me.

She let out a short gasp. Her heart ached for the King who would never be able to acknowledge his one and only son.

She clutched it to her chest, staring unseeing at the clutter around the room.

Alistair’s sacrifice, her pain, Morrigan’s choice…the price they all paid to live another day.

It had to be worth it.

A Week Later...

“Curly!” Varric called.

Cullen stopped mid-stride, turning to wait for the dwarf to catch up with him, frowning at the disruption.

It was a lovely evening, the setting sun painted the landscape of Skyhold golden and the usual harsh mountain wind had quietened. It felt almost like Spring had arrived early.

Cullen had been in a particularly good mood that day. Most of his paperwork had been seen to – something he considered a feat as it had piled up to astonishing proportions during his absence.

No headaches or dizzy spells plagued him.

He had managed to slot in some time to visit Solona in her own room, partly to check on how she was doing in regard to the whole Morrigan-drinking-from-an-unknown-well fiasco, and partly to steal some kisses from her.

A month of travelling in her company, day and night, had spoiled him. Cullen found himself quite addicted to her touches and missing her horribly back at Skyhold.

He had messed up her carefully thought out schedule but did not feel at all sorry about it.

All in all, it had been a productive day – and he had brought his jubilant mood to the little chapel, intent on saying grace to the Maker for blessing him so.

Then, he had caught a glimpse of the Eluvian – unguarded and unmanned. Annoyance spiked in him at such carelessness, and he had confronted Morrigan in the little pavilion.

“Anything could travel through it!” he had insisted.

“Well, perhaps if you close your eyes and wish really hard, a herd of griffons might appear under your command,” Morrigan had said patronizingly.

“It needs to be guarded, Morrigan,” Cullen had said, reining in his temper and trying not to let this encounter ruin what had been such a perfect day.

“Do not be unreasonable, Commander. It can only be opened by a select few. Do you need me to explain the mechanics of such an artefact? I could be persuaded to try to do using words with less than four syllables…”

Cullen had just scoffed at her and left her smirking in the yard, mentally making a note to have some of his soldiers stationed there. Honestly, she must be out of her mind. I am fairly well read!

Varric came to stand before him, knocking all thoughts of Morrigan out of his head. The dwarf arched an eyebrow challengingly, “We are all taking the night off. Wicked Grace, in the tavern - ”

Cullen opened his mouth to rebuff him, but Varric held out his hand, “Nope. Not getting out of this one so easily, Curly. Inquisitor’s orders!”

He highly doubted it, but allowed himself to be ushered to the tavern regardless. Having cleared much of his reports, he supposed that work could wait for a few hours. Besides, if the Inquisitor really was there, he would be able to consult her on Morrigan and her insufferable behaviour and the Eluvian mirror.

Two hours later, he was severely regretting his decision to accept Varric’s offer. And betting against Josephine.

With a glare fierce enough to make a veteran’s knees go weak, Cullen removed his breeches and flung it behind him. He had thought it was a good hand – three Serpents and a matching set of Songs. It should have been enough to keep his breeches on, the last item of clothing he wore, at least.

Josephine had undone it all by revealing four Knights.

She had to be cheating, Cullen was sure of it.

He was itching to cover his torso, or his thighs or other…more delicate areas, but forced himself to keep his hands on the table. He would not give them the satisfaction of witnessing his discomfort.

Blasted Antivans, he thought.

The low light of the tavern made his skin glow and the flush that spread across his entire upper body had Josephine tittering in delight.

Cullen ignored her pointedly, avoiding meeting the eyes of everyone sitting at the table, though he did not fail to notice the becoming pink tint that painted Solona’s cheekbones, nor Alistair’s own reddening ears.

Solona smirked at him when he focused his glare at her, but the King refused to look up. Cullen’s frown deepened – was he commiserating with his misery, or laughing at his misfortune?

With a final laugh and wink, Dorian and Cassandra excused themselves, with the rest of the party following suit, Solona slightly more hesitant than the rest. The Bull stubbornly stayed in his seat, challenging him with his gaze. Cullen ignored him and counted to three, took a deep breath to steel himself, and scampered out of the tavern.

The cold air that hit him made him stagger slightly, but it did not deter him from bounding up the steps to the battlements and the refuge of his office. He moved so quickly that the soldiers patrolling outside merely felt a whoosh behind them and turned to see nothing but the darkness of the night.

Solona and Alistair followed leisurely behind, the mage trying in vain to stifle her giggles at the Commander’s ungainly retreat. She burst into his office, where Cullen was just about to climb up to his loft to retrieve a tunic of some sort.

“Stop! Wait…wait…” she gasped, clutching her sides as she laughed hysterically.

“Whatever for?” he asked brusquely, not at all pleased at being laughed at.

“Oh for the love of – ” she paused to giggle some more, and Cullen grumbled before continuing his ascent.

“No…no, Cullen! I’m sorry, I did not mean to laugh at you…Alistair,” she nudged the silent King, “did you not find it funny?”

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair sighed, sounding so much like Cullen that both of them stared at him in surprise.

“Why are you blushing?” Solona hiccupped.

“I- it’s just…” he stammered, shrugging helplessly.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before…” she straightened, and tilted her head in interest as she appraised him.

“Yes, but they do not know that!” he said, “Now they are going to speculate on what we do in private and their imaginations will run wild…and you know how fast gossip travels. I’ve already received a letter from Anora warning me to be more aware of potential scandals.”

Her laughter halted, and her smile turned into a frown. “You’re right” she said, “Andraste’s arse, I got carried away. I’ve forgotten about how precarious our situations really are. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe I -”

“No no…I did not mean that, Sol, of course we –,” he ran his hand through his hair and looked to Cullen for help. The Commander was too busy rooting around for clothing to be of any use.

“It’s just – we still need to be careful. They may speculate all they want, but we should uh…refrain from providing fodder for gossip,” he explained.

“I still don’t think that Anora will be supportive of what you are trying to do,” she mumbled, lips pursed in worry.

He drew her to him, his hand caressing her slim waist and hushed her soothingly, “She will accept it, it is not a choice,” he said.

Cullen chose that moment to emerge from his loft, hair ruffled and his hastily thrown on shirt and his spare breeches were creased.

“I need to get my armour back from…uh, did you see who took them?” he asked.

Solona was appraising his appearance silently, pressing herself flush against Alistair and biting her lower lip as she glanced back up at her King from under her lashes. Desire pooled in the depths of her eyes and he felt the sudden heat of her body spike, spreading across the length of his.

Weeks of travelling and sleeping in the same tent, but unable to indulge in her desires had left her a very unsatisfied girl, indeed.

Alistair chuckled and teasingly said, “I don’t think you are allowed to leave the room, Commander.”

