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Chapter Text

Casey raced through the village, stopping just long enough to give the stone statue in the middle of town a quick pat and shoo the birds away. She had named it Gem for the pretty crystals that stuck out from it’s shoulders. Sometimes she would stop and clean Gem up or weave a crown for her head, but she didn’t have time today.

She had been working on her very first real carpentry job for three long weeks and hadn’t told a soul about it. Three weeks was an eternity for an 11 year old to hold on to a secret, but she had managed. As soon as Casey received the nod and a smile from her father indicating his approval of her work, she was off like a shot to go see her best friend. She couldn’t wait another minute to show him what she’d done.

Cullen was the second child of the Rutherford family and nearly two years older. They didn’t always get along, but such was the case in any friendship. There were days where Casey would let her rudeness get the better of her and hurt Cullen’s feelings. Or sometimes Cullen would pretend he didn’t willingly spend most of his days in the company of a young girl whenever Templar recruits would pass through and hurt Casey's feelings. But everyone in Honnleath knew that if you saw the eldest Rutherford boy, the only child of old Wain was likely not far behind.

But there was one secret that Casey kept close to her heart. Or at least she tried to. No one had ever accused little Casey Wainwright of being subtle. Lucky for her, they had also never accused Cullen Rutherford of being particularly perceptive. He seemed utterly oblivious to the fact that the young girl who followed him around day after day was absolutely smitten with him.

And one day, Casey Wainwright was dead certain that she was going to marry Cullen Rutherford.

Casey would be the best carpenter in Ferelden and Cullen would be the best Templar and...do whatever it was Templars did. She wasn’t quite sure. She knew it involved swords and pretty armor and protecting mages—but from what? She had no idea. Surely if they could make fire with their hands, they could protect themselves?

Honestly, the details didn’t matter as much as being with her Cullen forever. That meant not giving up. If you really loved someone, you kept talking to them even when they snapped at you for getting water on their armor or they pushed you into hay and made you sneeze. That was how she knew it was True Love.

She slowed a bit as she neared the lake. Breathing heavy, she leaned against “their” tree. Whenever Casey’s father brought her a new book, she would meet Cullen here. Regardless of the subject, he read them aloud eagerly. Such practice allowed Cullen to expand his knowledge far beyond what his parents could afford with four children. His accent began to take on a more polished tone compared to his siblings over the years. And Casey, who loved to learn but didn’t have the steady patience that came so easily to her friend, was able to listen to stories and new ideas while keeping her hands busy with a whittling knife. It also allowed her to indulge in the sound of Cullen’s voice and the lovely look he got on his face whenever he was fully absorbed in something.

As eager as she was to get to him, the shield she had strapped to her had been hitting the same spot on her lower back as she ran. Now that she allowed herself to breathe, it was starting to really smart. At least she could now see Cullen, standing on the dock, staring out pensively across the water. She wouldn’t have to run any further, thank the Maker. Casey pulled the shield off of her back to carry it the last little way.

“Cullen!” she called. “I’m glad you’re here, I was looking for you!”

He turned to watch her approach with a look on his face she had never seen before. He didn’t look angry, but he certainly was not happy.

“Acacia,” he said, his voice strangely deep. It was a prelude to the rich tones of his future voice that cracked back up to the higher register she had known her whole childhood as soon as he spoke again. “I assumed you would find me eventually.”

She smiled up at him as she approached. Cullen was the only one in the village who called her by her full name, insisting that it was not proper to refer to a lady by a nickname. Hearing her given name from his mouth always gave her a little thrill.

“I always do,” she said in a sing-song voice, trying to ignore the odd feeling of dread that had taken root in her stomach. He gave a half-smirk that quickly returned to a determined frown.

“What is that?” he said, eyes roaming over the shield in her hands, seemingly curious despite himself.

“It is my first official commission!” she exclaimed, holding the shield out to him to show it off. “Papa let me do the whole thing from start to finish, he just inspected it.”

Cullen took the shield and looked over it with a smile. Casey’s chest felt like it was going to burst with pride.

“You did an excellent job,” he said, running his fingers along the finely sanded edges. “What kind of wood is this? It doesn’t look like oak.”

She blushed a bit and looked off to the lake. “It’s acacia wood,” she said. “Papa managed to get some from a merchant who had passed through the Hissing Wastes. Apparently it’s very strong.”

“I’d expect no less from your namesake,” he said, with a lopsided grin aimed directly at her.

He hadn’t called her lovely or charming, but the compliments to her strength and her work went straight to her heart. Paired with his grin, the effect was devastating. Poor Casey was unable to withstand such a direct assault and her knees went a bit wobbly. Thankfully, Cullen turned his attention back to the shield and she was able to get hold of herself.

“Did you put the tree on the front as well?”

“Y-yes,” she said, moving to his side to look at it along with him. “I wanted to do an acacia tree but I have no idea what they look like. I burned in our favorite tree instead.”

Cullen moved to hand the shield to her, but she pushed it back to him.

“I made it for you, Cullen,” she said. “You always say you want to protect people and this can be a little piece of me protecting you.”

Her face must be fully red now. Her blushes didn’t show as easily as Cullen’s did, being far more brown than the fair Rutherford clan. But she felt so very warm she had a feeling it didn’t matter. Casey had practiced those words the night before, but they were still so hard to say. It’s not like she had said “I love you” but she was presenting him with her work. It felt like she was offering up a piece of herself to him. Cullen was frowning in earnest now, his eyes boring into the shield in his hands.

“I—” he started, then took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I cannot take this.”

“But…” she said, looking between Cullen and the shield helplessly. “Is there something—I mean, I can fix it if—”

Cullen cut her off, shaking his head. “No, the shield is...It’s because I am leaving tonight,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I am finally going to be a Templar, Acacia.”

His mouth still frowned but his eyes took on a sort of manic gleam. It didn’t look like happiness as much as it looked like determination. No one could match a Rutherford for stubbornness once their mind was set, and Cullen’s mind was set on becoming a Templar. Her brain seemed to stop functioning. Cullen couldn’t leave. They were going to get married and she would build their house and they would have a ton of babies all named after trees.

“No,” she whispered, almost to herself. Something wet hit the back of her hand. Casey looked up thinking it must have started raining, but there were no clouds in the sky.

“Please don’t—no, no, Acacia! Don’t cry,” Cullen said, sounding panicked.

He held his arms out before him awkwardly, as if he wasn’t sure what action to take but he still felt the urge to move. Casey touched her cheeks as if to prove to herself that there were, in fact, tears there. She looked at him accusingly. Casey hated to cry more than anything.

“I have to do this. I want to do this. I have always wanted to be a Templar, you know that,” he pleaded. “I thought you would be happy for me.”

The last part was pronounced so forlornly that it caught her off-guard. Cullen had never kept it a secret he wanted to be a Templar. Two years ago for his Nameday she had her Papa make him a wooden sword with the Templar crest burned into the hilt and he had trained with it every day since. She had even declared herself as his Squire and helped him practice. She didn’t want Cullen to leave, not ever. But as a good friend—and his future wife—she had to be supportive of his dream. Trying to reconcile these two truths made her brain hurt.

“Well,” she said slowly. “You have to take the shield then! Templars NEED shields.”

It was all starting to click in her mind. He would go, just as he wanted. Just as he should. Cullen’s handwriting was abysmal but they could take this opportunity to write each other letters. They could stay in touch and he could practice a necessary skill. It would be lovely and useful all at the same time. For as much of a romantic as Casey was, she was also incurably practical. Maybe she could go live near whatever Circle he was assigned to? She had no idea what sort of things a Circle might need, but she imagined they were constantly burning up the tables and chairs with that many mages running about.

“I can’t. They have said I am to bring nothing. I must only allow myself that which the Chantry grants to me,” he insisted.

His voice cracked, but it sounded different than the cracks from his impending ascent into manhood. If Casey didn’t know any better, she thought he might be about to cry, too.

“You can sneak it!”

“How am I supposed to hide a heater on my person?” he said reprovingly, but it wasn’t a no.

“I can find a way to sneak it in to you once you’re there,” she said, already running through plans in her mind.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You will just have to keep it. Or perhaps sell it.”

Sell it. He told her to SELL it. Casey’s eyes grew wide and she balled up her fists so tightly that her arms began to shake. It was all too much. For weeks she had poured all of her energy into this shield. For years, she had poured all of her love into Cullen. And now he was leaving. He was rejecting her gift.

He was rejecting HER.

“FINE!” she yelled, all the fury of young love scorned building up within her. “Go be a stupid templar and leave me behind, see if I care! You may as well take a vow of chastity while you’re there because I will not be marrying you after this!”

“Marry...me?” he said, his puzzlement breaking through any other feelings her tirade may have evoked. “When did we agree to get married?”

Casey screamed, stomped a foot in frustration, and pushed Cullen Stanton Rutherford into the pond, clothes and all. She wouldn’t see him again for more than 5 years.

Chapter Text

Casey hefted her pack out of the cart and onto her back, looking up with no small amount of awe at the fortress she had just entered. She had traveled with some frequency in recent years between Ferelden and Orlais, but she had never seen a building on quite this scale so far out in the middle of nowhere. For someone so dedicated to practical craft, it was quite the sight to behold. Her brain immediately called out all of the points on the structure that the average person might not realize took extreme levels of skill to craft. Still, as they had passed over the bridge and through the gate, she could see clear signs of disrepair. It was obvious why Gatsi had written her.

She gave her apprentices and helpers orders regarding the cart and headed towards the main portion of the keep. There were a ridiculous number of stairs, but Casey stayed in shape through her work and regular combat training. She had no intentions of joining in on any sort of war, but she worked hard to ensure she would never lack the ability to defend herself. And others, if necessary.

At the base of the stairs leading into the great hall, she saw a swarm of couriers and soldiers, with someone barking orders at them from somewhere near the center. It was no doubt someone she’d need to talk to later, but all she could see of him was the blonde tip of his head. She bypassed the crowd and decided to head for the one who had sent for her instead, one Lady Montiliyet.

Luckily, she ran into Gatsi rather quickly after entering the hall. He had been standing over some rubble, talking with another dwarf. His face lit up when he saw her and he waved her over.

“Varric, you have to meet Casey,” he said, giving her a dangerously low pat on the back. She gave him a free pass on account of his stature and because she knew Gatsi was no lecher. At least not for humans. She really hoped the Inquisitor wasn’t an elf or Gatsi might get them both kicked out.

“This here is the best carpenter in the ass half of Thedas!” Gatsi said. “Had to argue a bit to get her here. Couldn’t seem to get them to understand that most stonework needs a little wood in it.”

“I’m sure that’s not all you offered to put a little wood into, Gats,” Casey said with a grin.

The other dwarf let out a laugh and Gatsi didn’t seem the least bit offended. He may have even puffed up a bit.

“Well, she has you pegged, Chisel,” the dwarf said.

“Not quite,” Gatsi said with a twinkle in his eye. “But perhaps later.” He winked at Casey and she gave him a good-natured sock on the arm.

“It’s nice to meet you Ser….?” Casey said to the other dwarf.

“No ‘ser’ for me,” he said with a smile. “I’m just Varric. Varric Tethras.”

“Tethras?” she exclaimed in delight. “As in ‘Swords & Shields’ Varric Tethras?”

“Not the one people usually throw out there, but yeah, that would be me,” he said tentatively, clearly waiting to find out what kind of fan she was.

“Well, I read the others. Tale of the Champion was good and all, but clearly you failed to capture the truth,” she said earnestly.

“Oh?” he replied, with a quirk of his brow. He was curious but still wary.

Casey nodded solemnly. “You completely neglected to mention just how glorious your chest hair is. Leads me to question how true any of the rest of it is,” she said with a wide grin. “Besides, how can that story compare to smut? That book help me discover at least five new words for ‘penis’ and here I thought I knew most of ‘em.”

Varric gave her a chuckle and an approving nod. “You’re going to be a handful, I can tell,” he said. “Can’t wait to put you into a room with Curly and see how long it takes before you make him blush or storm out.”

“I like a challenge,” she said gamely. “Point me at him sometime.”

“Oh you can count on it,” he said with a wink. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Casey. Chisel, I’m sure you’ve got people this fine lady needs to see and I’ve got way too many fucking letters to write.”

“Too right,” Gatsi said. “We’ll all get together sometime soon for an ale, provided they don’t work the two of us near to death trying to prop up this pile of rubble.”

“At least Ruffles will see that your corpse is well paid,” Varric said with a wave as he walked off.

Casey and Gatsi picked their way over to the other side of the hall, stepping over bits of fallen stone and ducking under beams that no longer supported anything at all. She looked for structural weaknesses with a tradesman’s eye, making mental note of how much work would be involved and what materials would be needed. She held Gatsi back before they stepped into the ambassador’s office.

“This is going to be a ton of work,” she said. “Just this one room alone...I mean, there’s some strong bones here, most of it the older stuff. It is definitely worth salvaging but...it’s a LOT of work, Gats.” She shook her head, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

“I know, but I also know you. You don’t need the money, you need the cause,” he said, crossing his arms. “And this place is just bursting with it. Sure you might be hammering out beams when the sky falls on us, but at least you’ll die doing what you love.”

Casey sighed, but had to admit he had a point. “You always did have a way with words. It’s no wonder you’re buddies with Tethras,” she said. “Go on then. Let’s sign me up for the hopeless cause.”

Chapter Text

Casey left Lady Montilyet’s office with a to-do list a mile long—maybe literally. The ambassador had written out the repair and construction requests on one continuous scroll. And that was just for the carpentry work alone. She shuddered to think what Gatsi’s list looked like. Casey was rather tall for a woman but she had a suspicion the scroll was longer than she was. She tried to check, but it kept curling up at the ends and it felt silly to ask someone to hold it out for her just so she could see.

She rolled it up, content to ignore it for the time being. The first order of business was just to get settled in. Her men would be staying in a small tent village in the valley, but Casey would be staying in the keep proper. She’d be the one planning the work and designing, which meant she would need access to rooms before the gates opened in the morning and after they closed at night. Lady Montilyet tried to set her up in some fancy suite in the inner keep where the nobles slept, but she outright refused. That whole wing had too many people with too much time on their hands to watch her comings and goings.

When Casey had asked after the towers, Lady Montilyet had confirmed—with no small amount of discomfort—that most of the tower rooms had been deemed uninhabitable. Casey would decide that for herself. The best part about being a master at her craft was that Casey could build just about anything she needed. And if there was any stonework to be done, well...she had blackmail on Gatsi if she needed it.

It didn’t take long to inspect the unoccupied tower rooms and find the best option. Only one tower had all of its stone still fully intact. From what she could tell, the stone of the tower seemed solid and in good condition. She had spent enough time around Gatsi to know that the mortar seemed sound and there were no drafts other than the ones coming from the doors. She figured she likely wasn’t going to die in her sleep under a pile of rubble. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have the expert take a look later.

Despite the solidity of the structure overall, it was clear why this tower had been deemed uninhabitable—at least given the Inquisition’s current resources. Josephine would no doubt feel better about her decision to let Casey claim a tower once she realized Casey planned to restore it out of her own pocket. If she was going to have to stay here for a while, it would be comforting to know that at least one place would be designed to her tastes. She had seen the drapes the Ambassador had chosen for the great hall. No thank you.

The lower level was solid, being mostly made up of stone. It was simply full of junk furniture—and the rotted remains of the loft. The first thing she would do after she had all of the splintered wood dragged out was rebuild the second floor. She thought she spotted the remains of a ladder nearby. Yeah, no way in hell was she going to be accessing her room by ladder. A small spiral staircase would take up only slightly more space than a ladder, but be infinitely more stable. And much easier to navigate when she had a few ales in her.

Casey had had a few run-ins with ladders while drunk over the years. She was not the biggest fan.

The only real problem with the room was that guards were in the habit of passing through during shift changes. Luckily, it was something Lady Montilyet had already anticipated. Casey grabbed the next runner to pass through by and gave him a sealed note with the official Inquisition seal. Sighing at the sight of the work she had ahead of her to get her new quarters livable, she decided to dawdle a bit and have a chat with the person who would deliver her note. It couldn’t hurt to get to know the people she’d be seeing a lot of, after all.

Before the scout could take hold of the letter she pulled it back and offered her hand instead. He shook it tentatively, instantly on his guard as befitted a man in service of a Spymaster.

“Name’s Casey Joiner,” she said, dropping his hand. “Came in to keep this place from falling to bits.” She looked at the pile of splinters on the ground. “Well, more bits. And no offense, good ser, but you look like the type of man who knows where they keep the ale.” Her stomach rumbled loudly. “And the food.”

The man relaxed. “That I do,” he said with a chuckle. “And no offense taken. Name’s Jim ‘round Skyhold.”

That was an intriguing form of introduction if there ever was one. “And what about when you’re not in Skyhold?”

“Depends on if it’s business or pleasure,” he said. Jim’s eyes twinkled a bit as he winked at her. “For business, Sister has a code name for each of us. For pleasure, you can call me whatever you like.”

Casey threw back her head and laughed and Jim cracked a wide smile. “Good man,” she said. “We’re gonna get along just fine. Now if you could take that to the Commander and point me in the direction of that tavern, I’d be much obliged. I am far too sober to deal with this mess.”

