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Iris' next few weeks were not markedly different to those preceding them, in many respects. Her work was varied and seemingly interminable, with artifacts to gather, terrain to survey, and pockets of hostile Venatori and red Templars to root out all across southern Thedas, and a constant stream of visiting dignitaries, suppliers and new allies to meet at Skyhold. Nevertheless, she was increasingly preoccupied. Her feelings for Cullen had progressed from an unsophisticated infatuation with what he might be, to a deep and honest affection. She was conscious of his faults and vulnerabilities, but still cared so greatly for him. Yearning and worry for him pervaded more and more of her thoughts.

It wasn't so bad when she was away from Skyhold, Iris thought. There was enough to see and do, enough people needing help, enough samples of plants and ore and leather to gather, that she fell asleep quickly even on a bedroll in a shared tent. She still thought about him, but it was less immediate, less all-consuming.

Back at the fortress it was a different matter. She seemed constantly on edge, half-expecting to bump into him at any moment. Even so, she was rarely prepared when their paths did cross, and she was once again confronted by his undeniable handsomeness; his confident, leonine bearing, sometimes tinged with sorrow; that subtle scent of metal, leather and masculinity that followed in his wake.

Meeting him in close quarters was even worse. She often had to busy herself with markers at the war table to avoid gazing longingly at his scar while the council was in session. The mark managed not to detract from his good looks at all, merely to enhance the appeal of his mouth. Her imagination often ran away with her if she stopped concentrating on the map for even a few moments. Even the way he said “Inquisitor” to acknowledge her instructions made the fluttering in her belly increase – somehow, she always heard “quivering” in the word somewhere. Nor did her chess-playing improve noticeably during any of their occasional matches, although Iris enjoyed them far more for the uninterrupted conversation than the games themselves.

Weeks turned to months, and she seemed in ever more danger of reverting to a lovestruck schoolgirl. Finally, one night in her quarters when she had jumped for what felt like the hundredth time that day, thinking she heard his voice nearby on the wind, she came to a decision. She couldn't carry on like this; she would have to speak to him. You are a grown woman. You are nearly thirty. Emma already had two children by now. Pull yourself together.

Maker help her. Lying in bed in the dark, she whispered quietly to her pillow that perhaps it might be more painless to just go and fight Corypheus and a fleet of dragons.

…

The next morning dawned clear. Iris woke with her heart in her throat and moved through her regular duties with mechanical abstraction. She deliberately avoided going near any of her friends who knew her well, lest they suss her state of mind and break what little nerve she had rallied. As the afternoon wore on, a lull fell on Skyhold, and she could procrastinate no longer. It was time. One last splash of cold water on her face; one last nibble of mint leaves to sweeten her breath; one last fruitless attempt to do something fetching with her hair. Iris closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and marched in the direction of Cullen's office.

Several abortive attempts later, Iris managed to get up all the stairs and stand frozen outside his door, trying not to meet the eye of any passing guards or soldiers. She heard voices behind her, and realised that someone was coming up the steps behind her. She had to act now.

She turned the handle with a sweaty palm and walked into the room. Blessedly, miraculously, the only soldier present was leaving. Cullen was alone.

“Commander,” she began, more squeakily than intended.

“Inquisitor!” He seemed startled, if not unhappy, to see her. “How can I -”

“I-I need to speak with you. Alone,” she added.

“Alone?” he croaked. He cleared his throat. “I mean, of course.”

Another soldier entered with yet another report. Iris fought the temptation to turn and run. She was committed now, and better she confess now than just explode with it later at a completely inopportune moment.

Cullen instructed the recruit to leave the report on the desk, and ushered Iris out the door onto the battlements. They walked along in stilted silence, casting skittish glances at each other. The still-functioning part of Iris' brain noticed him reaching up to massage the back of his neck, a gesture she had come to recognise as his nervous tic.

“It's a nice day,” he said suddenly, the words bursting from his lungs.

“What?” she replied, startled.

“The weather, I mean. Er, you wanted to discuss something?”

The imagined moths were in a frenzy and her heart was pounding loudly enough for all of Skyhold to hear. She had rehearsed what to say for the last eighteen hours, but her mind was now blank. “I find myself thinking about you, more than...well, all the time, really,” she confessed, failing to eliminate a wobble from her voice. Well, it was out now. She braced herself for his rejection, or a lecture about how inappropriate her interest was.

Cullen's neck-rubbing became even more frantic. “I can't say I haven't wondered about...well, thought about...it. You. Us,” he admitted shyly.

That didn't sound quite like rejection. “Really? But you never said anything.”

“You're the Inquisitor, there's a war, and...I'm not...I haven't always...been the man I would like to be. The lyrium, my memories...you've seen how they can make me...unwell. I'm...not very good at this. I didn't think it was possible.”

“And if, if it were possible?”

“It feels too much to ask...but I want to.” His voice was so quiet now, so close, his breath warming her skin. Her eyes flickered closed as he leaned in...

...and was interrupted by the creaking of the nearby gate and the intrusion of an untimely messenger. It was, as it happened, the same unfortunate Jim at whom Cullen had been barking during Iris' first awkward encounter with the Commander on reaching Skyhold.

Cullen straightened, caught somewhere between ardour, embarrassment and pique. “What?” he growled.

The soldier carried a report from Sister Leliana, it seemed, which Cullen had asked to be delivered to him promptly.

Cullen strode stiffly to the messenger and fixed him with what could only be described as a gimlet eye. The soldier's notice was drawn to a slight movement to his left, and he was finally cognisant of the mortified Herald, squirming between the crenellations like a fennec caught in a snare.

“I should take it to your office. Right.” Maker preserve him, what had he interrupted? The hapless messenger backed away in terror, certain that the Commander would have him flogged, or worse. As he reached the door, he turned and broke into a run, not stopping until he reached the barracks again. It was a full thirty minutes before he remembered he still needed to deliver the report.

Iris had not opened her eyes, focused instead on trying to resist hurling herself off the wall, or perhaps dissolving into the mortar between the bricks on which she stood. She knew how seriously Cullen took his work; he would want to go read the dispatch. “If you need to -”

And suddenly Cullen's lips were on hers, his stubble rough on her chin and cheeks, his adorable nose grazing along her own. He tasted of honey shortbread – a regular gift from Josephine - and his strong hands held her face, one arm sliding down to clasp her at the waist. The fluttering changed, sharpened into a tension akin to pain, pain which could only be salved by kissing Cullen like this every moment for the rest of their lives, or possibly forever. A whimper escaped her lips unbidden, and her arms wove around him, her fingers grasping the fabric at his back and twining in the soft fur at his shoulders.

He broke off, breathless. His nose and cheeks were apple-red, glowing. “I'm sorry. That was, um, really nice.” For a moment, the stern Commander was gone, replaced by a bashful boy with a wavering smile. Still trying to remain a proper gentleman, even with their breath still mingling and her lips still smouldering from his kiss.

“Please don't be sorry,” she breathed. Her head swam. “You don't regret it, do you?”