Cullen stopped in his tracks and looked at Alistair uncertainly, “What do you mean?” he asked.

Alistair looked at Solona, and Cullen followed suit.

The Commander’s lips slowly curved up into a knee-buckling grin.

His eyes darkened with lust when he registered the tell-tale signs of need in her expression, and drawled innocently, “Is there something you needed, Solona?”

She shivered in Alistair’s arms at the rough timbre of his voice, and began to stutter, “I…I…”

The laces hung loosely at the neck of his tunic, leaving an expanse of smooth skin exposed for her viewing pleasure.

She could see the beginnings of defined ridges under the criss-cross lace, silky muscles shifting beneath the skin as he stalked towards her.

Solona sagged against Alistair. Cullen was still so new, still a touch forbidden, and his very presence that hinted at dark pleasures within the sheets made her heart race and she squeezed her thighs in a vain effort to ease the ache between. Her fingers itched to untie those laces fully and feel his heat beneath her own hands.

Alistair chuckled again, this time his voice was deeper and huskier, not exactly unaffected by the display his mage and the Commander were putting on.

“Remove your shirt, Commander,” he ordered in his most kingly voice.

Cullen obliged, mussing up his hair even more as he drew it over his head and approached Solona from behind.

Alistair weaved his hands through her long hair, drawing her head up to meet him in a scorching kiss.

When the King finally claimed her wholly - lips and body and soul, sheathing himself deliciously into her, and Cullen’s large hands cupped, caressed and stroke all the right places, her earthy moans spiralled into breathless cries of Cullen and Alistair and Maker…grasping blindly at the bare expanse of skin before her, behind her and around her while her chantry boys seamlessly brought her to completion.

None of Cullen’s men or Alistair’s guards at the door breathed a word of the sounds and noises that were emitted from the Commander’s tower that night, staunchly maintaining a professional conduct and secretly glad for their respective captains.

Varric stopped by to drop off Cullen’s armour and managed to overhear a particular crescendo of wails interspersed with the Commander’s name and chuckled to himself.

Wicked Grace, indeed.

Chapter Text

Solona twirled her staff absent-mindedly as she slouched in the wooden chair. Alistair was eyeing her with a mildly disapproving look, and she knew that he was on the verge of a long lecture on her posture.

They, along with Morrigan, were waiting for Leliana to join them. It was a sort of reunion – the first for all of them since the Halamshiral excursion. Half the group who conquered the Blight finally in one place, the other half scattered to the winds or passing into the next life.

“Where is Kieran?” Solona asked, trying to distract Alistair from noticing the way she was sitting.

Morrigan threw a dark look to Alistair’s way, and mumbled something about being tutored by the Chantry Mothers on the teachings of the Maker.

Solona turned to the sheepish King, exclaiming, “You did not!”

Alistair shrugged, and said, “He seemed interested.”

“I told you to refrain from mentioning your own faith in front of him,” Morrigan scowled.

Solona cupped her chin in her hands, and mused, “I don’t quite get how that would work. He still holds Urthemiel’s soul, right? Isn’t that conflicting?”

Morrigan clamped her mouth shut and glared. Kieran’s conception and the circumstances surrounding it had been a taboo subject, and even Alistair cleared his throat nervously and avoided Solona’s gaze.

“Sorry…” she whispered. Her uplifted mood had persisted for weeks. Cullen and Alistair were getting along marvellously, although a tiny part of her had prepared for an outburst from Alistair, never believing he would adapt to the new situation so readily. Another part of her had worried about Cullen’s acceptance and whether he would have had any reservations, but it appeared that her fears were unfounded.

Aside from her personal affairs, the Inquisition’s victory at Arbor Wilds had knocked a large dent in Corypheus’ resources. And Morrigan’s revelation at Mythal’s altar that the dragon could be beaten had given them a spark of hope.

There was just the fact that Morrigan drank from the Well of Sorrows that still plagued her thoughts sometimes, what was done had been done. There was nothing they could do to change it.

Solona massaged the temples of her forehead, trying to cast those dark thoughts away. A problem for a later time, she told herself.

Suddenly, the door burst open and one of Cullen’s men – Stalwart Stuart or something – rushed in. “I – Your Majesty, Warden Commander, Lady Morrigan – your son!” he panted.

Morrigan rose swiftly, her robes billowing behind her as she demanded, “What of him? Where is he?”

Solona could hear the rising panic in her voice, the widening of her golden eyes and tightening of her shapely jaw.

The soldier replied, “The sister said he ran into the small room off the side of the chapel, and through the mirror! The Inquisitor is there right now, she saw him going in and followed him, but she could not get in.”

“What?” Alistair grounded out, all colour draining from his face.

“How can that be? He doesn’t have the key…I - Amell, fetch the advisors. I’m going after him,” she ordered, and ran out of the room.

“So am I,” Alistair declared, re-sheathing his sword and coming to a stop in front of Solona, his expression hard and set, “I’ll be fine. Get Cullen and Leliana. We’ll get him back.”

He sounded as confident as she felt, which was not at all. The eluvian led to a number of strange places, the veil there thinned to practically a shred of mist, and Kieran could have gone anywhere.

“What do I do? How can I help?” she asked frantically.

He breathed sharply through his nose and said gruffly, “Nothing. Not this time. Stay here, wait for me.”

Then he was gone.

And Solona’s world crumbled as she watched him walk away into the unknown without her.

Cullen was cursing, not even caring that the statue of Andraste was looking down at him.

He had summoned Vivienne and Solas and was now pacing in the small confines of the chapel.

Solas had to try to find them in the Fade, if that is where they had gone, and the apostate was dozing soundly on one of the pews.

Vivienne stood at the doorway, stately and elegant, still appearing unruffled by the events before her, although Cullen knew that she was not steel enough to be uncaring of a child’s disappearance.

He had sent Solona back to his office to wait for news – her frayed nerves and fear at potentially losing her friend, her lover and his son had left everyone even more frazzled with her presence.

It had been close to an hour since they disappeared into the mirror. He felt helpless…and memories of Uldred and Meredith flashed through his mind, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

He had tried breaching the portal, but it refused to accept him. Morrigan was half right – a key was needed, but how in blazes did a young boy know the way in?

Why in Andraste’s flaming stones did he not post guards at the door? He had thought of it, he had resolved to do it, and yet…

The portal began to swirl. Cullen strode to it and adopted a defensive stance, his mind running through all the possibilities – demon, abomination…

But then a familiar robed figure fell out, clutching a child in her arms.

“Lady Morrigan! Where is –”

Alistair and the Inquisitor tumbled out after her.

Cullen appraised them. Their faces were a sickly white, shocked and dismayed. But Kieran seemed unharmed – his expression as calm and placid as ever, not even complaining as Morrigan’s nails bit into his shoulder in her panic.