In the morning, she would clear her room and begin the work to make it livable. Tomorrow, she would settle down with her trailing to-do list and set priorities on the work, maybe even begin rough sketches. But tonight she was going to get shitfaced and hope it would make her feel a little more comfortable with the commitment she had just made before reality slapped her full on in the face.

The rest of her evening was very pleasant. She found Tethras near the fire weaving bawdy tales for men who looked far too rough to be guardsmen when she arrived. After a few ales, she found herself in engaged in a loud argument with the dwarven writer and a massive one-eyed Qunari about whether “turgid” or “engorged” was the least sexy way to describe an erection.

After her fifth ale, she declared to the room at large that it was a tie. And also that she really had to piss. And also that she was headed to bed. Her new friends gave her an overly fond farewell and she stumbled her way back up to her new tower home. Casey just prayed the ale would be enough to keep the dreams away. She would need as much rest as she could get before the work began in earnest.

Chapter Text

Montilyet absolutely insisted that the Great Hall be repaired before all else, followed by the living areas of all visiting nobles. Gatsi and Casey protested strongly. With diagrams. And many curse words. Well, that was mostly just Casey. Gatsi had a strict policy of never cursing in front of ladies. That policy didn’t apply to Casey because he didn’t consider her a lady. Woman, yes. Lady, no.

Despite disagreeing strongly, Casey didn’t lose any respect for the Ambassador. Once she was made aware of the structural ticking time bombs scattered throughout the keep, she relented. She even insisted that they come to her straightaway if they found other such issues so that funds could be adjusted immediately to cover the repair. The Lady Ambassador immediately understood that looks would not matter if one of the nobles went crashing through the floor.

During the course of this discussion, Casey also got very fed up with being called “Lady Joiner” and insisted that Montilyet use her first name. The Ambassador countered that if they were going to use such familiar terms, she should likewise call her Josephine. Casey was all too happy with those terms. Normal people didn’t tend to call each other by titles, and it seemed that only soldiers and patriarchs went by their last name.

So it was that for a while, it looked like there was a lot of work happening but very little getting done. Casey spent a lot of her days covered in cobwebs. She let her crew take care of the more visible repairs while she took on major issues that required a more technical approach. That generally meant she was out of sight—tucked in a crawlspace or wedged into a wall.

Casey didn’t feel that anything should ever take priority over more practical needs, but she had been around long enough to know that appearances would be extremely important to a fledgling organization like the Inquisition. Especially considering the Inquisitor was a Dalish elf. Casey herself had nothing against elves, but she knew her views weren’t exactly common. The prejudice against Inquisitor Lavellan was strong, and in some cases it was made worse by the idea that he claimed to be the Herald of Andraste.

As pleased as Josephine had been to discover there was now a significantly lower chance of someone dying under rubble, the three of them still argued over the next projects to be completed.

Gatsi wanted to move on to the many stone staircases in Skyhold. Many of the steps leading up to the ramparts were uneven after years of inconsistent wear from wind and rain, leading to a few injuries here and there. He wanted Casey to help put up handrails.

Casey wanted to head into the valley to begin putting up actual buildings for all of the Inquisition members who couldn’t fit in Skyhold to live in so they could get out of their tents. She wanted Gatsi to put in fireplaces and help her find a way to prevent the road down from turning into a river when it rained.

Josephine wanted to fix the main hall next. Gatsi would be needed to repair any crumbling portions of the walls and install statuary. Casey would be needed to build tables, chairs, scaffolding, and frames for new windows. She insisted that first impressions were absolutely vital to their cause. If they no longer looked as though they were simply squatting in a ruin, people would be more likely to give them money. It was a strange fact of life, but people were more inclined to give you money when they thought you didn’t need it. The additional funds could be used to fund more important projects.

Everyone had excellent points, and they were all passionate about their point of view. Casey absolutely wanted to win the right to work on the valley first, because it was the right thing to do, but she found that the argument was a lot of fun. She wasn’t angry—it was more like a game. At one point, she made Josephine flush and stutter.

Josephine was Antivan and an Ambassador to boot. Casey would put that achievement down in her journal. First, she would have to start a journal. This would be memorialized somehow.

Eventually, Gatsi got tired and had to step in and ruin the whole thing by proposing a diplomatic solution. He suggested that Casey could head into the valley for the next month and begin building housing, but only after she left him with some scaffolding. Gatsi would begin work on the Great Hall, but he would scout out the road for Casey first.

“Be best to have this one out of my way for that, anyway,” he declared. “But...I don’t want my whole crew tripping underfoot. I’d like to send half of them to work on the stairs, if you’re willing my lady. Especially the ones leading into the hall. Wouldn’t want the first impression ruined by a tumble, would we?”

Casey looked at Gatsi with pride. What a slick bastard. Josephine took a moment to think this offer over, making sure that this would be the best possible option. After a moment, she shook both of their hands and the three split up. There was a lot of work to do.

Chapter Text

Madam Joiner,

Ambassador Montilyet has made me aware that you are the one responsible for the decision to ensure those staying in the valley receive better, more permanent housing before any more work was done in Skyhold. I had argued this point myself with little success. So I find myself grateful not only for your skill as a carpenter, but your skills at negotiation.

My soldiers are at your disposal to assist with construction. Please let me know if you require further resources.

(O)

Commander,

Madam Joiner sounds more like an explicit act than a title. Just ‘Joiner’ is fine.

I did not argue for anything on your behalf, so you can keep your thanks. I do not mean to sound rude, but I want to be clear that I am not here to please. I will do the job right, and in the right order, and I’ll have words with any who put frivolous concerns over people losing fingers and tits to frostbite because they’re sleeping out in the wind in the middle of the Maker forsaken mountains.

I do thank you for the extra hands. Many of these men have experience with barn-raising—that’ll come in extra handy for what I have planned. I will be sure not to wear them out should you need them.

CJ

Joiner,

While I am appreciative of your efforts and do not personally mind your...informal approach to communication, I would like to inform you that your status updates are being read aloud during our meetings with the Inquisitor. With the Inquisitor in residence, I am unfortunately unable to see your works in person. How are things progressing? Are any additional materials needed? Do you have an estimate for completion?

I will be coming to the valley to inspect your work as soon as possible, although I can set no date. Your presence for this is requested.

(O)

Commander,

Progress is steady, more ale is required, and the job will be complete when I say it is and not a moment before. I could have slapped up a few large hovels to keep the men out of the wind and they’d have called me Maker sent. But the people down here deserve better.

After sanitation is complete, I will leave the rest of the work to my apprentices. Maker willing, I’ll be back in Skyhold ahead of your “inspection.” Having a stick up your ass doesn’t mean you know a a damn thing about wood, Commander, so unless you have some qualifications I am not aware of, what good would your inspection do?

CJ

Joiner,

Aside from having raised my fair share of barns as a young man, I also assisted heavily in the rebuilding efforts in Kirkwall. I do not claim to be an expert like yourself, but I know enough to know a decent join when I see it and I can identify most of the wood found in Ferelden and Orlais.

That is how I know my stick is Frostback pine. Based on your attitude, I’d say yours is a solid Ferelden oak.

(O)

Commander,

I like the cut of your smalls. You seem a good sort, and I’m not above apologizing. I am sorry to have taken my frustrations out on you. I am not used to being involved with an organization such as this, with reports and such. You are just doing your job, good ser, and if the men I drink with are telling true you do a fine job of it.

At this rate, we will be wrapped up before the fortnight is through. As a peace offering, I can return to Skyhold and give you a full report of what’s been done in person and we can head down to the valley once the Inquisitor rides off to save the world again. Does this work for you, Commander?

CJ

Joiner,

I would say your apology is accepted but in truth it was not needed. Many of the people who have joined the Inquisition are not used to such structure, so you are not alone. After many years of being a soldier, that Ferelden frankness is oddly comforting. Nostalgic, even.

Your personal report will be appreciated. Send word a day ahead and I will be sure there is sufficient time for our meeting.

(O)

Joiner,

This is not official correspondence, so feel free to decline to answer. In meetings you are simply referred to as “the Carpenter” or “Lady Joiner” – not once have I heard Josephine or Leliana refer to you by name. My curiosity has gotten the best of me. What does CJ stand for?

(O)

Commander,

Well, we can’t all have a fancy stamp like you. A stamp that conveniently also does not reveal your name. I suppose I will tell you though. It’s no great secret after all. CJ is an abbreviation.

It got awful exhausting having to write out ‘Cock Juggler’ at the end of EVERY letter.

Now you know. See you tomorrow, Commander.

On her last day in the valley, Casey got a response from the Commander. She hadn’t honestly expected one, but she found she was oddly disappointed that she didn’t have time to read it as soon as it was handed off. She wanted to know how the Commander had handled her joke. He had already proven a lot less uptight than she had initially been lead to believe.

After her first update to Skyhold, the Spymaster had sent her a rather charming letter detailing the different colors the Commander had turned as he read her report aloud. At that point she had imagined the Commander must be some fat old frog of a retired chevalier with a barrel chest and a weird, twirly mustache. The image of him turning purple had kept her amused the rest of that day.

But as they exchanged more letters, she began to take a more favorable impression of him. He had been embarrassed to read her reports aloud, but all in all he had a sense of humor. And the soldiers she drank with had a very different report of his looks than what she had imagined at first. The Commander was young for someone in such a position and Jim had described him as “rakishly handsome.” She found herself filled with an odd sort of nervous anticipation at the idea of finally getting to see him in person.

The soldiers had really built him up after all.

It was hard to get out of the valley without being stopped every few feet, but she managed to get back to the keep sometime around mid afternoon. She decided to stop in to her room first. Casey had paid some men to haul out the broken wood while she was tied up in the valley. In her spare time she had also put together a simple table, chair and folding cot frame and had those sent up to Skyhold to be placed in her tower. It wasn’t much, but her room was still vastly improved from when she last saw it.

Unloading her pack, she gave a great stretch of her shoulders and looked longingly at the cot. The journey from the valley to Skyhold was not a great one. It was just rough enough to discourage casual travel between the two, but not so long as to be exhausting. But Casey had been up quite late. The men had insisted on throwing her a party before she left the valley and how could she possibly refuse?

With a sigh, she stripped down to her leggings and sleeveless undershirt, prepared to put on some less dusty clothes before her meeting. The Commander’s letter fell out from her pack. Even though she was about to see the man in person, Casey had never been known for her patience.

Cock Juggler,

I am pleased that you have such a traditional name. I apologize for my earlier assumption that you were Ferelden. With a name such as that, it is obvious you are Orlesian.

The stamp is rather convenient, but the name behind it is not so interesting as yours.

My name is Cullen Rutherford, and I look forward to meeting you.

Chapter Text

Casey, Age 14
Casey had decided to be friends with Cullen Rutherford again.

She had taken some time to recover from the blow of being left behind when he went off to be a Templar. Cullen wasn’t merely a crush, he had been her best friend. All in one go, she lost the one person who filled a lot of roles in her young life and the effect was devastating for a while.

On occasion, Cullen would be allowed to visit with his family. They had to come to him, of course. His commitment to the Chantry meant he had to get used to staying wherever the Chantry bid him to stay. Casey felt this reduced good boys to nothing more than good dogs, but she didn’t say things like that out loud anymore. It upset Mia far too much, and Mia was the closest thing she had ever had to a sister.

Every year, Ma and Da Rutherford would invite her along with them to go visit Cullen and every year for three years she refused, still far too sore to bear even the sight of him. Having a plan to be a Templar was one thing. It didn’t mean it was happening for sure. But Cullen had known for sure that he was going to be leaving, had known for weeks and hadn’t said a word to her.

By the time she reached fourteen, however, the grudge was beginning to fade. Even one as stubborn as Casey found no reason to continue holding on to such a hurt when the subject of her woes was so often out of sight and out of mind. If anything, as the years moved on, her thoughts shifted more and more to focus on all the nice times they had together.

She no longer shied away from the pond, and sometimes she would read there when the weather was nice. Casey even found it in her heart to develop a crush on someone new. The blacksmith had taken on an apprentice named James and he looked very impressive whenever he filled an order for nails for Casey. Especially when he had to take his shirt off to deal with the heat.

She had to give up on this small pleasure when her Papa declared he had enough nails to build the king three new summer homes.

No one was really available to replace Cullen as her best friend, however. Mia proved to be a good confidant for some things, but she tended to advocate for her brother too much for Casey to ever truly tell her everything. She had made the mistake of pouring out her heart once, and Mia had nearly dragged her off to see Cullen right then. It was bad enough that Mia knew that Casey had a crush on Cullen at age 11. She could never know that sometimes she had fantasies of the young man she imagined Cullen had become even now.

So it was not an unpleasant surprise when Casey received a letter for her nameday from Cullen himself, delivered by an obnoxiously smug Mia.

Acacia,
I hope this letter finds you well. I have asked Mia to hold onto it until your nameday, since I know it is near. Happy fourteenth nameday!

I know it has been a few years since we spoke last, but I have regretted every day that I did not tell you sooner about my plans to leave for Templar training. I have not written before now because I wasn’t sure if my letters would be welcome. If you do welcome this letter, you have my sister to thank. She was allowed to visit with my parents this year and she began the work of pestering me about you almost as soon as she arrived.

I cannot say I am not grateful for it, for once. My parents would never tell me anything more than that you were well whenever I asked. Mia gave a full report. Rather more than I wanted to know, in fact.

Please be more careful around people we do not know who come from outside the village. This new apprentice could be trouble for all you know. Besides, I do not want to hear of you running off with anyone until I have completed my training. Once I have received my armor and I am formally recognized as a Templar, I will come back to Honnleath to visit.

If you are married, your husband might not allow you near such a strapping figure in armor and I would be terribly disappointed not to have the chance to see you again.

I remind myself daily why I am doing this. It is the only thing that keeps me strong. But I do miss you, Acacia.

Please write back.

Your friend forever,

Cullen

It had taken Casey days to craft a letter to Cullen in response. His letter had not been very long, so she felt she had to keep hers likewise abbreviated. It was hard. At one point she had 10 pages filled out, front and back. Once she decided he didn’t need to know EVERY detail of what had happened between now and when he had left Honnleath, things got a lot more concise.

The end result was a letter that made no mention of the past, and only of her feelings. And even those had been edited severely.

Since he had admitted it first, she felt no shame in telling Cullen she missed him too. Quite a bit more than she let on to anyone, in fact. She did not mention that she dreamed of him sometimes and got the romantic notion that somehow they were visiting each other through the Fade. Casey bounded down the stairs to let her Papa know she would be heading into town to find someone to deliver her letter.

Instead she found her Papa, still and cold, in his chair by the fire where she had left him the night before.

The letter was never delivered. Casey’s life was never the same.

Chapter Text

Casey’s grip went slack and the letter fluttered to the ground. A ball of ice took up residence in her stomach that didn’t melt at all despite the fire that tore across her skin. It was impossible. It was a coincidence. There was no way it could be him.

He mentioned Kirkwall.

Casey took off out the door and was crossing the battlements almost before she could think of what she was doing. It wasn’t time for their meeting yet, but she didn’t care. She had to know right now if he was here because it would absolutely change everything.

He had his back turned when she arrived, reading a report in the light that filtered in through the loopholes. The Commander was a tall man, even hunched as he was over the paper he read. She could see his blonde hair peeking over the top, slicked back. It didn’t appear to be curly in the least. She started to feel some measure of hope.

But then the Commander turned. The light caught the side of his face, and it was like time slowed down. His golden brown eyes would be on her in a moment, no doubt still tainted by blue. Tainted like every memory she had of him now.

How was it that Cullen Rutherford was here after everything she had gone through picking up the messes he left behind?

Casey stood stock still and waited for his brain to register what—or rather who—he was seeing. His face paled as though he had seen a ghost. That made her angry. She was the one seeing a ghost after all. Mia had been out of her mind with worry thinking her brother had died after shit went south in Kirkwall. Mia combed through Tales of the Champion and any news she could get her hands on but there were no tales of the Knight-Captain’s whereabouts anywhere to be found. Kirkwall was still a mess and finding one man among many missing was no one’s priority.

As she let herself stew in her anger, Cullen seemed to be struggling with some feeling of his own. His eyes flitted rapidly between Casey and the soldiers. Some had turned to her to offer smiles that quickly turned to confusion at seeing her so angry.

One scout decided it would be a good idea to break the tense silence that had settled over the room.

“Doing alright there, then, Casey?” he said in a jovial tone that did not fit the mood.

She turned her head slightly to see who it was. It was Jim. Of course it was fucking Jim. Upon further acquaintance, Jim had proven to be the type of man who unapologetically did and said whatever he pleased. She had no idea how such a person could be a spy and generally enjoyed his frankness, but today she looked at him and wished he would disappear so she could fall apart in peace.

Her wish was granted by Cullen of all people. He dismissed every soldier and scout in the room with a few curt words and a wave. Casey still hadn’t moved. It felt as though she were rooted in place. Cullen came around his desk to stand in front of her, moving slowly as though she were an animal that might bolt or bite him. It would be a lie to say the thought had not crossed her mind.

He looked at her in the silence searchingly, eyes tracing her face as if he were attempting to commit it to memory—or reconcile it with one.

“Acacia, is that you?” he said with the tentative beginnings of a smile.

The sound of that name, a name she hadn’t heard spoken aloud in years, snapped her out of her stupor. Her anger returned.