Regretful was the last word Cullen would use to describe his mood at present. “Not at all,” he said, leaning in to kiss her again; and so they stayed, until the sun sank into the mountains behind them, and the sudden twilight and cool night air drew them back to earth, Cullen drifting dazedly back to his office, and Iris stumbling down the stairs on bloodless feet.

…

The next day dawned, the sky as bright and glorious as Cullen felt. He hummed merrily to himself as he pottered around his office, signing papers, writing orders and instructing soldiers with a buoyant heart. When Leliana and Josephine appeared at his door, he waved them in with a smile – until he caught sight of the puckish grins both women wore. In their respective elements of espionage and diplomacy the two women were formidable, but such expressions on the ex-bards could only spell mischief.

“Ladies, how may I help you?”

Leliana put on her best mock-serious face. “It is our duty to remind you that threats to the Inquisitor's safety will not be tolerated.”

Cullen was befuddled, the spymaster's jocular manner belying her grave words. “Has there been some trouble?”

“You are a dangerous influence, Commander. The Inquisitor almost fell down the stairs after she left you yesterday,” Josephine noted with a sly smile.

“What?” The Inquisitor was preternaturally graceful and steady on her feet. Cullen's nose began to turn red. “What are you...”

“It seemed she was rather overwrought. Overwhelmed. Overstimulated.” The ambassador's eyes twinkled.

“You know, Commander...after you kissed her,” teased Leliana.

“What?! How did...did she tell you?” Cullen blushed furiously.

“She didn't need to. I happened to be sending Baron Plucky out to deliver a message and spotted the two of you on the battlements.”

“And I may have been there with Sister Leliana. Er, and her spyglass,” Josephine confessed.

“What?!”

The women laughed. “Well, you were right out there on the wall in daylight, Commander. It was hardly a private place! You could have stayed in the office. What were you thinking?”

Cullen groaned, head in his hands. “I don't suppose I was thinking. Not...very clearly, anyway.” He sighed again. “There's no privacy anywhere at Skyhold.”

“I think you frightened that poor messenger half out of his wits!”

“What's going on here?” came the Inquisitor's voice from the doorway.

“Inquisitor!” Cullen practically leapt out of his chair to attention.

Leliana and Josephine laughed again, as Iris eyed the scene suspiciously.

“It seems you and the Commander made quite a stir the other day on the battlements, Inquisitor,” Leliana smiled. “Dragging him out onto the wall to seduce him like that.”

Iris was mortified. “Wh...ohh!”, she wailed. “What was I...clearly I wasn't thinking, I was far too nervous.”

“That is just what he said! Almost those very words!”

Cullen and Iris exchanged a sheepish, timid smile. They were so alike, at times.

More snickering. Iris fixed her sternest gaze on Leliana and Josephine. “If you two are done tormenting the Commander, I need to discuss troop movements in Emerald Graves.”

“Very well. We will leave you to your...'troop movements', the spymaster concluded with a sly smile. As they left the office, still giggling to themselves, Cullen hunched at his desk with his face hidden by gauntleted fists.

Iris closed the door. “They're gone, Cullen,” she said, trying not to laugh. He looked up, his face red.

“Right, you wanted to...” Her pink cheeks and sparkling eyes completely derailed his train of thought. She moved silently next to the desk, not taking her eyes off his.

Emerald Graves, it seemed, would have to wait.

…

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Every day while she was at Skyhold, she would be sure to find time to drag Cullen away from his desk for a few moments. For someone who continually lamented how unskilled he was at romance, he was remarkably adept at kissing her. Even when she was away, she worked with a renewed energy. The skies seemed brighter, the sun felt warmer, and her feet were as light as her heart. Her comrades were pleased to see their leader so upbeat, although they sometimes worried to each other how long her vitality could continue, such was the verve with which she toiled.

Cassandra and Varric were not quite the best of friends yet, but they had patched over their rift. Varric's gift of the latest chapters of Swords and Shields had gratified the Seeker more than she would admit. Since then, their banter had become less tense and more playful, although Varric retained a knack for getting Cassandra to shriek in outrage, to the amusement of everyone else. Iris was pleased to see their mutual distrust shift and ripen into a grudging respect, and the start of a genuine friendship. Indeed, all of her companions were getting along better of late, growing accustomed to each other's idiosyncrasies and methods of operation. Even Bull's Chargers were beginning to open up to the rest of the team, sharing drinks and stories of past missions.

The Inquisition itself was making great strides as well. Construction had begun to rebuild several destroyed bridges across Orlais, restoring commerce and safe passage to citizens nearby. An expert on dragons had been recruited to undertake research on the creatures on behalf of the Inquisition, and information on numerous subjects had been collected for study. A plague of undead had been halted in the Exalted Plains, and countless bandits, renegades, red Templars, Venatori and demons had been defeated. The Inquisitor had used the Anchor to close fade rifts all across Southern Thedas, and activated ancient elven artifacts Solas claimed would strengthen the Veil, preventing further rifts from forming.

There was always more to be done, however. There was never a shortage of people in need in the world even at the best of times, and with civil war in Orlais, a darkspawn magister and his minions on the loose, and hostile creatures from the Fade wandering the world, it was hardly the best of times. Nor was Skyhold itself less busy, with Josephine deluged in demands and requests for money, troops, political support and statements on behalf of the Inquisition. Whenever Iris returned to Skyhold, she was confronted with an ever-changing stream of new faces, all seeking a word, a moment, a thought, a boon; from devout pilgrims praying she could cure their children to pompous nobles hoping her celebrity would rub off on them.

The House Trevelyan motto was 'Modest in temper, bold in deed'. Cullen considered that their daughter embodied this sentiment perfectly. He had seen her on the battlefield, fighting with the grace of a dancer, the strike of a viper, and, not occasionally, the stubbornness of a particularly implacable mule. But she was no born warrior; she fought out of necessity only, not desire. Her heart was kind and her soul was gentle, although her hand could not always afford to be so. He knew how much she hated sitting in judgement, especially if it led to an execution. He had seen her extend mercy and forgiveness again and again and seek to resolve conflicts without bloodshed wherever possible.

At every turn he heard something more inspiring of her, saw how she seemed to just know how to put others' minds at ease, be it with a joke, advice, or earnest sincerity. She had managed to impress Cassandra, for heaven's sake.

She had accomplished so much, and yet she was self-effacing almost to a fault. Indeed, it seemed that she had a great deal of practice at slipping away unnoticed and making herself inconspicuous. She couldn't quite become as perfectly invisible as Cole, perhaps – she was flesh and blood, after all – but she had ways of being unseen, honed from both combat training and years of escaping from tedious social functions and her great-aunt Lucille's dreaded opera excursions.

Publicly she tried to show strength and confidence. She knew what was riding on their mission, and on her role as both leader and inspiration for the Inquisition. In private, however, she confessed so much doubt. For all the faith she put in others, she seemed to have much less in herself, her wisdom and fitness to make the decisions she was called upon to make. She sought no glory, all the while doing glorious deeds and being...well, glorious.