He kept his eye on the mirror, bracing himself for any surprise attacks by opportunistic entities who dared to cross from the other side.

“You have my eternal thanks, Inquisitor, but I wish for time alone with my son,” Morrigan said in a shaky voice, her tone was measured and cold, but the brightness of her eyes spoke volumes of the gratitude she felt towards Lady Trevelyan.

Cullen glanced at her from the corner of his eye, noting that she had recovered her composure.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Alistair insisted, and to Cullen’s surprise, Morrigan merely nodded and accepted it.

The Commander had a feeling that there was more between them that they let on, and if he hadn’t known that Alistair was still hung up on Solona, he might have suspected…

But Alistair was looking at him, the man’s eyes piercing and meaningful and Cullen felt like he was trying to tell him something, but what?

Was it that Morrigan had been possessed? The apostate in front him, as cool and aloof as always, was an abomination?

Yet, the King’s hands fell freely at his sides, not positioned anywhere near his sword in case he needed to unsheathe it in a hurry.

Cullen felt completely out of the loop as he met his gaze, his own eyes questioning and confused.

Alistair cleared his throat, “I’ll be here for a while. If you could see to Solona, let her know that we are unharmed? I assume she has been sent somewhere to fret in isolation?”

“Ahh…right. Of course. I will, at once. There will be guards stationed outside,” he said, glancing at Morrigan quickly, “from now on, as long as the mirror remains on Skyhold grounds.”

Alistair nodded in agreement, “I will have one of own guards keep tabs on Kieran while he is here, at all times.”

Morrigan opened her mouth, ostensibly to argue, but the recent journey through the eluvian must have been alarming enough to still her protests.

Cullen quickly excused himself and left the chantry. He stormed into his office, flinging the latest stack of requisition papers onto his desk.

Solona was still there, concern still darkening her face, the pallor of her normally rosy, flushed skin was pale.

In front of her, on his desk, were crumpled balls of shredded paper, and Cullen had a fleeting thought to check if any of them were important reports before throwing them out.

“Are they -?“ she asked

“Thank the Maker, the Inquisitor and Alistair retrieved him safely,” Cullen said.

“Oh thank you, thank you…” she murmured, clasping her hands together in reverent prayer.

When she opened her eyes again, they were bright and clear. A smile graced her face and she stood up to approach him, “Alistair?”

“Seeing to the boy. He seems fine, unshaken. But the King wanted to be sure. He will have Kieran shadowed by a trusted guard from now on. I…I should have stationed my men there immediately after…I do not know what I was thinking.”

“It is hardly your fault, Commander,” Solona frowned at him.

“It is, it was. I identified the possibility, I saw the threat, and yet I allowed it to slip my mind in pursuit of trivial pleasures,” he scowled.

“Stop blaming yourself. They are perfectly safe, are they not?” she asked, smiling at him when he nodded.

“Besides, I enjoyed playing Wicked Grace against you. Especially with Josie there. I, for one, truly appreciated the beautiful view that night,” she purred, running her hands up his breastplate and around his neck.

Cullen dropped his scowl, “Hmm…I still can’t find my – Nevermind.”

He kissed her softly, his large hands covered her hips and drew her closer to him.

“I’m glad Kieran is all right. How is Morrigan?” she whispered against his lips.

“Hovering around him. With Alistair. I think they are more shaken than the child. It is odd, how much he seems to care for Morrigan’s son,” Cullen observed.

Solona hid her wince at his words, and wondered if now would be the right time to come clean to him.

“He is still a child,” she said slowly, hedging her time.

“Yes, and any child might have came across the mirror. And somehow unlock the Eluvian. I should have known better. If it were my child – “ he broke off suddenly and looked down at her.

Solona tilted her head up to gaze at him, and was immediately overwhelmed by the tenderness and love she could see in his eyes.

“The war won’t last forever. When it started, I hadn’t considered much beyond our survival. But things are different now,” he said pensively.

“What do you mean, Cullen?” Solona asked, running a finger across his brows and the worry lines that crinkled between them.

“I find myself wondering what will happen after. When this is over, I won’t want to move on…not from you,” he said, almost shyly, “But I don’t know what you – that is, if you, ah…”

“Of course not. I mean, I want to stay with you,” she said.

“But your place is with the wardens – far away from the Inquisition, if it even continues on as it is,” he said, cupping her chin with his calloused fingers and sending shivers down her spine from his touch.

“That still seems very far away,” she said faintly.

He smiled down at her lovingly, and admitted, “Before this, before you, I never dared to think about a future for myself. Now, it seems like it could begin to – I mean, a home, a family –“

Solona jerked in his arms, her eyes darting to his in surprise. “Cullen, I thought you knew…” Solona replied, her voice breaking.

He shook his head at her, his warm eyes questioning, “Knew what?”

“Wherever you are will be my home, and I consider you family but if you meant - I can’t … I’m…it is almost impossible for me to bear a child,” Solona whispered.

Cullen frowned, “Why would I have known that?”

Solona shrugged, feeling helpless all of a sudden, remembering belatedly that he was not privy to Grey Warden secrets, along with the ritual. She had kept so many secrets from him, and now was a good time as any to come clean to him on the sacrifices of becoming a warden, trusting that Cullen knew how to keep his word.

She wished she also knew for certain that he would accept her after knowing the truth. She swallowed, hard, feeling as though the taint that ran through her veins was about to take away another man she loved, another future she could have had.

“Because Alistair has had no heir in the past decade?” she said, squeezing her eyes shut as she spilled the Order’s greatest secrets, “Grey Wardens are left highly infertile after the joining, it is just one of the many secrets we keep from the world.”

Cullen seemed stunned, his handsome features drawn together as he tried to process what she was saying.

“No…children, ever?” he asked, letting her go and rounded his desk to stand across from her.

“It is rare…that one warden would be able to conceive, but two wardens – that is supposed to be impossible.”

He bent to look her squarely in the eye, hand brought down to rest on his sturdy desk – fisted and stiff on the heavy wood.

“What other secrets are there?” he asked, his tone detached and professional, but the tightening of his jaw told a different story.

“Nightmares, heightened appetites, a shortened lifespan – usually ended with a final glorious battle in the Deep Roads,” she recited bitterly.

Heightened appetites…well, Cullen could at least attest to that. He had never seen her eat the way she did during their Circle days, and he had been surprised at the rate she ingested her food at Skyhold, but never had he suspected it was part of being a Warden. Such a seemingly innocuous side effect when compared to the others that she had just blurted out…

“How much shorter?” Cullen gritted out, his fists curling tighter until she could hear the leather creaking.