“Yes it is me and I had come into this room hoping to the Maker that you were not YOU,” she said. She began picking at a callus on one of her hands and chewing her lip, mind already nervously reeling over just how she was going to deal with this.

“Pardon?” Cullen said. His look of confusion was so achingly familiar that it her anger and anxiety intensified.

Casey took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down. She had been through worse than this in her life. Seeing Cullen Rutherford again was not welcome, but it wasn’t the worst of it. Not by a mile.

“Commander Rutherford, I find I will need to cancel our meeting,” she said, hoping she sounded cold and indifferent. “Had I known of the Inquisition’s poor leadership choices, I would have declined the job. If you will excuse me, I must see the Ambassador about revoking the remainder of my contract. Good day, ser.”

Casey turned on her heel with ever intention of walking out only to be stopped by an exclamation of “Acacia!” and a hand on her forearm. She turned slowly to look at the hand on her first with a scathing glare, before following it back up the arm until she came to the face of the man it was attached to.

“Let me go,” she bit out. The cold civility had been too hard to keep up after all.

“No,” he said. “Not until you tell me why you’re here and what is going on and why you seem so incredibly pissed off at me.”

She floundered for a moment, completely caught off guard. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out.

His face fell and he looked sick. “Oh Maker, is it Mia? One of the boys?”

Casey shook her head vehemently and wrenched her arm from his grasp. She only succeeded because he let her go. She didn’t move to leave again.

“Not that you have any right to know, but everyone is fine,” she said. She hated him, but she wasn’t so cruel as to let anyone think their family was in danger. “You’d damn well know how they were if you had taken any time to write and tell them that you lived. But I suppose you are too busy, Commander.”

“I have been busy,” he said firmly, though she thought she detected a hint of guilt in his face. “I do what I do to ensure that those I love are safe. It is a necessary sacrifice.”

“Bullshit, Stanton. You had plenty of time to write jokesy letters to me. How long would it take you to tell your sister that you didn’t die in a fucking crater in Kirkwall?”

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” he said, his voice rising. He was finally losing his cool. Good. Something seemed to click in his mind and his outrage grew. “Are you saying YOU are the carpenter?”

She laughed without an ounce of mirth in it. “Just now cottoning on to that, are you? You have gotten dense in your old age, Stanton.”

“CJ,” he mumbled, seeming to only half listen to her. His eyes focused back on her face. “Casey Joiner. Why are you going by a fake name?”

“Who says it’s fake?” she said with a shrug. “For all you know, I got married.”

His eyes widened at that, and he looked as though she had dealt him a physical blow. Perhaps it was just sinking in that he had lost touch with everyone he used to know. Cullen looked as though he wanted to ask a million questions, but he rejected them all before they made it to his mouth. Still, he managed to land on one at last.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, crossing his arms across his chest.

Casey stared into his eyes, looking for any hint of blue but saw none. A small favor from Andraste, that. She turned her nose up at him and crossed her arms, too. She was only about an inch or two shorter than he was, but she still couldn’t manage to be as intimidating looking. The frost in her gaze would have to make up for it.

“You first, Stanton,” she said coldly.

“It is Commander Rutherford in this office and you will address me as such,” he said in a clipped voice. “Why are you here?”

“We had an appointment,” she said curtly.

Cullen sighed. “You know what I mean—why are you here? In Skyhold?”

“What, do you think you’re the only person worried about all the fucking holes in the sky?” she said derisively. “Or do you just doubt my ability to be useful at all? Can’t stick a sword in the demons, might as well fuck off back home?”

“I did not say that,” he said through his teeth.

“Then what the fuck do you mean ‘why am I here’?” she said. “Everyone is here for the same reason, or at least they ought to be. I swear you used to have brains before the Chantry got its claws in you.”

“Why are you lying about your name?” he said. “And on official correspondence, no less. What are you hiding?”

Casey smiled triumphantly, even as her stomach gave a nervous flip. An inelegant change of topics like that was a sure sign she was winning. The real question was why she was playing at all. One part of her was screaming at her to leave, to head straight to Josephine’s office and tell her she was, in fact, fucking off right back home.

But the louder, and rather more bitter, part of Casey that had grown in strength over the years told her she couldn’t be driven off from this cause just because of Cullen Rutherford. She had to stay here, and remind herself that she could still be useful to the world. She had to stay here and make Cullen see how much he had failed his family over the years. How much he had failed her.

She barked out a harsh laugh. “I knew you were a suspicious bastard now, but that’s rich,” she said. “Oh yes, I have been building useful things like the nefarious fiend that I am. I slipped past the Spymaster but there’s no getting around you!”

He was looking at her like she had grown an extra head, and his face was switching between colors and emotions faster than Casey could keep up. It would have been amusing to watch if she weren’t so mad.

“What about your first name then?” he said, waving a paper with Maker-knows-what written on it in her face. “You signed official documentation to join the Inquisition under a false name.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I did not,” she said. “If you had seen it you would know that is a lie, Stanton, and I had thought you above lying. Apparently my opinion had room to drop even more.”

“So you signed the forms with Ac--” he started. She cut him off.

“Although it is not your business, I did,” she said.

“But every letter, every report, it is signed ‘CJ’,” Cullen said, still weirdly hung up on this point.

“Yes,” she said talking as though he were a simpleton. Perhaps years of lyrium had addled his brain. She didn’t rightly know what it did to a body, but based on what she had seen in Kirkwall, it couldn’t be good. “I sign anything legally binding with my full name and anything else with the name that everyone calls me. It is not a confusing concept.”

“Everyone does not call you that,” Cullen argued.

“Everyone important does,” she said.

Cullen’s mouth shut with an audible snap, and he turned away from her. Casey cheered to herself in silent victory at getting him to shut up, even if only for a moment. He walked back around his desk and gathered himself up, hands folded behind his back.

“You are to suspend all work until this matter can be investigated,” he said. “Should you wish to leave, you may collect any pay you are owed and return to South Reach. I will send along a complement of soldiers to ensure the area remains quiet.”

Casey couldn’t helped it. She laughed. The laugh was long and cold and she only stopped when her throat started to hurt. She walked over to his desk and leaned forward.

“Listen to me, Stanton, you are not my Commander, so you can fuck right off with your orders. And you are not my friend, so you can fuck even further off with your questions,” she said, then paused mid-tirade.

Oddly enough, the words she said to hurt him helped her put things into perspective. This cause was bigger than the two of them. She wanted nothing more than to turn tail and leave Skyhold, but she wanted to help. And the fact that she didn’t report to him helped immensely. She took a deep breath, slightly grateful he hadn’t cut in during her brief silence.

“I don’t like it, I don’t like you, but I’ve got a to-do list a mile long and I believe that if anyone needs the attention of the best carpenter in Ferelden, then it’s the organization trying to save the whole world.”

“There are other carpenters available,” he said stiffly. “It does not have to be you. You should return where it is…”

“Ooh, were you going to say ‘safe’?” she said with a snort. “Nothing has been safe since the Blight. And where were you then, eh Rutherford? That’s right, you were playing jailer to some mage children.”

“Don’t you dare go there, Acacia,” he said through gritted teeth.

“No don’t YOU dare, Cullen!” she said, leaning across the desk. “You don’t get to swan in after years of not giving a fuck about me or your family and suddenly act like I need to be sent back FOR MY OWN GOOD.”

“I didn’t say it was for your good, Acacia,” he said with a snarl. “Perhaps it is for mine.”

“If you knew what was good for you, you would stop calling me that,” she said. “You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.”

Their faces were less than a foot apart across the desk as they angrily stared the other down.

“Are you really still upset that I wouldn’t stay behind to indulge your childhood infatuation with me? That I instead left to become my own man?”

She recoiled from the desk with an affronted gasp and slapped the Commander of the Inquisition’s armies full across the face as hard as she could. Being a woman who spent all of her days sawing and hammering, she was able to put quite a bit of force behind. Cullen’s head snapped to the side and a red imprint of her hand began to form almost immediately.

She was out of the door before he even had time to react. It was time for her to get the fuck out of Skyhold.

Chapter Text

Casey, Age 21

Casey had to find Cullen Rutherford.

Nothing had been quite right since the blight, but life was starting to settle down into something that resembled normal. But the blight had changed her. It had stripped away anything resembling naivety as surely as any tragedy would. Blood was on her hands now. Casey took to drinking whenever Mia wasn’t around to fuss. It helped with the nightmares that she hadn’t had before.

And if Casey drank a bit more whenever Branson, who was beginning to look more and more like his brother, spoke glowingly about learning to fight so he could protect their new home in Casey’s stead, Mia never told her off for it.

The Rutherford elders were dead, taken by the Blight. Mia and Casey had become the unwilling parents to the younger Rutherford children and a couple of other orphans from Honnleath. For a time they had made a strange sort of family.

Mia was better with children, having always wanted a brood of her own—if not in quite this way. She was also the better cook. That meant she stayed in whatever camp they had set up, and later in the home that Casey built for them in South Reach.

Casey took over the heavy lifting and the cleaning. And when needed, she took over defense. The archdemon was dead, but that didn’t mean all danger had gone with it. Casey had gotten quite good with her ax in the year or two they had wandered on the road, looking for a safe haven to settle down once more. There had been no choice but to get good or die, really, and chopping down enemies turned out to be only slightly more difficult than chopping down trees.

At least the trees didn’t move. Or bleed on you.

She waited until Mia was settled, until she was sure they were secure enough that she could leave. Casey had to see for herself that the last wayward Rutherford was alive, before the guilt of her own survival crushed her completely.

Casey found him in Kirkwall. It wasn’t a pleasant city to navigate, but it wasn’t hard to find a place called The Gallows. The Chantry really knew how to make things sound as awful as possible and it seemed Kirkwall wanted to raise the bar even further. After seeing a few young people dragged away by the Chantry—including a young boy that she had protected since Honnleath—Casey had flipped rather strongly in her feelings about Templars and Circles.

As a result, she didn’t bother to learn much about them. She knew whatever she learned was likely to piss her off even further. So as it stood, she didn’t know enough about Templars to know yet if Cullen had any say in his transfer away from Kinloch. She wouldn’t be upset that he hadn’t told them. She also gave him the benefit of the doubt when it came to letters. The roads were not exactly returned to the state they had been in before the Blight, and the Rutherfords had only found a decent place to settle very recently.

But as she stood in the office of the Knight-Captain and got dressed down by a stranger wearing his face, a stranger with a blue glow in his eyes, she knew it was all just excuses. Casey was making excuses on Cullen’s behalf because she couldn’t reconcile the noble and caring boy she used to love with the heartless bastard he had become.

He didn’t seem to recognize her, and she made no effort to explain who she was. Casey simply told him she came to tell him that his parents had passed away, and his family had need of him in their new home in South Reach.

“I will do more good here, ensuring these mages are not allowed out into the world to harm even more people,” he had said, his voice cold and distant. “If my family has indeed survived, as you say, they can reach out to me directly.”

He took a long look at her, a cool blue gaze that swept up and down her body. In her younger days, she would have given anything to have Cullen look at her like that. Now it just made her sick.

“If you require money, you may be able to find work at the Blooming Rose,” he said. “I might even visit you myself. You are wasting your time attempting to scam money out of anyone at the Gallows.”

Casey didn’t yell at him, she didn’t scream. She had grown out of that entirely, and had grown into more of a survival instinct. She was surrounded by twitchy soldiers who stank of blue, like the smell after a lightning bolt has cleared. Screaming would not be a good idea and even if it would make it feel better, it would not get through.

A man who looked like Cullen Rutherford stood before her, but the Cullen Rutherford she knew was dead.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and left the Gallows. She never returned to Kirkwall, even when Branson begged her to go, to make sure Cullen had survived the explosion. He looked up to Cullen, wanted to be a Templar just like him. She didn’t have the heart to tell him what Cullen had become, hadn’t told any of them.

The children accepted the nice stories she told about Cullen being perfectly happy, just incredibly busy. She could tell Mia didn’t. Mia knew that if Cullen was alive and hadn’t bothered to reach out, something major had changed. She saw the pain in Casey’s eyes and didn’t question further, perhaps deciding that it was better not to know for sure.

Chapter Text

Josephine was not happy with Casey. She squirmed under the Ambassador’s gaze like a child that had been caught breaking the rules. She hadn’t broken any rules, however. Unless someone had a rule down that you couldn’t slap the Commander of the Inquisition’s armies. Really, it would be a very specific rule to have down, very silly.

She would have done it anyway.

Casey thought that yelling at Cullen would make her feel better or make the petrified heart inside her chest start beating again, but she somehow felt more cold and empty than before. It wasn’t fair. She was right – he had been terribly negligent of his family. But then a small reasonable voice in the back of her head would chime in.

She read the Tale. She knew what had happened in Kirkwall. How terrible things had been. Cullen had seen his own trials, his own terrors had marked his life. If he had been anyone else, one of the apprentices or even a stranger, she would have shown some measure of grace. She would tell herself “well, you never know what a body’s been through” and shrug and move on.

She only couldn’t forgive because it was Cullen. Her points were all valid but she wielded her despair like a weapon against this man purely because he had shattered her heart a few times over.

As soon as Josephine saw her face, she settled Casey down in front of the fireplace and ordered a servant to bring tea. She was coming down from her anger a bit and the care and concern the Ambassador was showing made it difficult to not to cry. It was lucky she managed to keep herself together. Josephine had only just started to inquire what was wrong, when Cullen burst into the room.

She hadn’t quite noticed the stupid furry collar he wore around his neck when she was yelling at him the first time. Casey decided to focus on that ridiculous bit of his person to ground herself. He looked between Josephine and Casey where they sat before the fire and it looked like he already regretted his decision to follow her to Josephine’s office.

Josephine took one look at the angry red hand print on Cullen’s face and her eyes narrowed.

“Commander, what have you done?” she demanded.

Casey smiled at Cullen smugly over Josephine’s shoulder. It felt like mother had just taken her side and she had to resist the urge to parrot her. Yes, Cullen, what have you done? Have you been awful to sweet and perfectly innocent Casey? Cullen turned that shade of red he got when he was angry. It tended to be more purple than his blushes. Some things never change.

“What have I done?” he started to yell. He dialed it back very quickly at a flash in Josephine’s gaze, realizing who he was talking to. “Acacia attacked me, completely unprovoked.”

“Unprovoked?” Casey chimed in. It was her turn to yell, it seemed. Goody. “You insulted me to my face, you righteous bastard.”

“How is a question an insult?” he said, turning to face her directly.

Before Casey could answer, Josephine stepped in—literally. She stood from her armchair and physically placed herself between the two of them. She was looking at Casey with a calculating gaze when it seemed she came to a decision.

“Commander, please sit and do not say another word until you are spoken to again,” she said.

Cullen sat obediently, looking like a schoolboy that had been scolded. As soon as Josephine walked off to fiddle with some runes by the door, he shot Casey a scathing glare. She stuck out her tongue. The epitome of maturity, that was her all right. She pulled her tongue back in her mouth quickly when Josephine returned an sat a stool before the fire, settling down to face the Commander and the carpenter.

“Ser Cullen, how do you know Lady Casey’s real name?”

He snorted at the word “lady” and Casey flipped him off quickly before Josephine could tell her to stop. It earned her a warning glare regardless.

“Answer the question,” Josephine continued.

“We grew up together in Honnleath,” he said, looking at Casey out of the corner of his eye and squirming for some reason.

Josephine sighed heavily. “I see,” she said. “Was there some heartbreak involved? Did she reject your suit?”

Casey had chosen that moment to take a sip of tea and regretted it dearly when she began to choke and had to set the cup down. The only solace she had was that Cullen looked as though he had swallowed a rotten egg.

“There was nothing like that,” Cullen said, frustrated and mildly flustered. “She is my...we were best friends as children. And if anything, she was in love with me, not the other way around.”

He seemed determined on this last point, as if the idea that he had been on the wrong side of a crush was insulting. Casey had recovered enough from trying to breath tea that she was able to defend herself.

“I was 11, Josephine. We were all quite stupid as children, I’m sure,” she said.

Cullen narrowed his eyes at her.

“If we could get back to the matter at hand,” Josephine said wearily, looking between the two of them. “Childhood friends do not typically yell or slap each other as a greeting. I normally have to deal with such things when one of the nobles has a lover’s disagreement in my office.”

Both of them turned red at the word “lovers.” What a ridiculous idea. Casey started speaking almost before she could think, wanting to clear that word from the air where it hung like a physical thing.

“We have not been friends for many years,” she insisted. “In fact, I hate him, and since I imagine you will not wish to toss out the Commander of your armies, that means I am going to be leaving.”

Josephine stood up quickly in alarm, the stool tumbling backwards onto the floor. “Lady Wainwright, you cannot be serious,” she said. “Please do not leave over something like this.”

Casey sighed. “I asked you not to call me that,” she said, looking briefly in Cullen’s direction. He looked ridiculously pleased about something, which meant she probably wouldn’t be happy about it. “I do not want to leave, but I cannot abide working with him.”

“I would also prefer to work with someone far less insubordinate,” Cullen mumbled.

“No one else has any issue with the carpenter, Commander Cullen,” Josephine said, exasperation clear. “In fact it is quite the opposite. Even your own men are quite taken with her on account of her efforts to see them situated.”