Cullen watched through the narrow window as Iris and Sera indulged their sweet tooth on the roof of the inn. Although he would never admit it to her face, he was rather afraid of Sera, the girl's wildly mercurial nature and spontaneous fits of rage difficult to predict. A city elf revolutionary, a Qunari spy, a Tevinter magister, an oddly human spirit...the Inquisitor had amassed a veritable gaggle of odd misfits, taking them with the same soft-heartedness as a child bringing home a stray dog. It was an accurate characterisation; over the years, the Trevelyan household had played host to any number of small animals which a young Iris would “rescue”, attempting to rehabilitate them with varying degrees of success. Nonetheless, he admired her willingness to take everyone she met as they were, to look for the goodness in people and give them a chance to demonstrate their character. It was a quality he had not always managed, to his regret.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock and a voice at the door. “Anybody home?”

“Varric. How may I assist you?”

“I'd like a word with you, Commander.” Before Cullen could object that he was too busy, he added, “It's about Cookie.” Varric had a nickname for everyone, and the Inquisitor's was Cookie from the moment he learned of her sweet tooth, and her penchant for wheedling sugary biscuits from Cullen.

Cullen glanced at him sharply in alarm. He waved the soldier out of the room and closed the door. “Is she...”

“Relax, Curly, she's fine.” Cullen was too relieved to be irked at his own moniker. “She's just exhausted. She pushes herself out in the field, always looking for more she can do. She barely sleeps. She stops to give us a break, but then she stays up half the night looking at requisitions, getting scouting reports, planning everything that needs to be done before we head back to Skyhold. We look after her as best we can out there...I mean, you know the Seeker, she's unbreakable, and Spar - Dorian and I try to take her mind off things, but she never stops. She goes out of her way to help anyone and everyone who asks or seems to need it. Not that I don't admire her compassion, but she's trying to save the world one person at a time, and it's wearing her out.”

He shifted in his chair. “Sometimes she reminds me a bit of..”

“Of Hawke?”

The dwarf nodded. “And not just because they could almost be sisters. Less jaded, though. More idealistic. Can hardly blame Hawke though...Maker knows, hell, you know what kind of shit she went through in Kirkwall. Still the best damn thing to happen to that place in...” He trailed off.

“When I first met the Inquisitor, she brought to mind the Queen of Ferelden,” Cullen said quietly. “Gentler, and wiser, perhaps. The Warden and King Alistair were...we were all barely more than children then.”

Varric thought for a moment. “I guess I can picture that. Never met the Hero of Ferelden, but she sounds like someone who wants to mend the world.”

“She was rather...intimidating, actually.” Cullen remembered the Hero of Ferelden vividly; a young woman – girl, really, no older than he – with steel-blue eyes as fierce and fiery as any veteran warrior. It was no surprise, perhaps, given what she had apparently witnessed at Highever. More surprising was her relationship with the young Warden, Alistair. By all accounts and from everything Cullen could, and chose to, remember, the young prince had been something of a goof. There had been no mistaking the dopey, doe-eyed expression when they looked at each other, however. He had seen it again in Kirkwall on Fenris, spending years following Hawke around like the world's angriest stray puppy. More recently, he had recognised it in the looking glass, when he caught himself thinking about Iris.

“Look, the point is, she needs you, and not just for your military expertise. I've seen the way she looks at you. That's no idle infatuation, Curly. That's the real thing. The way her face lights up when she sees you? Never take something like that for granted. When someone like her, looks at you like that, you take that opportunity.”

Cullen knew that look; it gave him life. Seeing her worries fall away for a moment, knowing that she felt joy to see him – it was the sweetest feeling in the world.

He flushed slightly. “I know. I - I don't. Take it for granted, I mean. I can hardly believe...but I can't be selfish. The Inquisition has to be our priority – her priority. If I'm to be worthy of her at all - ”

“Trevelyan might be the Herald of Andraste, but Andraste was a human underneath it all, too, at first, anyway. You want my advice? Nah, I know you don't, but you're getting it anyway. Let her be the Herald, or the Inquisitor, or Andraste's Holy Golden Nug while she's out there in the world. When she's here, and it's just the two of you, you let her be just...Iris. Don't get hung up on trying to be worthy. Just be there.”

Varric got up and headed for the door. “Oh, and one last thing – can you try to get her to cut down on the jumping and climbing she gets up to? Not that she hasn't get the legs for it, or the ass, I'll give you that, but some of us count our skills in...other areas.” Varric was delighted to see that his words had the desired effect of causing the tip of the Commander's nose to turn a vivid shade of burgundy. By the time Cullen could think of a suitable response, the dwarf was halfway through his first ale down at the Herald's Rest.

…

Cullen met her out on the battlements, as he usually did. It did him good to stretch his legs and get away from his desk, and they both enjoyed the clean, bracing wind that swept along the high walls. Tonight they strolled in the general direction of the armoury, in no particular hurry.

“I spoke to Varric earlier.”

“Oh?”

“It was about you, actually.”

Iris looked at him, searching his face for some clue of what they may have discussed. “Me? He's not teasing you about us, is he? I know you don't like talking about personal things.” Cullen was intensely private, and it took time for him to share himself with people. Their relationship was no secret, but neither did they intend to invite everyone to pry into their personal affairs.

“No, no. Well, yes, a bit,” he added. “He asked me to tell you to stop climbing on things,” he said drily.

Iris laughed, and rolled her eyes. “That again? I've told him he doesn't need to follow every footstep I take! But in order to scout thoroughly and properly, you often need to climb up to high vantage points. Anyway, it's good for balance. I always used to walk and jump on fences and walls and railings and things. It vexed my mother to no end, but dance steps don't seem nearly as difficult in a ballroom if you've already practised them on a fencepost. And fencing is sort of just dancing with daggers.”

Cullen shook his head. “The sword training given to Templars and soldiers involves rather less dancing on balustrades, I'm afraid.”

Iris smirked. “I'm not a soldier, Cullen. I don't suppose I would be very good at soldiering.”

His smiled softened. “No. But I'm rather glad of that, I think. I like you the way you are...dancing and all.”

She squeezed his hand in response.

“Anyway, what he really wanted was...well, he's a bit worried about you. He thinks you're working too hard.”

Iris sighed. She knew she was taking on a lot, and she'd overheard rumblings amongst the team along these lines before. She stopped, looking out over the mountains. The sky was dark, lit only with a few luminous, wispy clouds, scattered with stars like bright diamonds on a jeweller’s velvet. “It can't be helped, really. We're all working hard. There's a lot that needs doing.”

“You don't need to remind me,” he replied with a wry smile, wrapping his arms around her and bringing his chin to rest on her shoulder, his furry cloak tickling her ears. “Some days I think I'll never be finished with paperwork. But you needn't try to do everything yourself. Everyone here is ready and eager to serve. There must be some small tasks you can delegate to others.”

“You're probably right. The thing is...I like the small things. Sometimes when I'm out there, I can almost forget that I'm in charge of, of so much. When there's some little act of good, of kindness I can do, something that doesn't even have to be about the Inquisition, or tactics or politics or alliances...it's easy. It's something I can do to make someone's life better, when no one else can or will. How could I not? I don't want to just ignore it, because it's tiring, or inconvenient.