“Three decades after the joining, if we’re lucky,” Solona whispered, fearful at his reaction, fearful that he may change his mind and leave her.

Cullen broke away, and bent his head. She could see the tensing in his shoulders, the ragged breathing behind the heavy armour he wore.

She walked up to him, stopping in front of his desk but not daring to touch him.

“I have twenty years left, at best…and I cannot give you children, Cullen,” she said, swallowing down the sobs that clawed at her throat, “I wanted to tell you earlier, but these are heavily guarded secrets…and I wasn’t sure…”

He laughed scornfully, “And all this while, I was worried about my life, my future – if I would own my mind long enough to care for you, to be whole for you…until the end, and now…”

“I’m so sorry, Cullen. It’s not fair to you –”

He gave a sudden angry yell and shoved the contents of his desk violently to the side, his inkwell and paperweights crashed to the floor and smashed into pieces, the papers swirled in the air before floating down simply to the ground.

“Cullen!” she cried in surprise.

“How could you…how could you keep this from me for so long?” he barked at her.

He looked so dismayed and irate that Solona’s heart broke at the sight.

“I’m sorry! The notion of it has been haunting for so long, it seems more like an afterthought. Early death, nightmares…it is just a part of who I am now. I don’t…I won’t blame you if this changes everything -” she brought her voice down to a whisper, her nails were biting into her palm as she curled her hands into tight little fists.

“I, Maker, stop saying that…I’m in too deep, Sol! I can’t – I love you too much,” he snarled, “I cannot just walk away from …because of this. It’s not about leaving all this behind. I just can’t. I cannot accept that we have so little time, not after I finally…” he trailed off, the pain in his voice hurting more than she could bear.

“Would you have chosen differently? If you knew earlier?” she tentatively asked, afraid to hear his answer.

Cullen stretched open his palms, uncurling them forcefully and strode over to her, saying “No. Never…it was always going to be you. But the Maker - he has the most ridiculous sense of humour.”

Solona gave a weak chuckle of relief at his reply and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, craning to kiss him, “I’m sorry…so so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, somehow. I’m still looking for a cure…but even if that fails,” she paused and cleared her throat uncomfortably, “there are other options , I’m sure - ”

“Solona,” he said, remaining stiff and unyielding against her, “I don’t mean to be insensitive or…I don’t know. But I don’t want to talk about this, not right now.”

She fell back down on the flats of her feet, and stared at him timidly, “What do you mean?”

Cullen untangled himself from her and took a few steps back, “There is still too much to be done. We will face the Elder One any day, his forces are scattered but he has not been seen. We suspect he will resurface soon, and…I cannot afford any distractions. This needs to have my complete attention.”

“What are you saying, Cullen?” she asked, the words scratched at her throat as they filled the air between them.

“I love you, Maker bless my heart, I really do. But I can’t speak of these…matters now. I need to focus on the missions at hand – locating Corypheus, mapping out battle strategies, so many approaches to consider.”

He paused for a long while. Solona did not dare to breathe, fearful of what he would say next.

Cullen finally shifted, striding back to his desk determinedly, “Give me time, Solona. There isn’t enough of me left to give this any proper thought.”

He was already bending over the map laid out on his table, not sparing her another glance but he did continue to say, “And I don’t want to say the wrong things or…hurt you in any way.”

And Solona knew that she was being dismissed.

“That is not all – about the Grey Wardens,” she said, resisting the urge to follow his command and leave without saying anything else – especially not regarding the ritual that Morrigan carried out, akin to blood magic in the Commander’s eyes. But as long as they were on the topic…

He glanced up to look at her, gaze wary and mouth drawn into a thin line.

“Before the return journey from Arbor Wilds, you heard us arguing briefly about this, I…I told you that I would explain, and well – it’s complicated, or not really…It’s not, actually. I…Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the Blight because our souls are able to absorb the freed soul of the Old God, but will be destroyed in the process.”

Cullen straightened up fully, his attention fully on her again, “But you were the one who killed the Archdemon…”

Solona bit her lip, and nodded, “Yes, I did. I would have died…I should have died, were it not for uh – Morrigan. She…she knew of a way to spare the life of the Grey Warden who executed the final deed.”

Cullen crossed his arms and frowned at her. She could already see his expression becoming guarded, and the questions building in his mind. It was the Commander of the Inquisition, former templar and religious Andrastian who stood before her, the Cullen that she knew personally had disappeared.

She swallowed thickly and decided to just take the plunge, saying, “We, that is – Alistair and Morrigan created a child – pure enough to absorb the soul of the Old God and survive.”

 “That means – Kieran…” Cullen trailed off, closing his eyes when he saw her nod, “I wondered who his father was, but I never thought…Maker’s breath…”

“We were scared, and young, and those are not excuses – but we grabbed the chance to survive when we knew of the ritual…I – I would say I’m sorry, but I am not, really, for I wouldn’t have met you, or had the chance to do all the things I did…” Solona said, “I suppose I was selfish…wasn’t I? And when we thought that Corypheus had another Archdemon at his beck and call, we were worried that our time had finally come…and I would not have allowed another Warden to slay it and die, not when I cheated fate the last time, whatever Alistair might have said.”

Cullen sighed and cradled his head in his hands, “Maker’s breath. This is…I never imagined.”

He remained silent, and Solona followed his lead. Whatever remained between them felt so fragile that she feared that any word she might have said would shatter it all.

Cullen inhaled sharply, his eyes suspiciously wet when he lifted his head to meet her gaze, but they were clear, calm pools of honey and amber, and when he spoke – his voice was a rumbling timbre of confidence and control, the mantle of Commander firmly back in place.

“Solona, my apologies, truly. You do not have to explain yourself or the decisions you made to me I know it was difficult for you – all these secrets and burdens. All I ask is for some time to process this. Alone.””

She brushed away her tears with a quick swipe on her sleeves, hoping that Cullen did not see her momentary weakness. She shuffled over to him, tentatively reaching out to run her fingers through his hair lightly, and trying but failing to ignore the flinch he gave at her touch.

“Solona,” he said, tired and anguished.

Her arms fell to her sides in surrender, and he turned away from her, bending to pick the reports up from the floor.

“If…if you’re sure, Cullen,” she stammered, “I’ll be waiting for you tonight, if you still -”

Solona phrased her last sentence as a question, hoping that he would not deny it, but Cullen shook his head and said, “Not tonight. I have too much to see to.”

Her sob rang out loud and true this time as she felt the rejection acutely in the depths of her soul. “For what it’s worth now…I love you, Cullen, and I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

His eyes filled with guilt, as she knew it would, but that did not ease the sharp pang of heartache that rammed through her when he failed to return her embrace.