She turned to speak to Casey again.

“I do not wish to pry into your past, but it is very hard to resolve this matter when I am unaware of your exact issues with the Commander. I have activated silencing wards around the room. If you decide to share, we run no risk of discovery. I hope we can arrive at a resolution that both parties will find amenable. Your contributions to the Inquisition have been extremely important, my lady.”

“Why are you concerned about discovery? And why aren’t you allowed to use her last name?”

“That is Lady Casey’s business,” Josephine said. “Just as any details of her past are.”

“I do apologize for the inconvenience, Lady Montilyet,” she said politely, trying to prove herself as the good child. “If I had known who your Commander was prior to my arrival, it is possible that all of this may have been avoided. I would never have come in the first place.”

“I am glad then, that you did not know,” Josephine said seriously. “It would have been a grave loss to our cause.”

“Josephine, there are other carpenters in Ferelden,” Cullen said with a note of exasperation. “You can send Acacia on her way with our thanks for all of the work she has done so far.”

Casey flinched slightly at the sound of her own name. Josephine absolutely noticed.

“And why should we dismiss someone who has not only proven themselves capable but also works well with other members of the Inquisition?” Josephine said, her patience finally beginning to wear thin. “Would you really have me dismiss such a valuable asset to our cause simply because you are uncomfortable?”

Cullen leaned back and crossed his arms with a frown. He looked so much like a large, grumpy toddler that Casey had to fight the urge to snicker. Laughing at Cullen—or even being in the same room as him—would have been unthinkable as late as this morning. Perhaps yelling at him had done her some good. Perhaps she could finally let go and move on, and there was no better way to prove it than by working with him.

And if he hated every minute of it, well, that was only a bonus.

“You know what, Josephine? I can be the bigger woman than Cullen, here. I will stay and continue to work with the Inquisition,” Casey said impulsively.

“You will?” Josephine said, looking suspicious about Casey’s sudden change in tone. “While I am glad that one of you has decided to be reasonable, I sincerely hope that means we will not have to deal with a situation such as this again.”

Josephine said she hoped it wouldn’t happen again but her tone said quite clearly that what she meant was this better not happen again.

“You’re only staying to spite me, aren’t you?” he said. “Because I told you to go home?”

“As if I would be that petty,” she said on a mock gasp.

“You absolutely would be,” he grumbled under his breath, still loud enough for everyone to hear.

Josephine was looking between the two of them as if she were running calculations in her head. Whatever conclusion she came to, it seemed she decided to save it for later.

“Can we call this resolved, then?” she said. “Casey will continue to lead construction efforts around Skyhold and the Commander will act civil, as befits a founder of the Inquisition?”

“I am not the only one that has been uncivil!” Cullen said.

“Oh, so you admit it, at least,” Casey said with a grin. “But yes, Josephine, that is correct...with a few conditions.”

Josephine nodded as if this was to be expected and went to her desk to retrieve her writing board. She nodded for Casey to list her conditions.

“I believe it would be prudent if all construction decisions or large orders that require oversight by the Commander are discussed in scheduled meetings with an intermediary present.”

Josephine nodded and began scribbling down notes. “That is very reasonable,” she said, almost sounding surprised. “Anything else?”

“I reserve the right to overrule the Commander’s decisions in cases where I feel there is a safety concern. Otherwise, he is free to dictate the order of his projects and the authorization of military funds.”

“That is very generous,” Josephine said. “Do continue.”

Casey took a deep breath, and looked at Cullen. She wanted to see his face when he reacted to this one so she said the words to him directly.

“Lastly, the Commander is forbidden from speaking my name or discussing our shared past with me or with anyone else. Should I find this rule has been broken, I will withdraw ALL forms of support from the Inquisition.”

Josephine paled at the full implication behind that statement. Cullen, predictably, lost his cool again.

“You cannot be serious,” he said. “I cannot use your name? Are we children again? What am I to call you then? Carpenter woman? Our Lady of Wood?”

“I realize you are being a sarcastic asshole, but I quite like the second one. It has layers to it,” she said, inordinately pleased that he was taking it so poorly.

“But I mean to say you cannot use my real name, as you call it. You can call me by what others call me or nothing at all. Except whatever nickname Tethras comes up with. I keep having to shoot his ideas down because everything he comes up with sounds a bit too sexual, even for me.”

“Your terms are acceptable,” Josephine said before Cullen even had a chance to respond to this. She extended a hand for Casey to shake. “I will send along an updated contract later.”

“This is utterly ridiculous,” Cullen said. “Do I have no say in this at all?”

“Considering the value that Casey provides, she is asking for very little,” Josephine said, finally done with Cullen’s shit. “You will set your personal issues aside and acquiesce for the sake of the Inquisition. As the Inquisition’s Ambassador, I have determined that the benefits of this arrangement far outweigh the cost.”

Cullen looked at Josephine with no small measure of surprise, likely never having heard her speak with such force. Casey looked at Josephine with stars in her eyes. She would build that woman whatever she wanted from here on out.

Without so much as a nod, Cullen stomped out of the office. The two women watched him go, before turning to the sound of the opposite door opening.

“Well, that was rather amusing,” the Spymaster said. “My thanks, good lady.”

Casey bowed her head slightly in the Spymaster’s direction, because there was no doubt that is who had emerged. “I do what I can.”

Chapter Text

Casey found herself soon tied up with work enough to keep her busy for a full day most days. Josephine had a hard rule about taking days off. Many people in Skyhold were perfectly content to follow that rule and take time to rest, but Josephine had a list of those she had to hunt down and force into leisure. Casey was absolutely on that list.

Still, even with her “downtime” Casey found herself building. She had set up a workbench in her quarters first thing. Sometimes she would sneak and catch up on whatever her current project was. But often she would work on her own quarters.

A new loft went up first, along with a spiral staircase. She made herself a proper bed next. Casey was not a morning person, despite the fact that Skyhold hours often saw her up at the ass crack of dawn. That just made sleep all the more precious to her. Especially when that sleep came without dreams. She couldn’t take her sleeping potion every night, but that’s where lots and lots of ale came in handy.

But such work didn’t keep her occupied for a full day most days. Sometimes stain would have to set or boards would have to be bent and then she had to wait. Casey was very efficient at building furniture after so many years, but no matter how much of a master she was, there were some steps that couldn’t be rushed.

She was quite young to be a Master in her craft, but that came from having started very early. Her Papa had a hammer in her hand as soon as she had been able to hold it without injuring herself. Well, perhaps before. She had broken toes more than once as a child, and she had absolutely walloped herself in the face before. She liked to think that was the reason why she had such a charming personality.

Even after giving herself the best looking room in Skyhold, decked out with intricately carved furniture...she was bored on her days off. That was all there was to it. She was bored and that boredom led her to a realization—she hadn’t fucked with Cullen yet. The bastard rested easy just a short distance away across the battlements, no doubt sitting at his ridiculously large desk barking out orders every day. What was the point in being here if she didn’t take him down a peg or two?

The first thing she did, of course, was tattle. Although, that was less about taking Cullen down a peg and more about taking a worry off Mia’s shoulders. Really, making sure Cullen got an earful from Mia was just a bonus. Casey sent off a letter detailing Cullen’s current life truthfully, but it was absolutely skewed so he looked as awful as possible. It wasn’t hard—she just told Mia exactly how she felt.

That after all the worry and heartache, Cullen was sitting in a tower comfortably. That he was receiving a salary. She couldn’t get from Josephine what it was, but there was no doubt he was being paid well. He was the Commander, after all, surely they wouldn’t skimp. And that was the other thing—he was a Commander. At 33. How wonderful for him to have advanced so quickly in his career while he was out not worrying about his family or friends.

She sent the letter off and waited for days in gleeful anticipation of Mia’s reaction to the news. She even visited the bastard more often, under the pretense of asking about some room or another that needed repair or a weapon rack. Cullen never mentioned anything about a letter, but it was long past the time when he should have gotten something. Casey’s anticipation turned to worry. Mia was alright, surely? Eventually, she broke down and asked.

Rylen was their intermediary for the meeting that day. He was generally the go-to man for such a thing. He called himself “the babysitter” and generally used the meetings as an excuse to sit down and take a load off. Casey didn’t begrudge the man this—she had seen him put the recruits through their paces, and he was tough, but fair. He didn’t make the men run a single lap that he didn’t run himself. Only he ran it faster, and fully armored. The only thing she resented about his presence was that he was Cullen’s right hand man. It felt unfair, like the mediator was automatically skewed out of her favor.

They had just wrapped up a discussion on a new shipment of lumber from a logging site the Inquisitor had found while out and about closing down rifts. She wanted to ask how the man kept stumbling across perfectly serviceable but abandoned sources of materials and no one seemed to take issue with him just claiming them as the Inquisition’s own. But she didn’t. Perhaps it was best not to know how Josephine managed such things.

“So, Commander,” she began, rolling up her notes. “Had any letters in lately?”

He turned to her with an eyebrow raised, instantly on his guard. As he should be, she thought. He just looked at her as if he were waiting for her to continue.

“Personal letters? From family, perhaps?” she asked, picking at the corner of a page.

Cullen’s eyes lit with understanding, and he narrowed his eyes at her, but he was smiling. It was a wicked smile. She didn’t like it one bit.

“Not that it is any of your business Ac—carpenter, but I did receive a rather lovely letter from Mia,” he said. “I have yet to respond, but she tells me young Stanton is still insistent on breaking in the new horse.”

Casey rose from her chair, alarmed. “Maker’s balls, Stan can’t be trusted around that horse, he nearly broke his neck last time,” she exclaimed. “What in Andraste’s name is Mia thinking?”

She stopped when she caught sight of Cullen’s face. His smile had widened, and he raised a brow at her in challenge.

“You know, I had planned to say nearly the same thing myself,” he said.

Oh, that pissed her off and he had known it would because he looked near to laughter as her face reddened.

“How do—how do you even know about Stan? He was born during…” she said but then trailed off, trying to do some mental math.

“During Kirkwall, yes,” Cullen said, some of his mirth draining away. “While it is unfortunate I missed out on the tales of his early life, Mia has been very diligent about catching me up.”

Casey’s mouth hung open, and then she began wagging her jaw up and down, making noises of disbelief. She probably looked like a drowning fish—and a rather funny one at that, if Rylen’s snickers were anything to go by. But she couldn’t manage to get a word out. She didn’t know if she was more pissed at Cullen or Mia and she wasn’t sure what to even say. So she stormed off back to her tower to plan for another day. Round one went to Cullen.

Mia got quite the earful in her next letter out. The expletives in that missive outnumbered the other verbs and nouns to the point that it almost made no sense. But Mia’s rather smug letter back told her that the point absolutely did get across.

Case,

Cullen wrote to me for the first time in a long while just a few years ago and no amount of bitterness would have led me to turn my brother away over not writing enough after a bleeding Blight and from the middle of the place where the war with the mages started. You weren’t even in South Reach anymore at that point.

And as for why I didn’t tell you...that much should be obvious. I haven’t been able to say his name for years without having to deal with a fit after. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I know you need to get over it. BOTH of you. I knew exactly where he was when I encouraged you to take up the job and I can only hope now you’ll stop acting like you’re still children every time you see each other.

And Stan gets to keep the horse. Children have to make mistakes to grow. You of all people should know that.

Love,

Mia

Casey groaned and slammed her head on her desk. She would love to imagine that Mia wasn’t the type to set her up like this, but she absolutely was. Mia was Ferelden through and through, but with her skills at playing people, Casey often wondered if Mia might not have made an excellent Orlesian. She had no doubt she could play the Game like a master if given the chance. But there was no way she’d ever say that out loud.

Comparing a Ferelden to an Orlesian was about the highest insult you could give, and Mia was as proud of her heritage as any of them.

But a Wainwright could be just as stubborn as any Rutherford. There was no way she’d go down without a fight.

Chapter Text

Most of Cullen’s men were too loyal to him in a distant sort of way for Casey to really get any of them on her side. They liked her, of course, but there was no way they’d choose her side in a disagreement. But she found an unexpected ally in his second.

Rylen was absolutely loyal to Cullen, but he was close enough to Cullen as a person to enjoy fucking with his Commander. More importantly, he was high enough in rank to get away with such a thing as well. She wouldn’t have dared to approach him first—he actually reached out to her.

It hadn’t taken Rylen long to notice that his Commander stumbled over her name in every meeting and his curiosity got the best of him. Rylen sought her out at the tavern one evening to ask about it. She was not sober enough to avoid telling him the truth, but at least sober enough to press him for secrecy.

“’S really important, Ry,” she said blearily. She hadn’t been able to get hold of the herbs she needed for her sleep potion for near on a week. She was desperately getting shit-faced before she started to hallucinate from lack of sleep. “I need you to—ugh, this batch tastes like piss no matter how much I drink. I need you to mean it when you promise not to go around telling everyone.”

Rylen was well into his cups as well, but he was steady as he put his hand to his chest and swore. “On my honor as a Starky,” he said.

Casey snorted. “Aren’t you known for seducing married women with those tattoos of yours?” she said.

“Aye, but we’re not talking about that kind of honor,” he said with a grin. “Now come on, I need something to poke the bear with. He’s fair too uptight for his own good.”

“Right well, my real name—” she began, pausing to determine if that burp was actually a burp or vomit waiting to happen. She swallowed it back with a shake of her head. Best not risk it.

“My actual first name is Acacia,” she said. “But I couldn’t pronounce my own damn name when I was little, so...you know, Casey’s easier.”

Rylen’s eyes lit up with understanding. “So you and Rutherford have known each other for quite some time?”

“I’ve not known him longer than I knew him,” she said. She stopped. “Did that make any sense?”

“Aye, it did,” Rylen said with a laugh. “And it explains a whole hell of a lot. He must have done a number on such a sweet lass as yourself to have you so full of bitters.”

“No one has ever called me sweet, Ry,” she said, looking at him with narrow eyes. “Salty, absolutely. But never sweet.”

He waved a hand at her. “You’ve got the mouth of an Antivan sailor, there’s no doubt there. And you drink like a fish. And you’ve got a tendency to--”

“Get to the point,” she nearly bellowed. He laughed.

“Underneath a lot of that bluster, you’re a good woman,” he said. “You’ve been far nicer to men far worse than our Commander.”

She shrugged off his assessment, not knowing quite how to respond. “It sounds an awful lot like you’re on his side,” she said. “In which case you can fuck off. But if you tell anyone about my name, I’ll have your balls for plumb bobs.”

“Ach, you’ve got the wrong idea,” he said. “Rutherford must have been a right ass to turn a woman like you against him. Besides, it’s hilarious when he gets all worked up.”

Casey raised her mug in a toast. “That it is, Rylen,” she said. “That it is.”

The next meeting Casey had with Cullen, Rylen was actively involved in the discussion. They were discussing the pros and cons of installing a fence along a portion of the steep road out of Skyhold.

“It would need to be fairly high and solid if part of the aim is to keep those that are walking from tumbling off any drops,” she said leaning over the map spread out on Cullen’s desk.

It was a fine piece of work, something that had been there when the Inquisition arrived. She desperately wanted to open up the drawers and take a look at how they were put together, but she would rather cut off her hand than ask Cullen for something.

“That’s true,” Rylen said slowly, his smirk the only indication of what he was about to do. “But what if the horses have to tear off after an attacker and the fence is too high for them to jump, Acacia?”

Cullen started violently, his hand brushing against the map as he snapped up to stare at Rylen. He looked to Casey—probably to gauge her reaction. She didn’t look directly at him, watching him from the corner of her eyes as she looked to Rylen and gave him a winning smile. Rylen’s grin grew wider in response.

“That is a fair point,” she said. “What if we vary the height of the fence? Make it taller in areas where neither man nor horse needs to be leaping over?”

“Excellent solution, Acacia,” he replied with a wink in her direction.

The shade of purple Cullen turned was a new one. Casey put it in her journal that evening—a journal that started with “today I flustered an Antivan” and was now mostly full of things like “today I made the Commander use an actual swear instead of the kind old ladies use.”

Rylen became Casey’s go-to choice for chaperon whenever she had to have a meeting with Cullen. If it felt like the tone was getting too civil, Rylen would step in with a question...and casually drop Casey’s name.

Even though he looked as though he desperately wanted to ask, Cullen did not pester Casey for an explanation on why Rylen knew what her true name was. He did pester Rylen, as he would later report, but the Starkhaven lad was immune to all forms of persuasion and aggression that Cullen executed by turns to try and get the information out of him. His frustration and suspicion only mounted as the weeks went on until finally Cullen had had enough.

He stormed to Josephine’s office and demanded a new mediator be found. Round two went to Casey.

Chapter Text

Aside from the major battles there were plenty of minor skirmishes. Even by Casey’s more generous counts, neither really had much of a lead on the other. It didn’t stop her from trying to best Cullen whenever the opportunity to needle arose.

Casey placed a lovely wooden sign on each of the doors leading into Cullen’s tower proclaiming that the “Cumhander” of the Inquisition was in residence that kept finding it’s way back to his door no matter how many times he took it down. Cullen managed to “accidentally” send at least one guard rotation through her tower at different hours of the night on random days, causing her to wake up the next morning looking like a particularly disgruntled raccoon.