“I know that I have to look at the big picture, and I know that I have to make difficult decisions. I know sometimes I have to choose the lesser of two evils. Idealism won't stop Corypheus, it won't stop the red lyrium, it won't end a blight, and it won't put Thedas back together. But I can't just...I don't think I can sacrifice everything I believe is right to justify the ends, not all the time. Sometimes I just need to do something I know is the right thing to do.”

Cullen held her even tighter. “Then I don't want you to stop.” He kissed the back of her neck. “Just...let me take care of you, while you're here, my lioness.”

She shifted to face him with questioning eyes. Given the family business, Trevelyans were more usually compared to horses, not always politely. “Lioness?”

Cullen chuckled. “I suppose you don't remember.” He recounted what she had said to him when they found her on the mountain outside Haven, and how he had thought of her ever since.

“I said that?”, she asked, abashed.

“It was lovely,” he whispered, smiling. He leaned in until their foreheads met; and then all their troubles were forgotten, for a little while.

…

Cullen was good to his word. While Iris was away, the best way to help her was to fulfil his duties as Commander to the utmost of his ability. He had to rely on others to keep her safe day to day, as much as he – as they both – would have wished to be together. But whenever she returned to Skyhold, he made a point to steer her through the gauntlet of demands on her time to make sure he had space to clear her head and recover her strength – not to mention, time to spend alone with him, or as alone as they could be in a castle full of people. And selfish or not, he needed her, too.

When he learned he was to have dealings in Ferelden, he arranged a special surprise for Iris – presuming, of course, that he could convince her to accompany him. Fortunately she had some time to spare, and needed very little persuasion to go see where he had grown up.

Once their Inquisition business was concluded, he took her to his favourite spot: a peaceful lake near Honnleath that had been his personal retreat when the din of the rambunctious Rutherford clan became overwhelming. He had not returned here for many years, and was pleased to find it as serene and inviting as he remembered.

It was beautiful. All at once, Iris had a new dream: a house on this lake, with a stable of horses, of course, and a dog, and a warm hearth with a handsome curly-haired man; and there would be no rifts to close, and no beheadings, and definitely no opera.

A foolish dream, perhaps; even if the Inquisition could defeat Corypheus, there was no guarantee she would survive. Even then, their responsibilities would not disappear.

At least they had today. Cullen reached into his pocket and drew out a coin, explaining how his brother had given it to him for luck the day he left for Templar training. Templars weren't meant to carry such tokens, luck being a poor substitute for faith. Still, the coin was the only thing he still possessed of his life in Ferelden, before the Blight and the other troubles that had beset him since leaving home. He folded the coin into Iris' palm.

“Humour me. I know that faith is stronger than luck, but...a bit of luck can't hurt, either.”

Iris could not recall ever receiving a more meaningful gift. Holding it close, she promised to keep the coin safe, and return it to him when Corypheus was finally vanquished.

They sat down on the end of the weathered dock, snuggled together and listening to the chirping of frogs.

“I've told you about my siblings. What about your family? Tell me more about your brother and sister. What are they like?”

“Robert is the oldest. He is married and has two children. He manages most of the estate now.”

“I thought your father...is he unwell?”

“Oh no, he's well, as far as I know, at least. He was never really interested in running the stables, but he was the oldest son so it fell to him anyway. He's sixty-seven now so he has passed a lot of the responsibilities on. He's still the bann, of course, but Robert oversees the stables and such.”

The Trevelyan family's wealth and position had been secured through their standing as one of the best breeders of horses in the Free Marches. Some of Dennet's best stock could trace their bloodline back to the Trevelyan farms, in fact. Iris' ancestors had provided many of the greatest warhorses to see action in the course of Marchers' conflicts with the Tevinter Imperium, Orlais, Nevarra and the Qunari, and the great houses of Starkhaven and Kirkwall had seen the family well rewarded for their contributions. When heraldry came into fashion in the Marches, there was little doubt as to what would feature on the Trevelyans' shield.

Iris continued. “What Father really loves is automata, you know, clockworks and things? Dwarven ones are best, apparently, but they are terribly expensive. He spends most of his time playing with them and tinkering with them and buying them and trading for them now. Mother thinks it's a bit silly, but she likes it really.”

“Do you look like her?”

“Mother? No, I take after Father. Mother's family are Antivan so she has lovely olive skin and dark eyes. Robert and Emma look more like her, although Emma has Father's eyes. She is the beauty of the family and was always exceedingly ladylike. She moved to Tantervale when she got married.”

“Why were you chosen to attend the Conclave, then, rather than your brother or sister? Not that I'm complaining, mind you.”

She smiled. “They were not available. My parents felt Robert was needed more at home, and Emma was expecting again, so she couldn't make the journey, either. I have had so little time to write to her, I wonder if she had a boy or a girl.” She turned to look at him again, shaking off wistfulness. “I had no commitments...and no suitors,” she added with a sigh, “so I was chosen to go.”

“Are you close with them? Your brother and sister, I mean.”

“Yes and no. I love my family, and they have always been good to me. My brother and sister were probably closer with each other than with me, though. They are very near in age but then there are six years between Emma and me. I spent more time with my cousins, growing up. Celia is my age, and Eoin is the baby. They are my father's younger brother's children. They lived quite near to us, so we saw them most days.

“Celia is so lovely. She is the kindest girl you will ever meet. She is a Chantry initiate. I don't think there was ever a doubt she would be a Sister.” Celia had never shown any interest in boyfriends or marriage, seeking instead to do good for those in need in the name of the Maker, and inspiring Iris to do the same.

“Eoin was meant to enter Templar training but he never truly wanted to go, and my aunt didn't want him to leave home either.” Eoin's had been a difficult birth, and his mother spoiled him as a result.

“He would have been terrible at it anyway; he falls in love with any girl who looks at him. He went off to study in Nevarra – philosophy, mathematics, history, music, the usual things. I must admit, after all that has happened, I am relieved he did not become a Templar. We had heard a bit about -” Iris paused, not wanting to open old wounds for Cullen.

“The lyrium?”, he prompted her gently.

She nodded. “I know the Templars are there to do a difficult job. I just...”

She turned to him, her eyes full of sympathy and love. “I wish I had known what was happening in Kirkwall, Cullen. It was not so far away. I wish I could have helped you, somehow.”

“There was nothing you could have done. As much as I would have liked to meet you sooner, I am glad you did not know me then. I was...not the man I am now. And you have helped me. You have saved me.”

“Don't say that, Cullen. It isn't true.” He made to interject, but she continued. “You saved yourself. You are the one who pulled yourself together after the Ferelden Circle fell. You are the one who stood up to Meredith in Kirkwall, when her cruelty became undeniable. You are the one who left the Templars, who walked away from the only life you had known, because you felt it was the right thing to do. You stopped taking lyrium, on your own, even though it hurts you, even though it frightens you, even though you have to fight it back always. You did this, Cullen. You are the strongest person I have ever known. Do not diminish yourself. Every day you get up, and you give everything you can to the Inquisition, and you save yourself.”

Cullen could not express how much her belief in him meant, how much he loved her. He could only hope that his unfaltering devotion, his embrace and his breathless kisses would be enough to show her in ways his words could not.