He shook his head sadly, “Stop saying sorry, Sol. It’s too late for that,” he exhaled heavily, his broad shoulders hunched as if he was feeling the weight of both their worlds all of a sudden. “I still love you. Nothing will change that,” he whispered.

Solona gave him a small nod, then kissed his forehead softly and swiftly made her exit, the image of his haunting eyes still fresh in her memory. She allowed his office door to swing close behind her, then quietly leaned her head against it. This was horrible. Cullen had been through too much, seen too much, suffered too much. She had never imagined becoming another source of misery to him.

She had seen the throbbing vein at his temple before she left, and she knew with certainty that another migraine was on its way. She hated that he was upset, and she hated not being able to be there for him when it mattered. 

She lifted her head and looked at the shut door sorrowfully. If her beautiful Commander needed time, she would wait – as long as he needed.

Chapter Text

Cullen yearned to go to her. To hear her soft voice, his name a caress of a whisper falling from her lips. To have her hold him, her curves yielding to the hard angles of his frame. To tell her over and over again – how sorry he was for reacting that way.

He needed, thirsted, dreamt and wept for her.

But he did not know where to begin.

The moment the door closed behind her, Cullen already felt the beginnings of guilt blossoming within him.

He should have dealt with her revelations better, could have been more understanding, reassuring.

No, Solona, I do not blame you.

I love you. You are my world.

Instead, he had cast himself away from her – turned his attention to more pressing matters.

Matters of life and death, he justified. Their lives would be on hold as long as Corypheus roamed both sides of the veil.

He tried to tell himself that it was not because he was a coward who was unable to look into the eyes of the only woman he ever truly loved and deal with the startling news directly. It was not because he had been unable to summon the strength for it at that particular moment, too overwhelmed and horrified to think clearly.

He needed to do his duty first – to command, to lead. The mantle of Commander fell easily onto his shoulders again. He had vowed to give the Inquisition his all.

Cullen and Solona, templar and mage, would have to come later.

More time, Solona. Give me time.

Cullen shook his head, willing away the spiking pain in the back of his head by sheer determination.

He dimmed the candles to lessen the glare in his eyes and hunched over his desk once again – what had he been doing?

Right. Corypheus and his last known whereabouts.

Cullen would not tolerate failure. There was too much to live for, now. There will be time for apologies and regrets later.

It all came crashing down around them a mere three days after.

Solona found herself standing below the steps to the Great Hall. The wind was especially harsh, whipping the loose strands that escaped her braids across her face – sharp and stinging. The breach looked beautiful as it roiled and swirled in the darkened skies. It was time. They had not been successful in locating the Elder One, but now it didn’t matter. He had come to them.

The loud crackle as the tear flared and split open early in the morning woke the whole of Skyhold. She found it mesmerizing, and could not stop looking at it even as waves of fear swept across the Inquisition. As the advisors huddled in the War Room, Solona stood by her bedroom window, with Alistair sitting behind her, watching and waiting in silence. Even without leaving her rooms, she knew what would happen next.

It would have been with a heavy heart and firm hand that the Inquisitor made her final rounds earlier that day, gathering up her faithful companions for the last battle. Solona took the time to pray, as she was wont to do before every battle - for strength, for courage, for peace should she perish.

She was not surprised at all when Lady Trevelyan came knocking at her door, her heartbeat was steady as she listened to her summons.

Alistair had risen in a rush, knocking over their mugs in his haste to block the doorway.

“You’re not leaving me behind this time,” he had declared, ignoring the Inquisitor entirely.

Solona had sighed, and rose to dress herself. She buckled the belt of lyrium and healing potions, shoved aside her newly crafted mage robes in favour of her heavier Silverite armour – a move that made Alistair’s knees weaken in worry and despair – it meant that she would be in the thick of the battle instead of safely striking at Corypheus from a distance.

The Inquisitor smiled at him kindly from the doorway, “Your Majesty, it has been an honour,” she said, almost sorrowfully. But she did not choke on her words, and Solona could detect no fear radiating from her.

Good, she thought. We are ready.

After informing her that they would depart from the main portcullis in half an hour, the Inquisitor excused herself to make her own preparations, and to allow the Hero of Ferelden to say her own goodbyes.

“Solona, surely you don’t mean to –” Alistair immediately began, eyes widening at the Inquisitor’s farewell.

“My love, my heart,” she sighed, coming to a stop in front of him and tilting his chin down so that he would face her properly, “Please don’t fight me on this, Alistair. You’re needed here. Cullen needs you here. We cannot risk you. And you are both needed for the last line of defense…just in case…” we fail.

She could not bear to finish that sentence.

Her heart had sunk at the thought of Cullen. After her confession three days ago, they barely had the chance to speak to one another. Leliana’s scouts had brought in news and reports almost every hour that demanded his immediate attention. The constant flow of dignitaries through his doors had her giving up each time she showed up to steal a moment of his time.

All she had to remember him by were the short, stolen glances over the war table – full of longing and unspoken apologies and regret. It was not the way she wanted to leave him.

In exactly half an hour, Solona had made her way to the meeting point – still convincing a frustrated and worried King that she was not completely helpless, that she had fought the Architect and the Mother and won or at least emerged alive without him by her side, that he was the one who had gotten injured in their last fight, not her.

Even now, from where she stood, she could see Alistair’s features sunken and drawn in concern and fear. Dorian and Iron Bull were deep in conversation, their own brows furrowed and foreheads creased as they muttered their own well wishes and I love you’s and trying but failing to say goodbye, just in case.

Then there was Cullen. Her Cullen. He stood on the steps with the other advisors – solid and protective, menacing and large in full armour. His eyes raked over her hungrily, and she could see the defiance in them – he did not want her to leave things like this between them. But he made no move to sweep her into his arms. Duty above all else.

She reached out for him, her hands moving on their own accord, and saw him move an inch closer to her, but then Alistair was kissing her publicly in front of the gathered crowd to muted applause and catcalls, and all she saw of the Commander was one final nod, and him mouthing desperately, “Be safe, come back,” before she was swept away by the marching army of mages and warriors.

Before she knew it, she was atop her horse and riding furiously after the Inquisitor with the Iron Bull hot on their heels, and the rest of the companions following closely, her own heart and soul remaining behind on the steps of Skyhold.

She had chanced a last selfish glance backwards, and the last image of them were of both men standing tall and strong on the steps of the fortress, shoulder to shoulder, looking out after the departing battalion. They had remained outwardly calm and defensive yet Solona knew how each of them died and seethed a little inside each time they sent others away to fight in their place.

Her mind was still on Cullen and Alistair and how would she fix their lives and give them everything they desired in this world if she managed to survive this battle, when Corypheus wielded his sick magic and brought the Temple of Ashes to the heavens.