She never disagreed with him on necessary improvements to Skyhold. Casey would never take her spiteful games quite so far as that. But whenever something came up that Cullen simply wanted...she opposed him as a rule. Cullen thinks the stable doors need repair? Casey would argue that she needed to work on the stalls instead. Cullen wants floor racks for the new shipment of swords? She pushed hard for them to be wall-mounted instead, even though it meant more work.

What really galled was that most of the jobs picked and the order Cullen picked them in lined up nearly perfect with her own list, but she’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing as much. It was worth it to derail her own plans to see the look of frustration that crossed his face when he couldn’t get even the simplest commission through.

Eventually, however, the military jobs ran dry. Casey and Cullen didn’t have a reason to meet much anymore and she was frustrated to find that she was bored. Again. That is, until more work came from the blessed Inquisitor himself. She would have never admitted it to anyone but having a reason to argue with Cullen again really lit up her day.

Josephine had asked the Inquisitor about the upgrades to one of the inner courtyards. It was overgrown but ridiculously temperate, and many of the nobles rooms overlooked the area. Josephine wanted that part of Skyhold to reflect more of the Inquisitor’s tastes and values. Like any good leader, he had polled his advisors and the craftsman present for ideas.

Josephine suggested setting up a cafe area, such as the ones seen in Val Royeaux. Leliana proposed a garden to grow herbs that may be hard to find in the wild. Cullen suggested Chantry statues and small peaceful nooks for the penitent to pray, since the small chapel to Andraste could not hold many of the faithful at once. Josephine changed her answer when she heard Cullen’s idea, believing that having such a place for the faithful would only increase Inquisitor Lavellan’s reputation among those who believed he was Andraste’s Herald.

The Inquisitor looked visibly discomfited by this. In an act of desperation, he reached out to Gatsi for his opinion. Gatsi put his vote in for a garden. He didn’t give a reason, but Casey knew very well what the reason behind his choice was. He likely didn’t give two figs about whatever was chosen, but choosing a garden meant he didn’t have to add another commission to his still very long list.

The Seeker was out on some jaunt to find the rest of her order so all eyes fell to Casey to break the tie. Cullen started to protest as soon as he saw the slow smile cross her face.

“Now wait just one moment,” he said. “The carpenter will choose the opposite of whatever I have chosen. There is no way she will provide an objective decision on this.”

Casey made an affronted noise. He was right, of course, but then he wasn’t right. Casey had no love for the Chantry and by all accounts the “Herald of Andraste” didn’t either. He was Dalish for fucks sake. So while she absolutely would feel a little frisson of pleasure at putting Cullen on the losing side of an argument, she absolutely had good reason to choose against him.

“As a matter of fact, I was going to suggest the garden,” she began, but held up a hand to stall his protests. Surprisingly he listened, the presence of both Josephine and the Inquisitor no doubt making him far more likely to be civil. He had no trouble talking over her in their private meetings, after all. “But it is not for the rather spiteful reasons that the Commander will accuse me of. A garden we can use to grow Royal Elfroot is going to go a long way to helping with the wounded. And you can pray all you want in a garden. But—and this is the important bit—you can pray to whoever you damn well please.”

She had delivered all this directly to Cullen and his face that had been locked into an expression of disdain morphed into one of surprise as she spoke. Casey would absolutely count that as a win. Not all battles had to end with him angry, after all. It was enough for her just to catch him off guard.

“Well, I think that seals it then,” the Inquisitor said, looking at her with a small smile. “If our craftsmen believe a garden would be a good idea, who am I to say otherwise? I’ll be sure to bring back some useful seeds whenever I find a good specimen in the wild. That’ll be it for today. I’d rather like to rest while I’m here.”

As they all trickled down the hallway out of the ominously named War Room, Cullen pulled Casey to the side. Gatsi hung back and looked to Casey with a raised brow, asking her without words if she needed him. She knew how much work he had yet to do. An apprentice had royally botched a job in the kitchens and Gatsi had to fix it himself. She waved him off and tried to communicate with her facial expression that she would be fine. Gatsi shrugged and continued down the hall until it was just Casey, Cullen, and the giant fucking hole in the wall.

“Did you mean what you said in there?” Cullen demanded, arms crossing over his chest. “It is one thing to seduce my second in command or put ridiculous signs on my door, but it is quite another to weigh in on larger decisions with no other design besides getting back at me.”

Casey stared at him for a moment, taking a deep breath that she would absolutely need before she started to respond. “There’s...a lot to unpack there,” she said. “I’m not sure where to even begin.”

“You can begin with an explanation,” he said. He sounded rather pissy. Why had she ever liked him as a child? And as a teenager? And perhaps for a space of time in her 20s even after he basically told her to go be a prostitute in Kirkwall?

“I believe I expressed my opinion pretty clearly earlier,” she said.

“Yes, it sounded rather convincing,” he said. “But you’ve been against me on anything you could get away with opposing for months now. Why should I believe you are being genuine now?”

Casey sighed, suddenly weary. This was starting to not be fun anymore. There were talks of a battle soon and suddenly her little entertainments were not looking quite so fun anymore. No one knew quite when it would be—she heard some mention of the Inquisitor knowing the future but she didn’t know that she bought that entirely.

But a battle meant that the Commander would be needed. Out there, in the field, and not safely sitting in a room in Skyhold. While she knew he had seen battle before, she couldn’t risk pestering him before one. She couldn’t face Mia if she pushed her brother into battle at anything less than his best.

“You can think what you will,” she said, allowing the weariness to creep into her voice. Her tone seemed to cause him pause where none of her words had worked before. She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she walked away.

Casey wouldn’t count this as a win for either of them. In fact, she really stopped counting at all after that.

Chapter Text

The next month passed with shockingly few incidents. Casey brought as many requests to Rylen as she could in order to avoid interacting with Cullen at all. Despite the fact that Casey was doing this as a way to avoid conflict rather than stir any up, it seemed to rile Cullen up even more. He was downright sullen whenever they were forced to meet. His attitude made Casey feel nostalgic and she absolutely hated it.

When she was 8 years old, he had thrown a similar fit. Cullen had been upset when Casey had taken to following around one of the other boys in the village after Cullen had snapped at her. He had been frustrated one day and told her to quit following him like “a little duckling.”

Casey had been rather more affronted by this than he had expected, and so she declared she couldn’t be friends with someone who was such a meanie face. She picked someone else to spend time with—a 9 year old boy who did not seem to mind her presence. His name was Thomas. He very quickly declared that he would be her beau when he was old enough and Casey was quite taken with the idea that someone would want to woo her instead of it being the other way around.

Whenever she had gone to the Rutherford homestead to help her Papa fix the plow or pick up some bread from Ma Rutherford, Cullen had crossed his arms and huffed at her just the same as he did now. Only it had been far more adorable when he was 10. Eventually he gave in and won his squire back with a passionate speech that affected little Casey far more than she was willing to admit, and the promise of cake the next time Ma Rutherford had the ingredients.

Even if she had wanted to, Thomas no longer wanted to spend time with her in the weeks following. It wasn’t until years later that she found out why. Cullen had told the boy that Casey was starting to show signs of magic and that if he wasn’t careful she might accidentally set Thomas on fire. Cullen was the only one that could spend time with her because he was going to be a Templar one day, after all.

Thomas had spilled the whole story to her from between her tits after a particularly good harvest festival when she was 16. Rather than make her laugh, the story had found the lad dumped on his ass while Casey stomped off home. She didn’t laugh about it until much later. At the time she felt a strange mixture of fury and shame—as if she had been caught cheating on a boy who had never loved her.

“You know, lass,” Rylen said one day, with more seriousness than normal. They had somehow ended up meeting around the same time every week to have an ale and playfully talk shit about the Commander. Although it had turned into simple ale drinking recently. “I don’t know what there is between you and the Commander, but the man seems to lose all sense where you’re involved. It’s fun as hell to pick on him, but are you sure you can’t give him a fair pass on whatever it is that happened?”

Casey shook her head. “I’m sure that’s what that old walnut Giselle would want me to do,” she said, then affected a mocking Orlesian accent. “Ze Maker calls on us to forgeeve, not only for our sake but for ze sake of othehrz.”

“Well, she’s not full wrong,” Rylen said, scratching his chin tattoos.

“Besides, you have to give a damn about someone in order to want their forgiveness,” Casey said, the words cutting just a bit as they left her mouth. She fully believed the truth of them and thought herself long over it, but apparently she was wrong.

“You think the Commander doesn’t care what you think of him?” Rylen said incredulously.

“Correct.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“As serious as I get.”

“I have seen that man stare down a rage demon and calmly stab it in the face, but he loses every ounce of his composure within minutes around you and you think it’s because he doesn’t care?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, but she sounded unsure, even to herself. She shook her head to clear the thought. “Besides I’m scarier than a rage demon.”

Rylen chuckled, mercifully allowing the subject to drop. “Aye, but at least you’re a far prettier sight to see before you die.”

So it was that when she received a truly outrageous request from the desk of the Commander, she attempted to take it up calmly with his Second first. Casey stomped her way across the courtyard where Rylen was putting some new recruits through their paces and waved the request in front of his face. He sighed, as if he had expected her arrival.

“I suppose that means you’ve seen about the courtyard upgrades then?” Rylen said. “Or can I hope that instead you’ve come to declare your undying love for me in letter form?”

“This is totally unacceptable,” she said, much more calmly than she felt. But her rage wasn’t for Rylen – it was directed higher.

“What’s so wrong with having a place to train?” Rylen said. “Here I figured you might see the bright side of having two shirtless soldiers to ogle. I’ve seen you perched up with that Tevinter mage whenever we do one-on-one training.”

Casey pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes in irritation. “Rylen, you know quite well that I have no objection to seeing buff, shirtless soldiers spar,” she said. “And I will gladly build 15 such rings but not at the expense of an infirmary that could save the very same adorable buff soldier’s lives!”

Rylen shifted uncomfortably and with a dread sense of foreboding in her stomach, she knew what he was about to say. “This is going to have to be one you take up with the Commander, lass,” he said. “It’s above my pay.”

Her shoulders slumped and she looked like a sullen child. “I know,” she said. “I knew before I even found you, but dammit, a girl can dream.”

“Aye, and you’re free to dream of me all you like,” he said with a wink. “But for now you have to pull yourself up and go have a nice, calm discussion with our dear Commander.”

She snorted. “Right, Ry, I’ll get right on that,” she said, stomping up to the battlements to the sound of his laughter.

Cullen was in the middle of a meeting when she entered his office, so Casey quietly sat herself down in a chair in the corner and picked at the grit that had built up under her nails until his business had concluded. She heard him stumble once as he barked out orders when she first came in, but otherwise he seemed perfectly calm.

It took some time to clear out every messenger, scout, and company leader from the room, but eventually they were left alone.

“What do you need, carpenter?” Cullen said, sounding weary. “I am in no mood for your jabs today.”

She slapped the order for a sparring ring down on her desk. “I refuse to build a sparring ring,” she said, then amended. “Not in this area and not right now, at least.”

A sparring ring did have all of the advantages that Rylen had mentioned, after all. And probably some military use, not that she cared. Cullen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in an unconscious mirror to her reaction earlier.

“This decision is not up for debate,” he said. “The Inquisitor himself made the decision to place a sparring ring and training dummies at the entrance of the keep to display the might of the Inquisition’s armies.”

Casey snorted derisively. “Yes, tremble in fear at the mighty Inquisition!” she said. “Who exactly are we trying to intimidate? Is Corypheus coming for tea?”

She was surprised when his mouth quirked up in a derisive grin. It pulled at a scar on his lip that hadn’t been there before when she met him in Kirkwall.

“That was my argument as well,” he said. “Careful, or someone might accuse you of agreeing with me on something.”

She took a step back and dropped her arms, some of the fight in her flagging. “You opposed the sparring ring?” she said.

“Despite your low estimation of me, I actually do put the well-being of my soldiers above stupid displays of power,” Cullen said, irritated. At least the tone of his voice left her feeling a bit more on solid ground, even if the turn of the conversation had thrown her.

“Well…” she said, mulling over what she was about to say. She didn’t want to say it, it would burn coming out, but this was too important to let go. “Perhaps our combined voice on this matter will convince the Inquisitor—and I’m guessing Josephine—that this course of action is unwise?”

“Combined voice?” Cullen said, eyebrows popping up in surprise. “You would walk into the War Room and agree with me on something?”

“Right is right,” she said. “Even if it comes from an asshole.”

“That sounds about right,” he said on a sigh.

Casey was suddenly struck with an idea. “Did the Inquisitor specify exactly where this ring should go or did he just say ‘in the courtyard?’” she asked.

Cullen looked at her suspiciously. “He just said to put it in the courtyard. Why do you ask?”

“Because perhaps we can have our cake and eat it, too,” she said.

“Pardon?”

“We can build an infirmary AND have a place for hot, shirtless soldiers to spar,” she said, excitement bleeding into her voice.

Cullen colored a bit and cleared his throat. “I do not believe that was the intent...it is out of the question, however,” he said, regaining some measure of composure. “According to Josephine there is only room in the budget for one improvement.”

Casey waved her hand dismissively at his protest. “I can do both without using a penny more of the Inquisition’s money than I am given,” she said with utmost confidence.

“I will not have you cut corners,” Cullen said sternly. “Even on something as straightforward as a sparring ring. I won’t have soldiers I worked hard to train fall through cheap wood.”

“I guarantee the utmost quality for both,” she said solemnly. “If I should fail or go over my budget, I give you full authority to see me exiled from the Inquisition. I will return to South Reach and spend the rest of my days chasing down loose animals for your sister.”

He perked up at that, as she knew he would. “Very well,” he said. “What do you need?”

So it was that even though neither of them agreed to anything aloud, a temporary peace was declared. The night watchmen in particular were pleased to see the Commander acting civilly around the carpenter. Perhaps it meant they could go a week without being screamed out of a tower by a wild-eyed banshee with the mouth of a sailor.

Chapter Text

Casey was staring down the nipples of a giant fucking Qunari and wondering why she made such poor life decisions. The sparring ring had been built under time and so far under budget that the Inquisitor demanded a review of Casey’s purchases, but Josephine assured him that everything was above-board. She had actually done the same thing and not found anything out of order. Even after three separate reviews.

There was nothing Casey loved more than being insubordinate and still coming out on top.

Josephine couldn’t be mad because she got what she wanted and the Inquisitor barely seemed to care. She suspected he had just picked a sparring ring to get the advisors to quit arguing. More importantly, Casey got to live with the knowledge that the injured they found in Ferelden and beyond would receive proper care. Everyone had won and she had gotten a little too high on the feeling.

After a few celebratory drinks at the Herald’s Rest, she somehow found herself challenging any takers to a sparring match in order to “test” the new ring. Her only takers were Jim and the Iron Bull.

“Fuck yeah,” she had slurred at Bull, raising her mug to slam it against his. “Can’t think of a better stress test to my wood than a big motherfucker like you.”

“I am pretty adept at stress testing wood,” he said with a wink. Or a blink. It was hard to tell with one eye.

Jim had gone first. Bull called him “the warm-up” and being the good-natured sort, Jim didn’t take offense in the least. Casey could tell from his movements that if he were any less sloshed, she might have been in real trouble. As it was, the scout was far too gone to put his all into the match. He took his shirt off early on and seemed far more concerned with impressing a very attractive Templar man and mage woman who stood on the edge of the ring looking up at him with starry—and glazed—gazes.

Casey won that fight with minimal effort and Jim found himself being escorted by the man and the woman off to a quiet room to ‘treat his wounds.’ In her months at Skyhold, she had heard quite a few tales of Jim’s sexcapades. She had no doubt this would be another page to add to his legend. She wondered idly if bagging two people at once counted as one notch or two in a bedpost.

After watching Jim be carried off, she found herself shortly afterwards slightly sloshed and gripping the large fighting ax she had lovingly dubbed “Thwack,” hoping that the Qunari was the merciful sort. Bull lifted an ax of his own that appeared to weigh more than she did.

Casey didn’t even have the comfort of armor. For one thing, she didn’t own a set. She had learned self-defense, not all-out war and so there had never been a call for plate mail. Even if she had some, it wouldn’t have helped. This particular challenge called for being shirtless. She drew the line at removing her breast band, however, especially since they had drawn a crowd.

“Guess my tits will have to be enough,” Bull said, then flexed his massive pecs one by one in a little dance.

“Alright, big boy, lets get this over with,” she said. The alcohol was starting wear off and she missed it. “I imagine it’s going to be quick.”

“That confident?” he said with a grin.

“The exact opposite,” Casey said with a grim laugh. “Just make sure you whack the wood hard enough to prove I built it well, but not hard enough to break my skull open, yeah?”

“No promises,” he said.

Casey shrugged. “I tried. My safe word is ‘pigeon.’”

Without further ado, she hefted her ax and headed for Bull’s knees. He was big, and she would go at him like a tree. Hew the base, and the rest topples. Unfortunately, Bull was a lot more mobile than a tree and he sidestepped her easily.

“You’re better than I thought, little tree,” he said. “Keep it coming.”

She lifted her weapon again, bouncing slightly back and forth to keep her momentum going. The Iron Bull fought differently than darkspawn. It was more similar to fighting bandits, the difference being training. Bull was not only trained by the Qun, he was a seasoned mercenary. He fought well enough that people paid him for it, while most bandits were just desperate losers who couldn’t manage a trade well enough to care for themselves.