Description
Iris' next few weeks were not markedly different to those preceding them, in many respects. Her work was varied and seemingly interminable, with artifacts to gather, terrain to survey, and pockets of hostile Venatori and red Templars to root out all across southern Thedas, and a constant stream of visiting dignitaries, suppliers and new allies to meet at Skyhold. Nevertheless, she was increasingly preoccupied. Her feelings for Cullen had progressed from an unsophisticated infatuation with what he might be, to a deep and honest affection. She was conscious of his faults and vulnerabilities, but still cared so greatly for him. Yearning and worry for him pervaded more and more of her thoughts.

It wasn't so bad when she was away from Skyhold, Iris thought. There was enough to see and do, enough people needing help, enough samples of plants and ore and leather to gather, that she fell asleep quickly even on a bedroll in a shared tent. She still thought about him, but it was less immediate, less all-consuming.

Back at the fortress it was a different matter. She seemed constantly on edge, half-expecting to bump into him at any moment. Even so, she was rarely prepared when their paths did cross, and she was once again confronted by his undeniable handsomeness; his confident, leonine bearing, sometimes tinged with sorrow; that subtle scent of metal, leather and masculinity that followed in his wake.

Meeting him in close quarters was even worse. She often had to busy herself with markers at the war table to avoid gazing longingly at his scar while the council was in session. The mark managed not to detract from his good looks at all, merely to enhance the appeal of his mouth. Her imagination often ran away with her if she stopped concentrating on the map for even a few moments. Even the way he said “Inquisitor” to acknowledge her instructions made the fluttering in her belly increase – somehow, she always heard “quivering” in the word somewhere. Nor did her chess-playing improve noticeably during any of their occasional matches, although Iris enjoyed them far more for the uninterrupted conversation than the games themselves.

Weeks turned to months, and she seemed in ever more danger of reverting to a lovestruck schoolgirl. Finally, one night in her quarters when she had jumped for what felt like the hundredth time that day, thinking she heard his voice nearby on the wind, she came to a decision. She couldn't carry on like this; she would have to speak to him. You are a grown woman. You are nearly thirty. Emma already had two children by now. Pull yourself together.

Maker help her. Lying in bed in the dark, she whispered quietly to her pillow that perhaps it might be more painless to just go and fight Corypheus and a fleet of dragons.

…

The next morning dawned clear. Iris woke with her heart in her throat and moved through her regular duties with mechanical abstraction. She deliberately avoided going near any of her friends who knew her well, lest they suss her state of mind and break what little nerve she had rallied. As the afternoon wore on, a lull fell on Skyhold, and she could procrastinate no longer. It was time. One last splash of cold water on her face; one last nibble of mint leaves to sweeten her breath; one last fruitless attempt to do something fetching with her hair. Iris closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and marched in the direction of Cullen's office.

Several abortive attempts later, Iris managed to get up all the stairs and stand frozen outside his door, trying not to meet the eye of any passing guards or soldiers. She heard voices behind her, and realised that someone was coming up the steps behind her. She had to act now.

She turned the handle with a sweaty palm and walked into the room. Blessedly, miraculously, the only soldier present was leaving. Cullen was alone.

“Commander,” she began, more squeakily than intended.

“Inquisitor!” He seemed startled, if not unhappy, to see her. “How can I -”

“I-I need to speak with you. Alone,” she added.

“Alone?” he croaked. He cleared his throat. “I mean, of course.”

Another soldier entered with yet another report. Iris fought the temptation to turn and run. She was committed now, and better she confess now than just explode with it later at a completely inopportune moment.

Cullen instructed the recruit to leave the report on the desk, and ushered Iris out the door onto the battlements. They walked along in stilted silence, casting skittish glances at each other. The still-functioning part of Iris' brain noticed him reaching up to massage the back of his neck, a gesture she had come to recognise as his nervous tic.

“It's a nice day,” he said suddenly, the words bursting from his lungs.

“What?” she replied, startled.

“The weather, I mean. Er, you wanted to discuss something?”

The imagined moths were in a frenzy and her heart was pounding loudly enough for all of Skyhold to hear. She had rehearsed what to say for the last eighteen hours, but her mind was now blank. “I find myself thinking about you, more than...well, all the time, really,” she confessed, failing to eliminate a wobble from her voice. Well, it was out now. She braced herself for his rejection, or a lecture about how inappropriate her interest was.

Cullen's neck-rubbing became even more frantic. “I can't say I haven't wondered about...well, thought about...it. You. Us,” he admitted shyly.

That didn't sound quite like rejection. “Really? But you never said anything.”

“You're the Inquisitor, there's a war, and...I'm not...I haven't always...been the man I would like to be. The lyrium, my memories...you've seen how they can make me...unwell. I'm...not very good at this. I didn't think it was possible.”

“And if, if it were possible?”

“It feels too much to ask...but I want to.” His voice was so quiet now, so close, his breath warming her skin. Her eyes flickered closed as he leaned in...

...and was interrupted by the creaking of the nearby gate and the intrusion of an untimely messenger. It was, as it happened, the same unfortunate Jim at whom Cullen had been barking during Iris' first awkward encounter with the Commander on reaching Skyhold.

Cullen straightened, caught somewhere between ardour, embarrassment and pique. “What?” he growled.

The soldier carried a report from Sister Leliana, it seemed, which Cullen had asked to be delivered to him promptly.

Cullen strode stiffly to the messenger and fixed him with what could only be described as a gimlet eye. The soldier's notice was drawn to a slight movement to his left, and he was finally cognisant of the mortified Herald, squirming between the crenellations like a fennec caught in a snare.

“I should take it to your office. Right.” Maker preserve him, what had he interrupted? The hapless messenger backed away in terror, certain that the Commander would have him flogged, or worse. As he reached the door, he turned and broke into a run, not stopping until he reached the barracks again. It was a full thirty minutes before he remembered he still needed to deliver the report.

Iris had not opened her eyes, focused instead on trying to resist hurling herself off the wall, or perhaps dissolving into the mortar between the bricks on which she stood. She knew how seriously Cullen took his work; he would want to go read the dispatch. “If you need to -”

And suddenly Cullen's lips were on hers, his stubble rough on her chin and cheeks, his adorable nose grazing along her own. He tasted of honey shortbread – a regular gift from Josephine - and his strong hands held her face, one arm sliding down to clasp her at the waist. The fluttering changed, sharpened into a tension akin to pain, pain which could only be salved by kissing Cullen like this every moment for the rest of their lives, or possibly forever. A whimper escaped her lips unbidden, and her arms wove around him, her fingers grasping the fabric at his back and twining in the soft fur at his shoulders.

He broke off, breathless. His nose and cheeks were apple-red, glowing. “I'm sorry. That was, um, really nice.” For a moment, the stern Commander was gone, replaced by a bashful boy with a wavering smile. Still trying to remain a proper gentleman, even with their breath still mingling and her lips still smouldering from his kiss.

“Please don't be sorry,” she breathed. Her head swam. “You don't regret it, do you?”