Suddenly, she was stumbling and trying to regain her balance as the earth shook under her. The Inquisitor looked down in horror at the diminishing figures of their support troops. Only a handful of them remained on the plateau that Corypheus had torn from its foundations.

Then, Cassandra was there - wielding her sword like a force of nature and darting around Corypheus. The Iron Bull smashed his maul into the darkspawn magister, eliciting a cry of fury from the inhumane monster. Their war cries brought the Inquisitor back from the edge of panic and she swung into action, her shimmering blade of energy sliced the air and landed on Corypheus with an ominous crackle.

Solona wrapped her hands around the pommel of her trusty Spellweaver, and flexed her fingers around it once, twice, feeling the surge of magic thrum down the hilt to the point of the sharp blade.

“Let them come,” she whispered as she struck the ground once, and lightning and ice streaked between the cracks of the earth and coursed toward the cackling Elder One.

She swung her blade at them, simultaneously cloaking the warriors in shimmering blue barriers and unleashing a fury of fire at him.

Then, Corypheus was moving, further and further up the crumbling ruin. And they chased, and fought and chased again. 

As they approached the tallest peak, his dragon descended upon them, soaring high above their heads, bellowing hellfire from its belly.

They cowered behind shields and rocks and braced themselves for the searing heat as the dragon directed swaths of flames at them.

Come on, Morrigan, Solona’s mind screamed. Beyond the whoosh of blazing fire, they heard the clash of dragon scales and deafening thunder. Another dragon appeared and rammed headfirst into the attacking beast - both creatures rolling and snapping and roaring against the dark sky.

The Bull unleashed a loud cheer and reemerged from his cover. With the dragon distracted, and Corypheus momentarily blindsided by the appearance of another dragon, they immediately plunged into the fray again, all of them forcing themselves to pay no heed to terrifying scene above them.

Their renewed vigor lasted only a short while.

Far too soon, Morrigan was lying injured on the floor, transformed into human form again.

Solona swallowed her despair. She unleashed a flurry of spells and lightning sped down her blade again. With strength she did know she possessed,  she hauled the witch out of the way of danger and pressed a vial of healing potion in her hands.

Trusting that Morrigan knew how to take care of herself, Solona turned back to the surviving dragon. At least it was barely standing – Morrigan had done enough damage to ground the bloody beast.

They made quick work disposing of Corypheus’ dragon, and before Solona even had time to think, the Inquisitor was clutching the accursed elven orb, her arms trembling with the strain of lifting it up.

Solona could barely hear the words she was yelling at Corypheus, but she was certain that Varric was mentally taking notes. The dwarf stood a few paces behind her, Bianca trained on the slouching magister.

With a final yell of rage, and a blinding strobe of green flash, Corypheus imploded, or exploded into the air – she did not quite know what truly happened.

The world beneath her feet hurtled down suddenly, knocking every one of them to the ground.

Immediately, bright flashes erupted from Solona and the Inquisitor’s staff as they flung out the strongest barrier they could at such a short moment’s notice around those present.

“Hold on to something!” she saw rather than heard Cassandra yell; the Seeker's faithful sword falling from her hands and bouncing on the rocks with loud clangs.

The earth shook and shuddered before finally stilling with a loud groan. The silence that befell them was deafening. And the six of them slowly stood in shock, staring at one another, motionless and silent.

“Inquisitor!” a chorus of shouts broke out around them.

And the rush of cheers and sound slammed back into her, a sudden infusion of noise and sight and light.

An easy grin formed on her face, as the Bull kissed Dorian soundly on the lips in front of everyone and heaved the Inquisitor onto his broad shoulders. Solona lifted trembling hands to her cheeks in wonder, feeling the heat spread through her cold fingers. She almost couldn't believe it.

I’m still breathing. Andraste’s blessing. We made it.

And the celebrations began.

Corypheus was defeated. They had achieved all that they had set out to do. The future loomed before her - full of possibilities and potential that she had refused to think of before this.

Solona harboured great hopes that the ensuing victory and triumph would dispel the tension hovering between Cullen and herself, like one of Cassandra's mighty smites.

Ever since her confession, Cullen had been distant – still cordial and polite, but he kept a barrier between them that Solona could not breach.

Her tentative smiles and touches were met with almost blank glances. Sometimes, a swift tortured look would flit across his features before he turned away – it made her worry and yet, he would not talk about it. Aside from the brief crack in emotions right before she left for battle, Cullen had kept a stoic, impenetrable mask on at all times.

Alistair had not taken this new development well. His indignant glares landed on the Commander too frequently, and the paper-thin patience that Cullen managed to uphold had snapped more than once.

She had walked in on them too many times - furiously sniping at each other with barely suppressed rage that had the servants scurrying out of their quarters night after night. It had reached a point where Cullen finally returned to his tower last night just to avoid another argument with the King.

Solona tried to convince herself that their moods were due to the impending battle against the ancient Magister. It had not been easy for the advisors - even Leliana had cracked under the pressure and surrendered to a fit of temper that Solona had never seen on the bard.

It was understandable that Alistair was defensively angry over Cullen's cold shoulder; and she knew too well the difficulties Cullen was dealing with, the ever-mounting pressure of the upcoming battle and inevitable losses that the Inquisition would suffer throughout its ranks. It had to be immensely hard on him - to know that the soldiers he had spent months training daily may never return.

All in all, she was utterly relieved that it was over and they could focus on themselves, and found herself hoping, selfishly, that Cullen hadn’t decided to end things between them, even if she could not find it within herself to blame him if he chose to do so.

Solona had allowed herself to be slightly more optimistic when he engulfed her in a tight embrace the moment she reached the steps of Skyhold, murmuring thanks and praises and prayers into her ear, and then withdrew sooner than she would have liked. But if that little gesture meant that there was still hope...

Cullen had made a brief appearance at the party that Josie put together in a hurry, and then bid a hasty retreat. Alistair, who had been a fount of attentiveness and barely left her side, also disappeared not long after Cullen left. Solona paced herself as she strolled along the Great Hall, fighting the urge to start searching frantically. She did not trust the two of them to be left alone.

She extricated herself from the clutches of adoring nobles and headed towards Cullen’s office.  The patrolling unit indicated Cullen's tower when she asked where they last saw Alistair and Cullen, trying her hardest to sound innocent. There were enough rumours flying around as it is. There was no need for her to add more fuel to the fire.

Despite the gnawing fatigue that enveloped every inch of her body, Solona forced herself to make the march to his office. Whatever happened, she still needed to talk to the Commander, determined to settle their issues once and for all.

A twinge of pain struck and Solona winced. She placed a hand on her lower abdomen in worry, trying to recall if she injured the area during the final battle, or pulled a muscle.

It had been giving her discomfort since they returned to Skyhold, but song and ale had distracted her enough to ignore it.