Casey built up a solid sheen of sweat coming at him from various angles but it was obvious he was toying with her. He blocked her attacks and occasionally came at her with slow blows of his own, but it seemed he was more content to learn how she moved than to actually engage.

Casey had no warrior’s pride to take offense at this. If anything, she was grateful that he wasn’t taking this battle seriously enough to do her any harm.

“So little tree,” Bull said, his breath almost insulting even. “When are you going to tell the Commander how you managed to build this ring and an infirmary on shit and wishes?”

“Didn’t you...know?” she gasped out. “I build exclusively...using shit...and wishes.” She paused long enough to heft up her ax again. “And stop calling me that. Worst nickname ever.”

“Closer to your real name than the one you’re using now,” he said with a glint in his eye.

“Not much of a secret,” she replied with an eye roll. “I’m not hiding my real name, I just don’t prefer to use it.”

“Cullen knows it.”

“Mmhmm.”

“But he doesn’t use it,” Bull said.

“Nope.”

“Why is that?”

“Why do Seekers love to attack bears?” she said with a huff.

“Probably the same reason you attack Cullen,” he said.

“The bears are assholes? I can get behind that explanation.”

“They secretly want to fuck the bears.”

She blushed but ignored what he was saying. “I’m telling Seeker Pentaghast you said that.”

“Be my guest,” he said with a grin.

Casey sighed heavily. “Are you here to smash big fucking weapons together or to have a cozy heart-to-heart?”

He shrugged, then cracked his neck. “Why not both?”

She grunted and rushed in towards his left side. He pulled himself up to block, but at the last second, she shifted her hands to grab the head of her ax instead of the handle. She swung it around and used the handle to whack the back of the Bull’s knees.

He hadn’t been expecting the attack, had been too focused on the blade, and he went to his knees like a 100-year oak. Casey crowed in triumph, but unfortunately for her, Bull had swung his greatsword around in an attempt to catch is balance on the way down and lost control of it. He had been careful during their token sparring match to pull back so the full weight of his massive sword wouldn’t make full contact, but now he didn’t have full control of the weapon.

She saw his eye widen as the butt of the blade approached her head. Then she saw stars. Then she didn’t see much of anything.

Chapter Text

Casey came to with the worst headache she had ever had in her life. She kept her eyes shut, sure that if she opened them things would be ten times worse. Despite this, light seemed to filter through and she hated every bit of it. This was beyond a normal hangover and she couldn’t quite remember why. She groaned and a voice answered.

“Just lay still for now,” it said. “I’ll have the healers fetch another potion.”

She cracked open an eye and lifted her head just enough to see a backlit figure with a halo of golden hair. A moment of panic flitted through her—surely it wasn’t one of those dreams again? But her her head hurt far too much for this to be the Fade.

“Cullen?” she croaked out before letting her head fall back to the pillow and closing her eyes. “At least I know I’m not dead.”

“And why is that?” She thought she heard the sound of him crossing his arms across his chest.

“You’d be banging Andraste on a golden throne or whatever it is you religious types wish for your afterlife, not standing over me looking all pretty.” And if this were a dream you’d be doing a lot worse than that, she thought.

“Maker’s breath,” he said, sounding slightly strangled. No doubt deeply offended at her blasphemy. She would have giggled if she hadn’t been sure her head would pop off. “At least now I know your brain was not damaged.”

“No more than before,” she grumbled. “I’m sorry, did you say a health potion was on it’s way?”

“Here, Casey,” she heard from her other side. A hand grabbed hers and placed a vial into her palm. “Bit more than usual, taste will be more bitter than a nun’s asshole, but that’s because I mixed in a hangover cure along with the standard brew.”

“Adan, you’re a bleeding saint.”

She sat up with no small amount of effort and cracked her eyes open to help guide the vial to her mouth and knocked it back in one go. She immediately started hacking as the bitter, burning mess hit the back of her throat, but luckily she managed to choke it all down. Within the space of a minute, some of the fog in her head cleared and she felt like she could at least sit up without vomiting up entire organs.

“Fuck me, I take it back,” she said hoarsely. “What the hell was in that?”

“You’ll thank me when you can still hold a hammer later,” he said gruffly. “But you won’t need to. Least I can do after you set me up with some proper facilities, not to mention building me an actual bed to sleep on.”

“I truly do appreciate it, but I hope I don’t need any more of your favors for a while,” she said, rubbing her tongue against the roof of her mouth in a vain effort to get the taste to go away.

“So do I,” he said, then he left without so much as a goodbye. Adan didn’t believe in small talk. He was on her good list.

Casey turned her attention back to Cullen, who was standing at the foot of her cot looking up at a spot on the wall above her head with a determined stare. His arms were indeed crossed across his chest.

“Alright,” she said with a sigh. “So what happened?”

“You decided it would be a good idea to take on a trained mercenary three times your size in a one-on-one fight,” he said tightly. “Using real weapons.”

Bits of the night leading up to the fight were starting to filter back in. “Ah, is it too much to hope I at least made a mark on him?” she asked. “A small bruise maybe?”

“The Iron Bull seems none the worse for wear, except for his conscience,” he said.

She snorted. “Good, that’ll give me something new to pick on him for,” she said. “I was running out of eye jokes.”

Cullen finally met her eyes at this. “Absolutely not,” he said. “I may not be the Iron Bull’s biggest fan, but I have respect for him as a leader and a soldier. You will not tease a good man who feels honest regret.”

“Aw, Stanton, if you wanted the mockery all for yourself you could have just said so,” she said.

“That is different,” he said firmly.

“How?”

“Because you have said nothing...however cruel, you have said nothing to me that is not true,” he said. He looked away, shoulders sagging.

Casey felt a stab of sympathy in her heart that she didn’t think she was capable of, at least not for the man in front of her. Perhaps she had been hit harder than she thought.

“I won’t actually pick on Bull. I will make a joke, slap him on the back, probably hurt my hand, and we will move on,” she said. “As for you, well...I may have not been entirely fair to you.”

“Perhaps you do not paint things in the best light, but all you have said is an echo of the truth,” he said.

“Even the one about the nug?” she said, attempting to lighten the mood somewhat.

It worked. He finally made eye contact, his brow creased in confusion. “The...nug?” he asked.

“I may have drunkenly claimed you fucked a nug once,” she said sheepishly. “I am sorry about that. I’m not entirely heartless though—I told them the nug was quite satisfied after.”

“Your generosity knows no bounds,” he said flatly. She grinned at him and he offered a hesitant half-smile in return.

“I can’t say I regret anything I said,” she said. “A lot of it was entirely true, but I do regret how angrily I said it and how bitchy I’ve been overall.”

Cullen seemed stunned by this. “How hard did Bull hit you?” he asked suspiciously, glaring at her head as if he were looking for visible signs of cracking.

Casey waved him off. “I’m trying to be an adult here, Cully, fuck off,” she said. It didn’t strike her until she saw the slight blush on his face that she hadn’t called him ‘Cully’ in at least 20 years.

“Now that sounds more like you,” he said with a small smile.

“The point is, I imagine you’ve been through some shit of your own in the past decade and I came in and placed all my shit at your feet, too,” she said earnestly, pushing past the awkwardness she felt. “And it wasn’t the knock to the head that made me see it, but just being here. Seeing how you interact with people every day. I don’t know how you got to this point, but you came out a good man on the other end, and...and I’m sorry.”

She had thought he was stunned before, but apparently she was mistaken. His mouth hung open slightly, and a myriad of emotions raced across his face. At one point he even colored slightly, though she had no idea what that was about as he quickly suppressed it.

“Well...um...right,” he said after an eternity, scrubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that was achingly familiar. Somewhere the boy she had known still existed and that thought planted a small seed of hope in her heart that maybe, just maybe, they could be friends again.

“Oh, how awkward the Rutherford family is about receiving compliments and accepting apologies,” she lamented with a teasing smile. “It’s enough to make a body nostalgic.”

“It is—I mean, I do accept your apology,” he said, looking down at the floor. “Although I feel I do not deserve it. And...I am sorry, too. You have been through so much and I have done little to help you or my family.”

Casey flopped back onto her cot with a sigh. “Eh, that’s not entirely true,” she said. “You’ve been shit with letters over the years, but Mia finally came clean about the money. There were years we would have starved if it weren’t for money you sent.”

“It was not enough,” he said. “How did you...where did you think the money came from if not from me?”

“Mia told me she was doing ‘darning on the side.’ Should have seen through that. She couldn’t patch a hole in...in something that is easy to patch holes in. Fuck, my brain is still slow.”

She waved him off when he attempted to stand, as if he were about to go fetch Adan again. She knew from past experiences that the potions had done all they were going to do. She’d have to ride out the rest.

“The point is you have done more for your family than I ever gave you credit for,” she said. “You took care of them the best way you could after Kinloch. Even if...even if I didn’t see it at the time.”

His eyes glazed over a bit at the mention of Kinloch and she locked the detail away for later. “I should have been there,” he insisted. “Sending money is not the same as being there for your family.”

“It’s not,” she agreed. “But...Papa told me once after I tried to run off that there was more than one way to protect those you love. Some do it by working a job they hate to put food on the table, some play the Game, and others take up a sword. You can’t judge someone for doing things their way.”

“He was a good man,” Cullen said. “Mia didn’t tell me for years...was it the Blight?”

“No, happened about, oh...three years after you left?” she said. “It was your parents that took me in after that.”

“They did?” he said with some surprise. “I...I never knew.” He was quiet for a moment, but then his eyes widened and he looked up at her. “Is that why you never wrote back?”

Casey nodded. “It was too much, for a long while,” Casey said, willing her voice to stay even through many years of practice. “I was...not in a good place for a long while and it was all too convenient to lump some of that pain on the one person not present. The Blight hitting shortly after didn’t help.”

He settled down onto a stool by her bed so his eyes would be closer to her level and took one of her hands in his.

“I know I am many years too late,” he said. “But I am sorry for your loss, Acacia.”

Casey had long ago mourned her fathers’ death, as well as the death of Cullen’s parents. She had processed the grief of seeing friends and old acquaintances die and she had moved on as they had all been forced to do in the wake of tragedy after tragedy. But hearing Cullen speak to her again after so many years, his voice soft and sympathetic as he said her name, it was almost too much. She felt her eyes water a bit and quickly pulled her hand back.

“T—thank you,” she said, desperate to get back to firmer ground. “And you get a free pass for that one, but do it again and I’ll tell teacher.”

He looked lost for a moment before shooting her a wicked grin. “Do what, Acacia?”

From that point on there was a marked decrease in hostility between the Commander and the carpenter and some wondered if she had in fact taken heavy injuries in her match with the Qunari. Rylen was the most vocal supporter of this theory.

They still argued and mocked each other, but the tone had shifted to be much less antagonistic. Casey’s barbs now seemed tailored to amuse or aggravate rather than pierce straight to the soul, and Cullen no longer hunted for tiny reasons to cut Casey from a project or interrupt her rest.

The biggest effect this had was a shift in Varric’s books. Bets that one would kill the other tapered off significantly, but bets that they would get caught fucking on the Commander’s desk were rolling in faster than Varric could write them down.

Chapter Text

The Spymaster approached her nearly two weeks after Casey declared a tentative truce with the Commander. Things were going rather well, by Casey’s figuring. She wasn’t having dinner with Cullen every night the way Mia seemed to want, but she waved at him when they passed each other instead of flipping him off. Surely that had to count for something.

Most of her interactions since arriving at Skyhold had been with the Ambassador and the Commander. The Spymaster had no need of carpentry work, and if she had ever asked for something Casey would have been afraid to find out what it was. She remembered Sister Leliana from the Blight. Her visit to Honnleath had been brief, but it had certainly been memorable, to say the least.

Casey had been surprised initially to find that Sister Leliana remembered her as well, but had since realized that the woman somehow managed to keep a lot of details about everyone stored in her head. She was a lot scarier now than the woman Casey met when she was 17, but a lot of awful things had happened in the world since then. That included the death of the Warden who had saved her life. Casey had no doubt that as his traveling companion, Sister Leliana must have taken it rather hard.

“My Lady, may I have a word with you alone?”

“I doubt I could stop you, Sister Leliana,” Casey said, but waved her on all the same. “What do you need?”

Before speaking, Leliana approached each door leading into the tower and ensure that it was locked. Casey tried not to feel nervous about that, but she didn’t quite succeed.

“I have respected your wish to keep your position hidden, but we may have need of more than just your talent and assets soon,” Leliana said.

Casey felt the cold chill of panic wash over her. “No,” she said, nearly whispering. “But why? Have I not helped enough?”

“Do not mistake me,” Leliana said firmly. “Your contributions to the Inquisition have been more than we could have ever hoped to ask for. That you have asked for nothing in return only increases my respect for what you have done.”

Casey was touched. “But…?” she said, because of course such flattery had to have a catch.

“But the Inquisitor faces a very dangerous trial that you are uniquely able to help us with,” Leliana said.

Casey chewed on this for a second. “Tell me what is at stake, then we will see,” she said. Leliana nodded and Casey sighed as she had no choice but to help. Not really. The planned assassination of the empress seemed like a pretty big deal.

Casey hated wearing dresses. Her father knew next to nothing about dresses and so when she was young he had only ever put her in trousers. By the time she was old enough to buy her own dresses, she no longer wanted to wear them. It wasn’t impossible, but it was very hard to build anything significant with a bunch of lace around your ankles.

When the solicitors from Val Royeaux found her five or six years ago, they did not stumble upon the lady they expected. Instead they found a dirty woman covered in wood shavings and sweat in a backwater of Ferelden. Their opinion, however, did not change the fact that she was the last surviving heir to the dukedom of Val Firmin.

Papa had never talked about her mother, who had died when she was young. He had never said how she died or gave her anything more than vague details. She knew her mother was beautiful and kind and he “didn’t deserve her.” Papa never expressed anything in the way of tangible details and she never pressed, seeing how even vague details brought him pain. Now she wished she had pushed to know more.

Casey was a noble in name only. She had made no attempts to play the game, and she wouldn’t even know where to begin to throw a soiree. Apparently, these were all good things in Leliana’s mind.

“This will be the first appearance of the Duchess du Firmin since inheriting her title,” Leliana said. “That will cause enough of a stir to give a significant amount of distraction that our agents—and the Inquisitor himself—can use to their advantage.”

“But I have no idea about how to conduct myself,” Casey had protested. “I grew up in Ferelden, and even then I didn’t grow up on some estate or the palace in Denerim—I was raised by a carpenter in a small town most Orlesians probably couldn’t name!”

“If it would bring you comfort, there are some books on etiquette in the library, and I can share the dossiers I have on the more important names that will be in attendance,” Leliana said. “However, it is your very ignorance that will give us an advantage.”

“And how is that?” Casey’s head already hurt. She wasn’t one for intrigue. She just wanted to hit things with her hammer. Mostly wood, but right now she’d take whatever was offered.

Leliana looked sympathetic, but not in the least bit contrite. “You have a title which means they will perceive you as one of their own, but because you were raised in Ferelden they will not perceive you as a threat,” Leliana said. “You are capable of learning secrets the others cannot. You could help us not only with our current objective, but future endeavors as well.”

“Alright, alright,” she said, waving her hand. “You don’t need to sell it, I will help, but people other than me will figure out all of the logistics. I will put on my dress and I will play the country bumpkin so you can sneak around and do...whatever it is you do at parties. But I am not an agent, so I’m counting on you to make sure that both me and my friends come out of this unharmed.”

Leliana bowed. “You have my word that we will do everything in our power to ensure you and your retinue survive, my lady,” she said. “You should leave soon. You will no doubt need to get your affairs in order at your estate. And put in an order for a dress. Do try to avoid red and gold, if you could. We don’t want anything to tie you to the Inquisition.”

And with a small smirk at Casey’s obvious discomfort, Leliana was gone, leaving Casey to scramble last minute to make sure that any projects she had promised for the next three weeks would either be delayed or handled by one of her apprentices. As she threw her pack into the cart of a merchant heading to Lydes, Casey considered running back up the battlements to say goodbye to Cullen.

She shrugged off the thought and loaded herself in behind her things.

Chapter Text

Casey would never get used to seeing her estate. The house proper was larger than the entire village of Honnleath had been, and that didn’t even factor in the grounds. Val Firmin was much greener than the Dales, even before Celene and Gaspard decided to douse the fields in fire and blood.

Early on she had been tempted to reject the house and the title that came with it—then she met an Orlesian noble. To say that Casey kept the title out of spite wouldn’t quite be accurate. It was more that she disliked what she saw of the Orlesian upper class so much that she felt there ought to be at least one decent human among them for comparison. Since there wasn’t one to be found, Casey figured she would have to do.

Her first order of business had been to call together every soul that now worked under her. She had expected meeting with everyone would take a couple of hours. It took nearly a week. She spoke with everyone—from the cook to the tenant farmers. Casey asked everyone the same set of questions. Did they want to work here? Was there anything else they were good at or would rather be doing? How much was their pay? Where did their families live?

To say that most of the servants were confused and alarmed by her questions would be an understatement. She ended up having to prove to a few that she meant well. Things got easier the more changes she made.