Regretful was the last word Cullen would use to describe his mood at present. “Not at all,” he said, leaning in to kiss her again; and so they stayed, until the sun sank into the mountains behind them, and the sudden twilight and cool night air drew them back to earth, Cullen drifting dazedly back to his office, and Iris stumbling down the stairs on bloodless feet.

…

The next day dawned, the sky as bright and glorious as Cullen felt. He hummed merrily to himself as he pottered around his office, signing papers, writing orders and instructing soldiers with a buoyant heart. When Leliana and Josephine appeared at his door, he waved them in with a smile – until he caught sight of the puckish grins both women wore. In their respective elements of espionage and diplomacy the two women were formidable, but such expressions on the ex-bards could only spell mischief.

“Ladies, how may I help you?”

Leliana put on her best mock-serious face. “It is our duty to remind you that threats to the Inquisitor's safety will not be tolerated.”

Cullen was befuddled, the spymaster's jocular manner belying her grave words. “Has there been some trouble?”

“You are a dangerous influence, Commander. The Inquisitor almost fell down the stairs after she left you yesterday,” Josephine noted with a sly smile.

“What?” The Inquisitor was preternaturally graceful and steady on her feet. Cullen's nose began to turn red. “What are you...”

“It seemed she was rather overwrought. Overwhelmed. Overstimulated.” The ambassador's eyes twinkled.

“You know, Commander...after you kissed her,” teased Leliana.

“What?! How did...did she tell you?” Cullen blushed furiously.

“She didn't need to. I happened to be sending Baron Plucky out to deliver a message and spotted the two of you on the battlements.”

“And I may have been there with Sister Leliana. Er, and her spyglass,” Josephine confessed.

“What?!”

The women laughed. “Well, you were right out there on the wall in daylight, Commander. It was hardly a private place! You could have stayed in the office. What were you thinking?”

Cullen groaned, head in his hands. “I don't suppose I was thinking. Not...very clearly, anyway.” He sighed again. “There's no privacy anywhere at Skyhold.”

“I think you frightened that poor messenger half out of his wits!”

“What's going on here?” came the Inquisitor's voice from the doorway.

“Inquisitor!” Cullen practically leapt out of his chair to attention.

Leliana and Josephine laughed again, as Iris eyed the scene suspiciously.

“It seems you and the Commander made quite a stir the other day on the battlements, Inquisitor,” Leliana smiled. “Dragging him out onto the wall to seduce him like that.”

Iris was mortified. “Wh...ohh!”, she wailed. “What was I...clearly I wasn't thinking, I was far too nervous.”

“That is just what he said! Almost those very words!”

Cullen and Iris exchanged a sheepish, timid smile. They were so alike, at times.

More snickering. Iris fixed her sternest gaze on Leliana and Josephine. “If you two are done tormenting the Commander, I need to discuss troop movements in Emerald Graves.”

“Very well. We will leave you to your...'troop movements', the spymaster concluded with a sly smile. As they left the office, still giggling to themselves, Cullen hunched at his desk with his face hidden by gauntleted fists.

Iris closed the door. “They're gone, Cullen,” she said, trying not to laugh. He looked up, his face red.

“Right, you wanted to...” Her pink cheeks and sparkling eyes completely derailed his train of thought. She moved silently next to the desk, not taking her eyes off his.

Emerald Graves, it seemed, would have to wait.

…

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Every day while she was at Skyhold, she would be sure to find time to drag Cullen away from his desk for a few moments. For someone who continually lamented how unskilled he was at romance, he was remarkably adept at kissing her. Even when she was away, she worked with a renewed energy. The skies seemed brighter, the sun felt warmer, and her feet were as light as her heart. Her comrades were pleased to see their leader so upbeat, although they sometimes worried to each other how long her vitality could continue, such was the verve with which she toiled.

Cassandra and Varric were not quite the best of friends yet, but they had patched over their rift. Varric's gift of the latest chapters of Swords and Shields had gratified the Seeker more than she would admit. Since then, their banter had become less tense and more playful, although Varric retained a knack for getting Cassandra to shriek in outrage, to the amusement of everyone else. Iris was pleased to see their mutual distrust shift and ripen into a grudging respect, and the start of a genuine friendship. Indeed, all of her companions were getting along better of late, growing accustomed to each other's idiosyncrasies and methods of operation. Even Bull's Chargers were beginning to open up to the rest of the team, sharing drinks and stories of past missions.

The Inquisition itself was making great strides as well. Construction had begun to rebuild several destroyed bridges across Orlais, restoring commerce and safe passage to citizens nearby. An expert on dragons had been recruited to undertake research on the creatures on behalf of the Inquisition, and information on numerous subjects had been collected for study. A plague of undead had been halted in the Exalted Plains, and countless bandits, renegades, red Templars, Venatori and demons had been defeated. The Inquisitor had used the Anchor to close fade rifts all across Southern Thedas, and activated ancient elven artifacts Solas claimed would strengthen the Veil, preventing further rifts from forming.

There was always more to be done, however. There was never a shortage of people in need in the world even at the best of times, and with civil war in Orlais, a darkspawn magister and his minions on the loose, and hostile creatures from the Fade wandering the world, it was hardly the best of times. Nor was Skyhold itself less busy, with Josephine deluged in demands and requests for money, troops, political support and statements on behalf of the Inquisition. Whenever Iris returned to Skyhold, she was confronted with an ever-changing stream of new faces, all seeking a word, a moment, a thought, a boon; from devout pilgrims praying she could cure their children to pompous nobles hoping her celebrity would rub off on them.

The House Trevelyan motto was 'Modest in temper, bold in deed'. Cullen considered that their daughter embodied this sentiment perfectly. He had seen her on the battlefield, fighting with the grace of a dancer, the strike of a viper, and, not occasionally, the stubbornness of a particularly implacable mule. But she was no born warrior; she fought out of necessity only, not desire. Her heart was kind and her soul was gentle, although her hand could not always afford to be so. He knew how much she hated sitting in judgement, especially if it led to an execution. He had seen her extend mercy and forgiveness again and again and seek to resolve conflicts without bloodshed wherever possible.

At every turn he heard something more inspiring of her, saw how she seemed to just know how to put others' minds at ease, be it with a joke, advice, or earnest sincerity. She had managed to impress Cassandra, for heaven's sake.

She had accomplished so much, and yet she was self-effacing almost to a fault. Indeed, it seemed that she had a great deal of practice at slipping away unnoticed and making herself inconspicuous. She couldn't quite become as perfectly invisible as Cole, perhaps – she was flesh and blood, after all – but she had ways of being unseen, honed from both combat training and years of escaping from tedious social functions and her great-aunt Lucille's dreaded opera excursions.

Publicly she tried to show strength and confidence. She knew what was riding on their mission, and on her role as both leader and inspiration for the Inquisition. In private, however, she confessed so much doubt. For all the faith she put in others, she seemed to have much less in herself, her wisdom and fitness to make the decisions she was called upon to make. She sought no glory, all the while doing glorious deeds and being...well, glorious.