Crossing the empty study that was now completely filled with painted murals, and I wonder where Solas is, the muscles in her abdomen contracted suddenly and she bent over in surprise, bringing her hands up to place pressure on the area in the hopes of easing it.

Maker, I must have taken a hit and forgotten about it.

She bit her lip to stop a cry as another wrenching cramp worked its way through her belly as she leaned against Solas' desk. Cold sweat beaded her brow, and she found herself panting from the light exertion.

She allowed a few moments to pass, and then gingerly straightened up, nearly falling over again as the spasms increased in frequency with each move she made.

If she had ruptured something, it would take months of healing and bed rest and she refused to entertain that possibility – not when everyone was still pumped with adrenaline from Corypheus’ defeat, and there were more Wardens to disperse and records to make and letters to send…

Praying that it was just a muscle strain, she gritted her teeth through the stabbing ache and hobbled up the stairs to the long stretch of ramparts that led to Cullen’s office. She waved away the concerned soldiers who patrolled that section, all alarmed at the sight of her doubled over in pain.

The cramps intensified and Solona thought, in the haze that clouded her mind, that it felt like a demon had taken hold of her guts and was wringing it in delight. She reached Cullen’s door and pushed it open with relief, searching for the nearest chair so she could collapse into it.

Still, it did nothing for her pain when she caught sight of the Commander and the King standing opposite one another - both had their arms crossed, feet apart in an offended pose, and their handsome faces warped in barely restrained fury. All traces of camaraderie that they had so carefully cultivated after Halamshiral had vanished.

“For the love of Andraste,” Solona groaned, “What now?”

The men did not even turn to look at her and she lowered herself gingerly into a nearby chair and pressed her hands on her stomach.

They glared at each other; their fingers near their swords were twitching as if each were aching to draw their blades out. “Speak, Commander or I’ll-” Alistair spat.

“It’s none of your business, Your Majesty,” Cullen drawled in response.

“Of course it is – are you blind? Can’t you see how it is affecting her?” Alistair’s scowl deepened, “She broke the Order’s oath to tell you of our secrets and this is how –”

“Fasta Vass!” she exclaimed, Dorian’s curses rubbing off on her, as she felt a pool of wetness spreading between her legs, painting her breeches a dark red. Was it time for – No, it was never this much. Maker…

“Cullen,” she muttered, terror building up as she realized that her injury was more serious than she thought. I must be bleeding internally. Shit! How long has this been going on?

She whimpered softly as the clenching intensified, and the blood did not seem to stop.

“Cullen…” she called again, her voice tinged with panic when they continued to ignore her, “Alistair!” an agonized yell finally tore from her throat as a spasm so intense hit her, clouding her vision and forcing her onto the ground, hoping that a foetal position would ease it.

Both men turned at once, their attention gripped by the alarm in her tone. “Solona? What –” she heard Alistair say.

“Oh kill me,” she moaned, when they rushed over and dropped down next to her.

Cullen gathered her in his arms and stood up. He strode quickly to his door, cradling her close to him, all the while muttering soothingly above her. She saw the horror on his face as he took in the amount of blood flowing from her even as she cried out in pain and clutched at him in fear.

She could hear Alistair yelling for a healer and she wanted to sob from the agony but the buzzing in her ears grew and soon she could not hear at all – everything was muted and it was a struggle to remain conscious.

Gods above, please don’t let me die. Please.

Solona was truly frightened. All of her sustained wounds in the past had been healed immediately after battle, if not during. This was the first time she had allowed a potential injury to go unchecked for so long.

Her hand crept up to Cullen’s throat, and she curled her fingers over his breastplate, yearning for his warmth to reassure her. She could see his lips moving as he stared down at her in worry, and she wished desperately that she could hear his voice, to know what he was saying.

She gave a soundless cry as black spots began to dance across her vision. Their concerned faces hovering above hers blurred around the edges and blonde heads blending together were the last things she could make out before her control lapsed and she gave in to the welcoming darkness that enveloped her.

 “All that blood, Maker, did you see all the blood?” Alistair croaked and hung his head in his hands.

Cullen said nothing, but he stood guard at the infirmary doors resolutely, shoulders tensed and expression like thunder. His lips moved occasionally, and Alistair could catch the tail end of what sounded like the Canticles of Benedictions.

His own mind cycled through the verses rapidly, as fresh and clear as if he had just been reciting them the day before, kneeling in the Order’s chantry under the stern eye of the Revered Mother. The words rolled fluently from his tongue, as he sought any form of comfort it could bring as they waited.

Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadows. In their blood the Maker’s will is written.

In their blood.

In her blood.

Blessed are the peacekeepers…do not take her away from me.

Both men had their faces drained of colour when they saw Solona on the floor. Both slept not a wink and waited outside the Healer’s room the whole night, pacing like caged lions and barking at anyone who dared to approach them.

Both were terrified beyond belief. The healer had not emerged at all since she had been summoned. Madame De Fer had arrived in a hurry, still looking pristine and impeccable despite the late hour, and swept into the room without a word to them. They were hanging onto the last threads of sanity.

No news was good news, Alistair kept muttering to himself. He could not bear to think of other possibilities. He had just convinced Solona to give them another chance. If this was to be her time...

No. It can't be.

Alistair snuck a glance at the man next to him, and silently admitted how grateful he felt that Cullen bore this night with him. He knew the Commander felt the same, even if neither would say it aloud.

They waited until Cullen’s feet lost all feeling and Alistair’s belly growled in hunger, but still they refused to give up their silent vigil.

It was nearing dawn when the doors opened, and as one, the two knights advanced on the exhausted healer threateningly.

She held up both hands in surrender, cutting off any words they may have spoken, saying, “She wishes to speak to you.”

They exhaled in relief, “She’s all right, you mean?” Alistair asked.

The healer waved her hand and gestured them in, too tired to form words. Vivienne exited gracefully, giving them a sad smile that yielded no answers for them.

With a faint feeling of trepidation, Alistair and Cullen quietly made their way in, blinking to adjust to the dark room – heavy curtains drawn shut and only a single candle was lit.

“Solona?” Alistair called, worry evident in his voice.

They rounded the bed, and caught sight of her in the flickering light – tears streaking down her face as she silently heaved with great sobs.

“Oh Alistair – Cullen – I’m so sorry,” she blurted.

Alistair climbed onto the bed next to her, and Cullen kneeled on the floor by her side.

“What is it, love? Please tell me you are not hurt,” the king asked her gently.

She sobbed harder, shaking her head at him, “N-no, Alistair, it was my fault. If I had known –”

“Known what?” This time, it was Cullen who spoke, the first words he had uttered since their showdown in the office.