There were house staff whose sole purpose was to keep the lighting consistent from room to room. The previous Duke had been extremely fussy and did not want the room to ever be too dim for him to read or so bright that it “hurt his eyes.” Though they were not pleased with their positions, none wanted to lose their job and she had no desire to take it from them. So she asked each one what they would prefer to do instead and told them that from now on, they could do just that.

Obviously, there were some jobs that no one wanted to do but they had to be done. For those jobs, she offered double the pay.

It took years and a hefty amount of gold to get the estate to a place she felt she could be happy with it. Casey’s only goal was to ensure that everyone who worked for her at least had a shot at happiness. There were some bad apples who had to be dealt with along the way who tried to exploit her kindness. But she had far more allies among the servants who saw to it that the malicious actors were weeded out.

As a result, Maison Detre was perhaps the strangest house in Orlais, but one could argue it was also the happiest. If someone from Ferelden were to look at it closely enough, they would see that it ran more like a Hinterlands village than a grand estate. And though it hadn’t been her original intent, Casey was extremely grateful now for the fierce loyalty the people of Val Firmin felt to their mistress. Despite intense levels of curiosity about the identity of the new Duchess, she had managed to somehow keep her anonymity for the past five years.

The guards were not immediately hostile when she pulled up in her rented wagon, but they were definitely alert.

“State your purpose,” the one to the left of the gate called up to her.

“I’ve come to have sex with your mother, provided she’s got no other appointments tonight,” she called out.

“That you, mistress?” the guard called out with a tentative smile.

“I suppose it is, Francois,” she said, squinting her eyes in the failing light. “Would you mind running to see if Quin is busy?”

“It is good to have you back,” Francois said, his grin now fully developed. “Shall I send someone to tell one of the girls back at the house to have a bath ready for you?”

Casey’s shoulders sagged and she let out a laugh. “Oh, Francois, you know the way to a girl’s heart,” she said.

A couple of hours later, Casey was sat down at the head of an overly long table in a gilded dining room that was filled to the brim with chattering servants. No one stood in attendance to serve. Instead, multiple platters of the same few dishes were repeated down the line of the table, so all in attendance could load their own plate with the food on offer for the evening.

Quintus Aureus, officially her head butler but something more akin to a second-in-command, sat to her right watching her eat a croissant and consider the mound of paper that sat between them.

“Are there really that many to go through?” she said fearfully. “How did so many build up?”

“You have been away for months,” the elf said in his posh Tevinter accent. “And you refused to let me forward anything that may give away your position to Skyhold.”

Casey snorted. “And a fat lot of good that has done me,” she said. “I can’t believe I got roped into attending the Winter Palace.”

“I can,” Quin said, with a sigh. “You are a sucker for a lost cause.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “You’d know wouldn’t you?”

“I would,” he said without humor in his voice.

Casey let her head fall to the table dramatically, nearly upending a bowl of stew.

“How am I supposed to get a dress in time for this thing?” she lamented. “I know we have a couple of months, but doesn’t this sort of thing take a while? I don’t even know where to start.”

“While it is true that every dressmaker even remotely nearby is currently booked solid, it just so happens you have an excellent butler who had a handful of dresses made for you nearly two years ago in the event you might actually need to wear one,” Quin said with a small smile to show he knew how clever he was.

“Quintus, you are the best thing to ever come out of the Imperium,” she said. “Wait, how did you know what my measurements were?”

“I did not know,” he said. “I guessed.”

“I do not want to think about that,” she grumbled. “Can you reach out to Erana in the morning and see if she can come make adjustments if they’re needed?”

“Already done.”

“Then I guess I’ll start to work on this pile tonight,” she said, staring at it forlornly. Quin sighed.

“I have already filled out responses to most of the requests on your behalf with the answer I thought you most likely to give,” he said. “All you have to do is review the resolutions and sign if you agree.”

Casey looked back to him in awe. “I take it back. You’re the best thing to come out of Thedas, period. The Inquisitor can lump it.”

Thanks to her extremely motivated staff, Casey managed to have all her things in order for the Winter Palace relatively quickly. And thanks to Quin in particular, she was able to deal with all of the issues that required a Duchess’ direct intervention within a week. With few exceptions, he had managed to resolve most situations in exactly the way Casey would have. In some cases, the idea he came up with was better than what she could have managed on her own.

Quin never openly protested her praise, but he didn’t approve of it. Casey trusted Quin implicitly. He was her proxy whenever she left and it was his opinion she sought whenever she ran against some social more she was unfamiliar with. Despite being born and raised in Tevinter, Quin still knew much more about Orlais than she did. Some had initially questioned why she had put someone into such a position who was not only from Tevinter, but an elf to boot. The people who had wondered such things didn’t last long at the Maison.

To Casey, Quin was a lifeline. He was cool and competent and often so in tune with her needs that she wondered if he was a mind reader. To Quin, Casey was not only his mistress but his savior as well. He felt he did not deserve her praise when he was only doing what he felt was proper to repay the person who had given him his life.

Quin had not been hired into the household by the former Duke—he had been purchased. He was not the only slave to enter the household. While slavery was not exactly common in Orlais, that did not mean it wasn’t happening behind closed doors. No one really stepped in when the wealthy misbehaved. Most of the slaves had been brought in for menial tasks. Quin, however, had been purchased as a “companion”— and the former Duke’s proclivities did not fall within the range of normal.

For a brief period of time, Casey’s uncle had had the run of the estate before his death. He did not share his father’s preferences, but he also did not want to soil the reputation of the family by letting it be known that slaves had been in their employ. The majority were shipped back to Tevinter, but he hadn’t wanted to risk the story of Quin’s particular role getting round. So it was decided that Quin would do hard labor in the house. On top of this, her uncle had cut everyone’s pay and only provided enough money in the budget to purchase enough food for himself.

Quin didn’t receive any pay. What food he got came from his fellow servants, who didn’t have much of their own to spare.

That was how Casey had found him—angry at the world, horribly malnourished, chopping logs in the rain. She had brought him inside, and made him a meal herself. Casey was no chef, but every commoner could cook at least one dish when pressed and any good Ferelden knew how to make a stew. It wasn’t anything fancy, but he gobbled up the meaty stew she placed before him.

When he tried desperately to ingratiate himself to the new mistress the only way he knew how, she was disgusted. Not by him or the idea of his company, he would later learn, but by the thought of what had happened to him to make him think that was the best way he could prove useful.

Just as she had done with all the other servants, Casey had given him a choice to take whatever job he wished to take and she would pay him accordingly. Or, he was free to leave. Considering all he had been through, she offered to pay his way wherever he wished to go, and give him some money to set himself up once he got there. His only wish was to see that she was cared for until the end of his days. And that was how he became her butler and the de facto head of the household.

Quin had outdone himself this time. He was always wonderfully competent, but in choosing dresses for her he had gone above and beyond. Casey hated dresses in general, but Quin had gone out of his way to get her dresses that were as close to her taste as possible. No uncomfortable fabrics touched her skin and the sleeves were long and loose to cover her arms. She generally was quite proud of her toned muscles from hours upon hours of woodworking, but she felt extremely self-conscious of them when out amongst the very soft nobles of Orlais. The only ones who tended to appreciate her muscles were the chevaliers and it was never for the right reasons.

All of the dresses were of an acceptable quality for the Winter Palace, so she was able to choose the one she liked the best. She ended up choosing a midnight blue gown made of delicate velvet and silver silk. It had wide bell sleeves that she couldn’t stop playing with despite multiple admonitions from her maid. Thousands of tiny gems had been sewn in with silver thread. They were clustered together tightly around the hem of the gown, and spread out as they made their way up to dissipate completely once they reached her waist.

The bodice was cut a little low for her tastes, but she figured it would be useful if her primary objective was to serve as a distraction. She felt mostly confident and only mildly uncomfortable. It would have to do. Casey found that she didn’t resent the corset they forced her into as much as the mask.

It covered most of her face and made her forehead sweat in a weird way. Her mouth was free, because of course the Orlesians wouldn’t want to hinder their ability to talk, but everything else from her upper lip to the top of her head was covered. Her biggest worry was that she would sneeze inside the mask and then be stuck with it. Quin assured her with a small smile that that was precisely why he would be attending as her manservant.

She didn’t like the idea of taking Quin out into Orlesian society, where he would be treated as lesser in any way. He was not lesser than her, and he certainly was not lesser than most of the nobles who received unearned respect.

But he assured her he did not mind. That he wanted to be there for her, and Casey relented. She took a deep breath and smoothed out the front of her dress. She would use the next few months to prepare—and then she would head into the lion’s den. And as selfish as it was, she was very happy that Quin would be by her side.

Chapter Text

Casey found that she was strangely excited and reluctant to get back to Skyhold after spending a few weeks at the estate. As much as she hated being a noble on principle, there were a lot of things to love about her new life. At the Maison she was surrounded by people she didn’t have to hide around, the food was amazing, and she had a private bath. But Skyhold had it’s own sort of appeal—and oddly enough the reasons she enjoyed it there were nearly the opposite of her reasons for enjoying home.

At Skyhold she was Casey once more—to most people. She was nothing more than a carpenter. Even with all she had done to treat the people that worked her estate as her equals, they still set her apart. She was held up and revered as the mistress of the estate. Except by Quin, who felt more like a big brother than anything. She absolutely knew she would never be introducing him to Mia. As if she would ever go to Orlais.

She missed just feeling like an average person. Even as she went to the public baths and grumbled about how inconsiderate people were with their towel habits, she felt normal and real in a way she hadn’t since she had a title dumped on her head.

A valid compromise to this situation of being torn between home and Skyhold was to drag Quin along with her. But Quin refused.

“You need to study up on the people you will meet at the Winter Palace,” he said. “If I am there you will completely ignore it and focus on your wood instead.”

“That’s not entirely true,” she said, pouting. Okay, so maybe that was exactly what she had been hoping for but it wasn’t all that. She had honestly wanted company as well—a friendly face among the citizens of Skyhold.

Quin sighed and gave her a rare smile. “There is still a lot to handle here, but...perhaps it wouldn’t set us back too much if I were to see you safely on your journey, at least,” he said.

Casey lit up like a mabari pup. “This is going to be great! You’ve never got to hear all my favorite road songs!”

Quin huffed and rolled his eyes, but the small smirk persisted. “Is it too late to back out?”

It was fairly late in the evening when they reached Skyhold at last. Most people who didn’t have jobs that kept them up were either in bed or in the tavern. Luckily, Casey was well acquainted with every guard on duty and they allowed Quin and Casey to enter the keep without issue. She sighed as she hopped off her horse, extremely pleased that they wouldn’t have to spend another night on the road.

Quin was an absolutely demanding travel companion. If she had to be lectured on the correct way to put up her tent one more time, she might have lost respect for her friend altogether. Things were infinitely better when they traveled to more civilized places and stayed in inns. But at least Casey had had her payback. Quin hated the road songs but they were catchy. Every time Quin caught himself humming one and then cursed to himself in Tevene, she felt a bit better about not knowing about proper peg placement.

Quin didn’t even bother to pull down the hood on his cloak as he dismounted. Casey wasn’t surprised—he had said he had to get back to Maison Detre as soon as he could. Still, she couldn’t help but be mildly disappointed that he couldn’t stay longer. She felt like a kid who wanted to show something off to their parent, but the parent didn’t have the time.

“You can’t even stop in to the tavern for just a moment to rest up?” she wheedled.

“We both know you haven’t spent a mere ‘moment’ in the tavern in all the years I have known you,” he said. “I really must get back but...this was enjoyable. Even if you consider that dreadful song about the magic nug.”

“Hey, that one is a classic,” she said with a grin. “But I suppose if you have to get back…”

Casey reached out and pulled Quin in for a tight hug. She caught the rather surprised look on his face as she grabbed him, their relationship having not involved much in the way of physical touches over the years. If anything, Casey had avoided touching him for a long time in an attempt to clearly separate herself from those he had served before.

But the past few days of travel had hammered something home for her. Quin was not merely Casey’s most trusted servant, he was her friend. Being back at the Maison had made her realize that was something she was missing at Skyhold. Sure, she had a few people to spend time with. Rylen, Gatsi, and Tethras were all good for an ale after work—but they didn’t feel close enough to be friends. And Cullen...well, just because she had decided not to hate him anymore didn’t mean they could be friends again. She wanted to be sure that Quin knew he was a friend, and she hoped he considered her a friend in return.

Quin was stiff at first, and she almost pulled back, worried that he was bothered by the contact. But then, he relaxed and Casey felt Quin’s arms go around her in turn. She sighed happily and squeezed her cheek in against his shoulder before pulling away. Quin looked more flustered than she had ever seen him.

“My lady—,” he started, before being cut off by the sound of a throat clearing behind them.

Casey turned around to find a faintly pink and definitely disgruntled Commander standing at the entrance to the stables. She looked at him for a moment, internally debating whether or not she should introduce him to Quin, before deciding that it would complicate matters far too much. If all went well, she wouldn’t have to out herself at the Winter Palace—to Orlais at large maybe, but not to Cullen or the Inquisition.

“I’ll be with you in one moment, Commander,” she said cheerily. “I’m just seeing my escort off.”

He grumbled something under his breath that she couldn’t hear. Quin had much better hearing—he snorted at whatever Cullen had said.

“Quin, if that...if you weren’t comfortable with the hug, you can tell me,” she said nervously. “I am perfectly content to continue being whatever it is we are to each other, but I don’t like the idea that soon we’ll be heading somewhere where everyone sees you as a servant. You are not a servant. You are my friend. You need to know that.”

Quin looked at her for a long moment, his expression thoughtful, yet as unreadable to her as it ever was. Then, he nodded—more as if he were doing it for his own sake rather than hers.

“I would like that, my lady,” he said quietly, smiling. “But for now, I really must go. If I wish to get any sleep tonight, I will need time to properly set up the tent.”

Casey snorted. “Oh yes, couldn’t have a peg out of place,” she said with fond mockery. “And if we’re to be friends, call me Casey?”

He bowed his head slightly. “Very well,” he said. “Goodbye then, Casey. Please take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said with a grin, clapping him on the shoulder before he hopped on his horse. “Send me a letter when you get back? Things are rough out there.”

He merely nodded in response and with a wave rode off back into the wilds. Casey sighed and turned to find a now pissed off Commander standing far closer than expected.

“Hullo, Cully,” she said jovially, still riding the high of having successfully confirmed a friendship. “You’re up a bit late.”

Casey hadn’t been trying to antagonize him in the least, but he became visibly more upset at this.

“I have been working,” he said testily. “Something you neglected to consider when you took off for weeks without warning!”

Casey was confused, and she really hoped that this would be cleared up soon. She had a date with her bed that she didn’t want to miss.

“I gave warning,” she said. “I took care of all of my open orders. The Spymaster is the one who sent me off—didn’t she tell you?”

He pulled back a bit, startled, and his eyes glazed a bit as he searched his memory. She noticed Cullen was still fully clad in his armor. One hand clenched his sword not as if he were about to draw it , but as if he needed it to anchor him to the ground. Casey looked closer and saw that despite the cool night air, Cullen was sweating slightly.

“Cullen, are you feeling alright?” she asked, taking a small step towards him. If they were friends, she wouldn’t even ask. She would drag him off to the infirmary or back to his own room for rest. But they weren’t friends anymore.

“I’m—it’s nothing,” he said, backing away. “I don’t recall Leliana mentioning anything, but I know you did not tell me that you were leaving.”

“Well, yeah, why would I?” Casey tilted her head. This was such a strange conversation and combined with the stillness of the hour it was making her feel slightly off. Like this was a dream. And she didn’t care for those these days.

“I had thought—“ Cullen began, before cutting himself short. He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “There are projects that require your input. It was...inconvenient, not knowing where you had gone or when you might be back.”

Casey let out a wide yawn. “I suppose that makes sense. Maybe I can send a letter next time.”

“Next time?” he said, sounding mildly alarmed. “What exactly were you doing?”

“Are you asking personally or professionally?”

“Er, both?”

“Professionally, it falls under the Spymaster’s jurisdiction, Commander, and not yours, so I am afraid you will have to take that up with her,” she said. “Personally, it’s none of your business.”

“What about your escort?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is it his business? You may have been out on the Nightingale's orders but it is my business if you bring strange men into Skyhold.”

“He’s no stranger than my apprentices,” she said with a snort. “He works for me, has for years.”

“But you hugged him. Are you in the habit of hugging all of your employees?” he said. His voice had a bit of a nastiness to it that Casey did not like the sound of one bit.

“So what if I am?” she said. “Unless I start cuddling Corypheus at the gates, it’s none of your damn business who I do or do not show affection to. What is your problem, anyway?”

“My problem is that you left without saying anything and I was worried and then you swan back in at an ungodly hour weeks later canoodling with some strange man!” Cullen exploded, speaking as though the words were ripped out of him against his will.

Casey pinched her lips shut, then rolled them inward in a desperate attempt to keep all sounds in. But she failed. She started to laugh. Cullen’s anger seemed to deflate a bit. He now looked more sheepish than anything.

“Did you just say I was ‘canoodling’??” she said in between gasps and snorts. She quieted down when her weariness made itself known again in the form of a yawn.

“Well, thanks for the laugh,” she said, giving him a friendly pat on the forearm where his arms were still crossed over his chest. “But I am really, really fucking tired.”