Cullen watched through the narrow window as Iris and Sera indulged their sweet tooth on the roof of the inn. Although he would never admit it to her face, he was rather afraid of Sera, the girl's wildly mercurial nature and spontaneous fits of rage difficult to predict. A city elf revolutionary, a Qunari spy, a Tevinter magister, an oddly human spirit...the Inquisitor had amassed a veritable gaggle of odd misfits, taking them with the same soft-heartedness as a child bringing home a stray dog. It was an accurate characterisation; over the years, the Trevelyan household had played host to any number of small animals which a young Iris would “rescue”, attempting to rehabilitate them with varying degrees of success. Nonetheless, he admired her willingness to take everyone she met as they were, to look for the goodness in people and give them a chance to demonstrate their character. It was a quality he had not always managed, to his regret.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock and a voice at the door. “Anybody home?”

“Varric. How may I assist you?”

“I'd like a word with you, Commander.” Before Cullen could object that he was too busy, he added, “It's about Cookie.” Varric had a nickname for everyone, and the Inquisitor's was Cookie from the moment he learned of her sweet tooth, and her penchant for wheedling sugary biscuits from Cullen.

Cullen glanced at him sharply in alarm. He waved the soldier out of the room and closed the door. “Is she...”

“Relax, Curly, she's fine.” Cullen was too relieved to be irked at his own moniker. “She's just exhausted. She pushes herself out in the field, always looking for more she can do. She barely sleeps. She stops to give us a break, but then she stays up half the night looking at requisitions, getting scouting reports, planning everything that needs to be done before we head back to Skyhold. We look after her as best we can out there...I mean, you know the Seeker, she's unbreakable, and Spar - Dorian and I try to take her mind off things, but she never stops. She goes out of her way to help anyone and everyone who asks or seems to need it. Not that I don't admire her compassion, but she's trying to save the world one person at a time, and it's wearing her out.”

He shifted in his chair. “Sometimes she reminds me a bit of..”

“Of Hawke?”

The dwarf nodded. “And not just because they could almost be sisters. Less jaded, though. More idealistic. Can hardly blame Hawke though...Maker knows, hell, you know what kind of shit she went through in Kirkwall. Still the best damn thing to happen to that place in...” He trailed off.

“When I first met the Inquisitor, she brought to mind the Queen of Ferelden,” Cullen said quietly. “Gentler, and wiser, perhaps. The Warden and King Alistair were...we were all barely more than children then.”

Varric thought for a moment. “I guess I can picture that. Never met the Hero of Ferelden, but she sounds like someone who wants to mend the world.”

“She was rather...intimidating, actually.” Cullen remembered the Hero of Ferelden vividly; a young woman – girl, really, no older than he – with steel-blue eyes as fierce and fiery as any veteran warrior. It was no surprise, perhaps, given what she had apparently witnessed at Highever. More surprising was her relationship with the young Warden, Alistair. By all accounts and from everything Cullen could, and chose to, remember, the young prince had been something of a goof. There had been no mistaking the dopey, doe-eyed expression when they looked at each other, however. He had seen it again in Kirkwall on Fenris, spending years following Hawke around like the world's angriest stray puppy. More recently, he had recognised it in the looking glass, when he caught himself thinking about Iris.

“Look, the point is, she needs you, and not just for your military expertise. I've seen the way she looks at you. That's no idle infatuation, Curly. That's the real thing. The way her face lights up when she sees you? Never take something like that for granted. When someone like her, looks at you like that, you take that opportunity.”

Cullen knew that look; it gave him life. Seeing her worries fall away for a moment, knowing that she felt joy to see him – it was the sweetest feeling in the world.

He flushed slightly. “I know. I - I don't. Take it for granted, I mean. I can hardly believe...but I can't be selfish. The Inquisition has to be our priority – her priority. If I'm to be worthy of her at all - ”

“Trevelyan might be the Herald of Andraste, but Andraste was a human underneath it all, too, at first, anyway. You want my advice? Nah, I know you don't, but you're getting it anyway. Let her be the Herald, or the Inquisitor, or Andraste's Holy Golden Nug while she's out there in the world. When she's here, and it's just the two of you, you let her be just...Iris. Don't get hung up on trying to be worthy. Just be there.”

Varric got up and headed for the door. “Oh, and one last thing – can you try to get her to cut down on the jumping and climbing she gets up to? Not that she hasn't get the legs for it, or the ass, I'll give you that, but some of us count our skills in...other areas.” Varric was delighted to see that his words had the desired effect of causing the tip of the Commander's nose to turn a vivid shade of burgundy. By the time Cullen could think of a suitable response, the dwarf was halfway through his first ale down at the Herald's Rest.

…

Cullen met her out on the battlements, as he usually did. It did him good to stretch his legs and get away from his desk, and they both enjoyed the clean, bracing wind that swept along the high walls. Tonight they strolled in the general direction of the armoury, in no particular hurry.

“I spoke to Varric earlier.”

“Oh?”

“It was about you, actually.”

Iris looked at him, searching his face for some clue of what they may have discussed. “Me? He's not teasing you about us, is he? I know you don't like talking about personal things.” Cullen was intensely private, and it took time for him to share himself with people. Their relationship was no secret, but neither did they intend to invite everyone to pry into their personal affairs.

“No, no. Well, yes, a bit,” he added. “He asked me to tell you to stop climbing on things,” he said drily.

Iris laughed, and rolled her eyes. “That again? I've told him he doesn't need to follow every footstep I take! But in order to scout thoroughly and properly, you often need to climb up to high vantage points. Anyway, it's good for balance. I always used to walk and jump on fences and walls and railings and things. It vexed my mother to no end, but dance steps don't seem nearly as difficult in a ballroom if you've already practised them on a fencepost. And fencing is sort of just dancing with daggers.”

Cullen shook his head. “The sword training given to Templars and soldiers involves rather less dancing on balustrades, I'm afraid.”

Iris smirked. “I'm not a soldier, Cullen. I don't suppose I would be very good at soldiering.”

His smiled softened. “No. But I'm rather glad of that, I think. I like you the way you are...dancing and all.”

She squeezed his hand in response.

“Anyway, what he really wanted was...well, he's a bit worried about you. He thinks you're working too hard.”

Iris sighed. She knew she was taking on a lot, and she'd overheard rumblings amongst the team along these lines before. She stopped, looking out over the mountains. The sky was dark, lit only with a few luminous, wispy clouds, scattered with stars like bright diamonds on a jeweller’s velvet. “It can't be helped, really. We're all working hard. There's a lot that needs doing.”

“You don't need to remind me,” he replied with a wry smile, wrapping his arms around her and bringing his chin to rest on her shoulder, his furry cloak tickling her ears. “Some days I think I'll never be finished with paperwork. But you needn't try to do everything yourself. Everyone here is ready and eager to serve. There must be some small tasks you can delegate to others.”

“You're probably right. The thing is...I like the small things. Sometimes when I'm out there, I can almost forget that I'm in charge of, of so much. When there's some little act of good, of kindness I can do, something that doesn't even have to be about the Inquisition, or tactics or politics or alliances...it's easy. It's something I can do to make someone's life better, when no one else can or will. How could I not? I don't want to just ignore it, because it's tiring, or inconvenient.