“I … the healer said th- I was with child,” she whispered, eyes wide open and glittering oddly, as if she could not believe the very words she was saying.

Alistair choked on his own words, “Was? You mean-”

“I lost it – the babe, the child, our child. Oh, Maker,” and she convulsed into a fresh round of sobs.

Alistair stilled, even as Cullen took her hands in his. A child, and it was almost impossible for two Grey Wardens to –

That would mean…

He looked at the other man, and Cullen was already staring at him, his expression unreadable and closed.

That meant it must have been Cullen’s – the child he always wanted, that Solona would not be able to bear, or had not…Alistair was confused.

He shifted slightly; worried that the Commander’s reaction would hurt Solona, but he looked as broken as Alistair felt.

“Say something,” Solona pleaded, “Blame me for this, please, if I hadn’t ran off to fight –”

Cullen interrupted her, his voice soft and laced with concern, “Is that what the healers said? That this was because of the battle with Corypheus?”

“N-no, she found no sign of injury, but it had to be. Why else would I have…have miscarried?” she cried.

“It could have been the taint, Sol. It could have been anything,” Alistair muttered as he cupped her cheeks, heart aching at her suffering and the thought of a child that was never his.

“I could have given you a child,” she said sullenly, wiping her nose on his sleeve.

“You would have given the Commander a child,” Alistair spoke, the bitter edge of his voice hung in the silence that fell between them. He flinched.

A pause.

Then Solona said, “You don’t know that, Alistair. It could have been –”

“Unlikely, Solona. And you know it."

“Now is not the time,” Cullen said from her other side, glaring at him.

Alistair bit his lip, chastised, and swallowed his disappointment.

“It doesn’t bother me, Sol, I have accepted this long ago. But it seems not everyone is as accepting of our situation,” he accused, knowing deep down that he was being unfair, but he felt overwhelmed and lashed out at Cullen at the first opportunity.

Cullen released her hands and slammed his fist against the bedpost, his glare intensified, “Not like this! Not by risking her life! It’s not as important,” he said, chest heaving with anger.

A few beats passed before he returned his attention to her and cupped her face in his hands, his knuckles beginning to bleed.

“It never will be as important as you are to me, my heart. It’s you I care for, first and foremost, and only you.”

Alistair resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the scene before him. For days he had tried to knock some sense into the Commander's thick head. He had said the same things over and over again, resorting to threats and insults when Cullen refused to budge. The man had been remorseful, yes. But that did not ease Solona's suffering at the sudden bitter turn in their new relationship.

Solona reached out to wrap Cullen in her arms. Alistair kept a supporting hand on her shoulder, refusing to let her go and kneaded the knotted muscles gently as he listened to Cullen whisper apologies to her – for avoiding her, neglecting her, sending her into danger.

“Do I – what we did – does it disgust you?” Solona asked softly, interrupting his flow of words. At that, Alistair steeled himself. He did not quite trust that he would not ground the Commander to dust if he said the wrong thing.

Cullen reeled back, as if struck by a blow, and gaped at her, “No! I never thought – I…perhaps, a long time ago, I would have. But now, I would not have wished for you to do anything differently. As long as you are here, alive and well, I thank the Maker that Morrigan was there that night, that you chose that route. I cannot lose you, Solona.”

She nodded, a fresh wave of tears bursting forth at his admission, and Alistair could almost see the weight lifting from her heart, one that he knew she had been carrying since she realized just how much the Commander meant to her, wondering all the while if he would deem her an abomination when he found out the truth.

“I was so afraid that you…would hate me, that you did hate me,” she mumbled into his chest.

“No, Sol, I stayed away because…I felt guilty for reacting like that. I should never have pushed you away like that. When you left to face Corypheus, I was so scared that it would be the last time I saw you alive. And I would have regretted not telling you how much I love you for the rest of my life,” he admitted, the torment and fear in his voice evident to both Solona and Alistair.

Alistair scoffed, still not forgiving him wholly for the suffering he put Solona through.

Solona’s head jerked up, as if just remembering that the King was sitting at her side.

She turned to him, her eyes swollen and still brimming with unshed tears, saying, “You know what this means, don’t you Alistair?”

He looked up and saw her gazing at him sadly, “This means that there is hope – for you, for the crown. Grey Wardens can conceive, just not together. If Anora cannot -”

“No. I can’t. Solona, do not ask me to go to another woman. If you are not to be a mother to my child, then so be it. There will be no others.”

“Alistair-”

“If you say it is unfair to me one more time, Sol, I will…I do not know what I would do but it will not be pleasant, I promise you. I won’t hear another word.”

She sighed and dropped her head onto his shoulder. Alistair ran his fingers through her tangled, damp hair and said, “Any child you have, I will love as my own.”

Cullen’s eyes shot to his in shock, and Alistair nodded again in reaffirmation.

“That is...more than I could ever ask for,” Cullen admitted.

“I don’t want you to feel that I love you any less, or that you are being set aside for Cullen, or a child – I don’t want any of that, Alistair.”

Alistair swallowed nervously, straining to gather the courage he needed to say, “If you have a chance…for this one thing you have always wanted, I want you to have this. Just don’t try to leave me again, that is all I ask.”

“I won’t…I  think,” she said.

“You promised,” he reminded her.

“But Cullen –” she croaked, her voice worn and broken from screaming in agony through the night.

Sad, amber eyes met hers, and Alistair saw his own fear mirrored in them. “We will speak to the midwife and healers. If there is even the slightest chance of your own health being at risk…I will not allow it,” Cullen said firmly, eyes darting to Alistair’s for reassurance.

Alistair nodded in agreement, and Solona closed her eyes, tears still brimming from her lashes. The circles beneath them were deep and dark, and her face was still pale and drawn. Alistair’s heart wrenched at the exhaustion written on her face.

“You need to rest,” Alistair said, covering her hands with his own as she began to protest. "You're completely worn out, Sol. Please?"

“Will you...stay? I do not feel like being alone, not tonight,” she pleaded, while clutching Alistair’s arm tightly.

The Commander sighed and kissed her lightly, “Never again, Solona. I’m so sorry.”

They watched her sleep, tossing and turning fitfully. The new dawn would bring another series of questions and worries. He could not predict how she would react to this unexpected loss - whether she would rail and rage, or withdraw in grief, once reality sets in. He heaved a loud sigh and looked at the Commander, who was already beginning to doze off.

Between them, Alistair was certain she would make it through. It would be easier, now. She will never be left alone again. The King felt relieved - that was all he ever wanted for her. To be happy, and content, and never forsaken.

He would be everything she needed, and where he fell short, Cullen would fill the holes he left seamlessly. They belonged to her - this tiny slip of a girl who wielded blizzards and firestorms in the palm of her hand. Wholly, fully, completely...hers.