“I know that I have to look at the big picture, and I know that I have to make difficult decisions. I know sometimes I have to choose the lesser of two evils. Idealism won't stop Corypheus, it won't stop the red lyrium, it won't end a blight, and it won't put Thedas back together. But I can't just...I don't think I can sacrifice everything I believe is right to justify the ends, not all the time. Sometimes I just need to do something I know is the right thing to do.”

Cullen held her even tighter. “Then I don't want you to stop.” He kissed the back of her neck. “Just...let me take care of you, while you're here, my lioness.”

She shifted to face him with questioning eyes. Given the family business, Trevelyans were more usually compared to horses, not always politely. “Lioness?”

Cullen chuckled. “I suppose you don't remember.” He recounted what she had said to him when they found her on the mountain outside Haven, and how he had thought of her ever since.

“I said that?”, she asked, abashed.

“It was lovely,” he whispered, smiling. He leaned in until their foreheads met; and then all their troubles were forgotten, for a little while.

…

Cullen was good to his word. While Iris was away, the best way to help her was to fulfil his duties as Commander to the utmost of his ability. He had to rely on others to keep her safe day to day, as much as he – as they both – would have wished to be together. But whenever she returned to Skyhold, he made a point to steer her through the gauntlet of demands on her time to make sure he had space to clear her head and recover her strength – not to mention, time to spend alone with him, or as alone as they could be in a castle full of people. And selfish or not, he needed her, too.

When he learned he was to have dealings in Ferelden, he arranged a special surprise for Iris – presuming, of course, that he could convince her to accompany him. Fortunately she had some time to spare, and needed very little persuasion to go see where he had grown up.

Once their Inquisition business was concluded, he took her to his favourite spot: a peaceful lake near Honnleath that had been his personal retreat when the din of the rambunctious Rutherford clan became overwhelming. He had not returned here for many years, and was pleased to find it as serene and inviting as he remembered.

It was beautiful. All at once, Iris had a new dream: a house on this lake, with a stable of horses, of course, and a dog, and a warm hearth with a handsome curly-haired man; and there would be no rifts to close, and no beheadings, and definitely no opera.

A foolish dream, perhaps; even if the Inquisition could defeat Corypheus, there was no guarantee she would survive. Even then, their responsibilities would not disappear.

At least they had today. Cullen reached into his pocket and drew out a coin, explaining how his brother had given it to him for luck the day he left for Templar training. Templars weren't meant to carry such tokens, luck being a poor substitute for faith. Still, the coin was the only thing he still possessed of his life in Ferelden, before the Blight and the other troubles that had beset him since leaving home. He folded the coin into Iris' palm.

“Humour me. I know that faith is stronger than luck, but...a bit of luck can't hurt, either.”

Iris could not recall ever receiving a more meaningful gift. Holding it close, she promised to keep the coin safe, and return it to him when Corypheus was finally vanquished.

They sat down on the end of the weathered dock, snuggled together and listening to the chirping of frogs.

“I've told you about my siblings. What about your family? Tell me more about your brother and sister. What are they like?”

“Robert is the oldest. He is married and has two children. He manages most of the estate now.”

“I thought your father...is he unwell?”

“Oh no, he's well, as far as I know, at least. He was never really interested in running the stables, but he was the oldest son so it fell to him anyway. He's sixty-seven now so he has passed a lot of the responsibilities on. He's still the bann, of course, but Robert oversees the stables and such.”

The Trevelyan family's wealth and position had been secured through their standing as one of the best breeders of horses in the Free Marches. Some of Dennet's best stock could trace their bloodline back to the Trevelyan farms, in fact. Iris' ancestors had provided many of the greatest warhorses to see action in the course of Marchers' conflicts with the Tevinter Imperium, Orlais, Nevarra and the Qunari, and the great houses of Starkhaven and Kirkwall had seen the family well rewarded for their contributions. When heraldry came into fashion in the Marches, there was little doubt as to what would feature on the Trevelyans' shield.

Iris continued. “What Father really loves is automata, you know, clockworks and things? Dwarven ones are best, apparently, but they are terribly expensive. He spends most of his time playing with them and tinkering with them and buying them and trading for them now. Mother thinks it's a bit silly, but she likes it really.”

“Do you look like her?”

“Mother? No, I take after Father. Mother's family are Antivan so she has lovely olive skin and dark eyes. Robert and Emma look more like her, although Emma has Father's eyes. She is the beauty of the family and was always exceedingly ladylike. She moved to Tantervale when she got married.”

“Why were you chosen to attend the Conclave, then, rather than your brother or sister? Not that I'm complaining, mind you.”

She smiled. “They were not available. My parents felt Robert was needed more at home, and Emma was expecting again, so she couldn't make the journey, either. I have had so little time to write to her, I wonder if she had a boy or a girl.” She turned to look at him again, shaking off wistfulness. “I had no commitments...and no suitors,” she added with a sigh, “so I was chosen to go.”

“Are you close with them? Your brother and sister, I mean.”

“Yes and no. I love my family, and they have always been good to me. My brother and sister were probably closer with each other than with me, though. They are very near in age but then there are six years between Emma and me. I spent more time with my cousins, growing up. Celia is my age, and Eoin is the baby. They are my father's younger brother's children. They lived quite near to us, so we saw them most days.

“Celia is so lovely. She is the kindest girl you will ever meet. She is a Chantry initiate. I don't think there was ever a doubt she would be a Sister.” Celia had never shown any interest in boyfriends or marriage, seeking instead to do good for those in need in the name of the Maker, and inspiring Iris to do the same.

“Eoin was meant to enter Templar training but he never truly wanted to go, and my aunt didn't want him to leave home either.” Eoin's had been a difficult birth, and his mother spoiled him as a result.

“He would have been terrible at it anyway; he falls in love with any girl who looks at him. He went off to study in Nevarra – philosophy, mathematics, history, music, the usual things. I must admit, after all that has happened, I am relieved he did not become a Templar. We had heard a bit about -” Iris paused, not wanting to open old wounds for Cullen.

“The lyrium?”, he prompted her gently.

She nodded. “I know the Templars are there to do a difficult job. I just...”

She turned to him, her eyes full of sympathy and love. “I wish I had known what was happening in Kirkwall, Cullen. It was not so far away. I wish I could have helped you, somehow.”

“There was nothing you could have done. As much as I would have liked to meet you sooner, I am glad you did not know me then. I was...not the man I am now. And you have helped me. You have saved me.”

“Don't say that, Cullen. It isn't true.” He made to interject, but she continued. “You saved yourself. You are the one who pulled yourself together after the Ferelden Circle fell. You are the one who stood up to Meredith in Kirkwall, when her cruelty became undeniable. You are the one who left the Templars, who walked away from the only life you had known, because you felt it was the right thing to do. You stopped taking lyrium, on your own, even though it hurts you, even though it frightens you, even though you have to fight it back always. You did this, Cullen. You are the strongest person I have ever known. Do not diminish yourself. Every day you get up, and you give everything you can to the Inquisition, and you save yourself.”

Cullen could not express how much her belief in him meant, how much he loved her. He could only hope that his unfaltering devotion, his embrace and his breathless kisses would be enough to show her in ways his words could not.