“Right,” he said, looking off towards the gates with a worried expression. “I—I’ll walk you to your room. As an apology. I may have overreacted.”

She snorted. “You think so?”

They walked in silence and once she let herself into her tower, she turned to face him. Casey didn’t know what possessed her to say it, but the look on his face filled her with a sort of satisfaction she couldn’t name.

“For the record, we got all of our canoodling out of the way on the road,” she said. And she closed the door in his face.

Chapter Text

Cullen advanced on her quicker than she could react. Casey was forced to back up against the wall. His arms reached up to bracket her shoulders, and he moved his body in close enough that there was no way she could escape—not without touching him. He ran a finger down the side of her face.

“You’re mine,” he said in a low growl. Then, he leaned in and whispered directly into her ear. “And I can be yours if you just say the word.”

Casey closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to block out the sight of Cullen’s muscles moving under his skin and the heated way he looked her over.

“Amalia,” she said. Her voice wavered, but she held on. “What about Amalia?”

“I do not need her,” he said, with a smirk. “She is of no interest. Not when I have you. So willing...”

One of Cullen’s hands trailed down her side and he slipped his hand under her dress before she could squirm away.

“So warm,” he said on a moan. He removed his hand and Casey let out a whimper—she wasn’t sure if it was one of fear or longing. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

“I won’t,” Casey said. “Not like this. I never wanted—“

“Never wanted?” Cullen said with a smirk. “You cannot lie to me.”

He knelt before her, dragging his hands down to bunch up the bottom of her dress as he lowered himself to the ground.

“You may not have not always wanted this,” he said, lifting up one of her legs and pressing a hot kiss to the inside of her thigh. “But you have always wanted me.”

She felt the breath from his dark laugh brush against her and a tear fell down her face. She did want, she wanted him so much it hurt. Fear and shame were at war with that want, but there was no denying that it was very much still there. It showed itself in the trembling of her legs, the beating of her heart, and the arousal of her body that she was helpless to hide.

“You don’t love me,” she said, her whisper broken by a half-sob.

“Wrong again, Acacia,” he said, pushing her smalls to the side and moving forward to—

Casey woke herself with her own scream and sat up in bed. She was shaking and covered in a sheen of sweat and she was far, far too warm. She ripped off the covers and tried to ground herself with the feel of cool wood pressed against the soles of her feet. She propped her elbows on her knees and leaned forward to wipe her hands down her face.

It had been so many years since she had had that dream. She really would have liked for it to stay away a while longer. Not that she preferred the other dreams that tormented her now, thanks to the Blight. If she had a choice, she would choose to never dream again. The few good ones here and there were not worth the price of replaying the Blight in her sleep.

But Adan wasn’t able to get her any potions to help her sleep thanks to Red Templars temporarily interrupting his supply of vandal aria. Apparently foxite and lavender alone did not a sleeping potion make. Casey had tried. It tasted alright, but all it did was make her mouth taste slightly floral when she woke up screaming.

Casey had been back in Skyhold for a couple of weeks and thanks to the Game studies being forced upon her by a very enthusiastic Josephine, she had been completely sober for the longest stretch in a decade. The Ambassador insisted that her hard work not be “washed away” by ale, and Casey had done her best to comply. For the most part it hadn’t been all that difficult. But today had been a test.

Cullen had been slightly cold to her in the days immediately after she came back, no doubt sore about having a door slammed in his face. But he warmed up eventually and they were back to casual banter by the end of the week. Today she had escaped from her lessons under the pretense of needing to head down into the valley and check up on one of her apprentices who was “sick.” While it was true that Julia was confined to her bed, it was for nothing worse than a hangover.

Still, Casey hadn’t completely lied. She would head down to the valley and check in on Julia. And by check in, she would probably yell at her a bit about having more than she could handle when a large commission was due. But she was mostly going to get the hell out of Josie’s stuffy little office that always had a fire going. Ferelden was much cooler than Antiva, as a rule, and the Ambassador clearly missed the heat. Casey needed to feel a little bit of the chill against her skin to be truly comfortable.

As she made her way down the stairs of the Great Hall, she noticed that the soldiers were setting up to spar. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to stick around for just a bit longer,” she thought, smiling to herself. Dorian, a Tevinter mage who was friends with the Inquisitor, had already perched himself up in the usual spot. He had even brought himself a snack. Others had gathered around to watch, of course, but Dorian had a clear view. No one dared sit next to him. It wasn’t out of reverence because he was connected to the Inquisitor. It was out of fear.

Casey didn’t particularly like Tevinter, but the idea of judging a man by his country didn’t sit particularly well with her. Perhaps it was because deep down she knew she would face similar condemnation if anyone ever found out she was part Orlesian, despite the fact that she was born and raised in Ferelden. They had a particularly spirited argument about slavery that almost flipped her mind against them. Dorian managed to convince her that while he benefited at points in his life from the practice, he did not believe in it. It was more a matter of feeling powerless to do anything to change it.

She couldn’t exactly hold one man responsible for the decisions of an empire, so she declared him to be a decent fellow. They didn’t spend time together, and one would not call them friends. But they had an understanding—when the sweaty, shirtless men were out, he would save her a seat. It wasn’t hard to do when one was a pariah.

“I’m afraid I bring only myself today, Pavus,” she said. “Josie has had me tied up all day.”

He waved off her concern and offered her a candied nut. She accepted it gratefully and plopped herself down on the plaidweave blanket he had spread on the grass.

“What a lovely image that is,” he said with a lascivious grin. “Do not concern yourself. I have no interest in whatever food Fereldens consider a treat. It’s probably something dreadful like deep-fried goat butter or honey-coated druffalo testicles.”

Casey let out a mock gasp. “Ser Pavus, I will have you know we only bring out the testicles for Wintersend!” she said. “I would never waste such a delicacy on a normal day.”

Dorian laughed and offered her another nut. This time she grabbed a handful. They were quite good.

“What gives, anyway?” she said. “Sparring is usually on Tuesdays.”

“I heard something about special training being tossed around,” he said, eyes glittering. “I have no idea what it entails but I have confirmed that neither shirts nor trousers will be involved.”

Dorian’s voice took on a dreamy quality and Casey couldn’t help but laugh. “That explains the crowd, then.”

They munched in companionable silence, waiting for the “show” to begin. On the opposite side of the ring, the soldiers—who were to a man standing around nervously in nothing but their underthings—parted and two men stepped into the ring.

She saw Rylen first and tried not to ogle his tattoos, which she could now see were scattered across most of his body—including one that rather tantalizingly disappeared under the tie of his underwear. Casey waved at him, an enthusiastic smile on her face. He caught her eye and shot her a wink before moving out of the way to reveal the person who followed behind him.

She really should have seen it coming. If Rylen was standing out in the courtyard almost naked, it stood to reason the Commander would be involved as well. He was the type who asked nothing of his men that he would not do himself. It was one of the things that Casey rather begrudgingly admired about him. Casey’s mouth went dry as Cullen entered the ring and straightened, allowing the light from the midday sun to fall on every inch of exposed skin. She felt the nuts fall out of her hands and heard Dorian’s laughter, but she couldn’t be bothered with that.

Cullen Rutherford was standing there in the sunshine and he was almost naked.

He had never participated in the sparring before today, not that she had ever seen. If she had known he was coming today she wouldn’t have stopped. But now that she had, she couldn’t look away. It would be an injustice to beauty for her to allow her prejudices against the man to color her opinion of his body. He was no longer a boy or a tough but wiry teen—he was every inch a man. His shoulders were broad, his chest and stomach sculpted in a way that spoke to his years of living as a soldier. He had scars across his skin, of varying age and severity, but rather than detract from his looks, they seemed to enhance them. Whatever pomade he had taken to using in recent years to tame his unruly mop of the signature Rutherford curls was starting to lose it’s hold.

The gold of the hair on his head caught the light, as did the light spot of hair on his chest, hair that she could clearly trace all the way down to where it could no longer be seen under his—

Casey stood abruptly. She must have made a noise, because Cullen turned to look her in the eye, even as he continued with whatever explanation he had been in the middle of to his recruits. He smiled at her—a devious smile that said he knew exactly what he was doing. That he knew he would be there, as she was every week. Then, just when Casey thought her face couldn’t get any redder, the bastard winked at her.

Sure, Rylen had done the same thing. But Rylen was Rylen. This was Cullen “We Die By The Rules” Rutherford. He didn’t fucking wink. That was far too...too…

Attractive, her brain supplied rather unhelpfully.

It was too much. She near shouted a garbled excuse about Julia and rushed off to the gates, eager to flush the image of a shirtless Cullen winking at her from her mind. It did not matter that he was more attractive than he had ever been in his life. What mattered most was that Cullen had never been attracted to her in his life, that he was only doing what he did to get back at her for the jokes she made near daily at his expense. She would not let herself fall into a one-sided infatuation with Cullen Rutherford again.

She could not.

Chapter Text

“Maker’s fuzzy nipples, you’re just like your damn sister,” Casey grumbled as Cullen took yet another one of her pieces. “I told you I hate this game. How did you manage to talk me into this?”

“I asked nicely,” Cullen replied evenly, examining his pieces as though he wasn’t already sure to win. “Besides, you don’t hate it, you just aren’t very good at it.”

“Same thing,” she griped, leaning back to cross her arms across her chest. “It’s hard to like something you’re not good at. I work with wood, you’re literally the commander of an army. It’s not fair.”

“Mia is the one who taught me, what about her?”

“Oh, Mia can command an army of children,” she said solemnly. “I’d warrant they’re harder to manage than your lot.”

“Checkmate,” he said, moving his knight into position.

She threw her hands up. “See, that’s exactly my point,” she said. “I have no idea how you did that. Can’t we play something normal, like Wicked Grace?”

“Not after what happened last time,” he said with a blush.

“Hey, I didn’t make you bet your breeches. I think you just wanted to show off.”

“I seem to remember you egging me on,” he retorted.

“Yes, but I didn’t force your hand or anything,” Casey said with a grin. He responded in kind.

“Very well, then,” he said with a sigh. “We don’t have to do this, but it has been nice to spend time together outside of work. We should...perhaps we should do it again sometime.” He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’d like that,” she said, looking out happily at the flowers blooming—rather inexplicably—in the garden. It was autumn, but here it felt like spring. But Casey wasn’t about to question good magic when she found it.

“You said that,” Cullen said softly. Casey turned back to face him.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing important,” he said. “Here, help me clear the pieces.”

Once all of the major improvements at Skyhold had been taken care of, Casey was finally able to shift her work to smaller things. She now spent most of her day building things like desks and beds and stools. It was work that the apprentices she brought with her could handle, for the most part. She only took on the more difficult commissions for herself, but even the more intricate furniture pieces were still small enough for her to handle in her room. It was one of the many benefits of having a tower with two levels to work with.

Part of the lower area was set up as an office with a desk and a small shelf for her work logs, but the majority of it was used to house her tools and sawhorses and projects in various stages of completion. A multitude of tools were attached to the wall over her large workbench, which was covered in still more tools. They seemed to be scattered haphazardly, but she knew where everything was.

Casey had given herself free reign to express some of her skill in the scrollwork on certain items in the Great Hall and now she found herself inundated by orders from nobles who wanted similar pieces in their quarters. She was secretly quite proud of this, but she didn’t tell anyone she kept the best looking pieces for herself. The best thing she had made since coming to Skyhold was her bed, which featured a carving of an acacia tree. She knew what they looked like now, so it was fairly accurate. That Warden fellow—who liked to stay in the stables of all places—had a fairly good hand at craft, even if he preferred to make toys and trinkets. He had given her some good oil to really make the wood shine.

Casey left a nice clear path through her workspace for the guards, who still had to pass through during the day or night for one reason or another. Feeling bad for the times she had screamed at them, she began to leave out snacks for them. As a result, their movements through her tower changed from fearful scurries to respectfully quiet steps—especially when she was working or sleeping.

So when the door slammed open one day, she was unprepared for the loud bang as the wood rebounded off the stone wall. Casey jumped in surprise and nearly cut off one of her fingers with the small saw she had been using.

“Andraste’s flaming knickerweasels!” she yelled, instinctively putting her finger in her mouth to stop the bleeding. She spluttered when blood quickly coated her tongue, spitting little flecks of gore over her work surface and making things look generally far more desperate than they were.

“Acacia!”

She turned to see that it was Cullen who had barged into her office. Whatever had caused him to open the door like a savage was forgotten as soon as he saw the blood coming out of her hand. He rushed to her side.

“What happened? I have some bandages and elfroot salve, but we’ll need to get the excess blood and any dirt off first. Do you have some water?”

He had grabbed hold of her bleeding hand and was squeezing it tightly. It was throbbing but she had been cut plenty of times in the course of her work. She looked at him with amusement as the words spilled out of his mouth and decided that she would forgive him just this once for using her name.

“I’ve a wash basin upstairs with fresh water, but I—ach!” Before she could finish her sentence, Cullen swept her feet from underneath her and lifted Casey into his arms.

“Cullen, what in Maferath’s bleeding ballsack are you doing?” she said, angry and flustered. “Put me down right now.”

He ignored her and proceeded to climb up the stairs as easily as if he had been doing it alone. Casey really hated herself for being impressed by that and hastened to cover up any signs of approval.

“Thanks for the lift, I guess,” she said wryly as he set her down. “You do know a hand injury does not stop me from being able to walk, right?”

She walked over to her water basin to prove her point and poured out some fresh water from the pitcher. Casey hissed as the water hit her hand, and it turned from clear to murky red within the space of a few seconds. Cullen had been standing by the stairs, but he came over as she pulled her hand out of the basin.

“A few cuts, neither very deep,” he said, taking her hand from her and inspecting it. Cullen reached into a small pouch at his waist and pulled out a bandage and jar of salve. He spread the salve on liberally, then wrapped the bandage around the finger that had caught the worst of it, and tied everything off with a neat little knot.

“You really did have bandages and salve on you,” she said with glee. “What else you got stuffed in that armor, Commander?”

She hadn’t meant it quite the way it sounded, but Cullen blushed. It was hilarious—definitely not adorable—so she decided not to clarify.

“You need to be more careful,” he said. “You could have cut your finger off.”

She snorted. “Haven’t yet, and I’ve also had plenty of cuts like this one, if you’ll take a look at the rest of my fingers. Usually the saws don’t get through my calluses before I notice but SOMEONE came barging into my room as if 50 rage demons were on his tail.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and colored a bit. “Yes, well, I am sorry about that but I was rather upset,” he said.

“You were upset?” Casey said. “So you aren’t anymore? I should bleed my way out of confrontation more often.”

He glared at her. “Perhaps I should clarify, I am still upset, but I at least have the sense to put such things aside when someone is actively bleeding in front of me,” he said.

“That is excellent news for your men,” she said. “You must spend a lot of time yelling at people outside infirmaries.”

He ignored her attempts to distract and headed straight for the point. “I have just been informed that you intend to come with the army to Adamant,” Cullen said.

“That’s right,” she said, cradling her hand against her chest. It was a bit throbby now. Eventually the elfroot would numb the area, but for now it was really distracting. “Josephine said you’d be dragging trebuchets and ballistas across a desert. Are you trying to tell me you’ll know how to fix it when one of them loses a wheel?”

“No,” he said firmly.

“Well there you have it,” she said.

“I mean, no, you can’t go,” Cullen said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh and here we go again,” Casey said. She was starting to feel a bit woozy. She hadn’t lost that much blood but the shock of it combined with the blood loss had left her feeling a bit off. She walked over to her bed so she could sit down. “I thought we were past this ordering me around nonsense.”

“It’s—it’s not that,” he said, face reddening. “Maker help me. As you are absolutely aware, I cannot order you to do anything.” He took a step closer to her, face earnest. “But as your...your old friend, I am asking you not to do this.”

She had a warm feeling in her chest at the word “friend.” Casey stomped the warm feeling down and told it it was bullshit. She’d do just fine keeping Cullen as a...comfortable acquaintance instead.

“Didn’t sound like asking,” she said. “Sounded a lot like telling.”

“I was simply expressing my emphatic dislike for this plan,” Cullen said.

Casey just laughed, ending on a slight snort. “Your concern is noted,” she said. “Won’t stop me from going, but it is noted.”

“We’re heading into a battle,” he pleaded. “You are not a soldier. Please stay here, where I know it—where I know you are safe,” he said.

Casey looked up at him and cocked her head to the side. “I may not be a warrior, Cullen, but I have been in my fair share of skirmishes,” she said firmly. “I know when to help and when to get the fuck out of the way. I’m not going to be storming the fortress with a ball peen hammer. I’ll be back tending to your seige engines and making sure the ladders you raise don’t fall apart as soon as a bulky recruit steps foot on them.”

“But you could send someone else,” he said, sitting next to her so he could speak at eye level. “An apprentice. What about that burly fellow? West?”

“His name is Westley,” she said with a snort. “And I mainly use him to carry the bigger cross beams. He’s still so green he wouldn’t know a plumb bob from Rylen’s testicles.”

“One of the others then? I will trust your recommendation,” he said.

“Cullen, you’re no idiot,” she said, then paused. “Most of the time. What sense does it make tactically to travel halfway across Orlais, through a desert, to fight a highly-trained force of warriors who may or may not be summoning demons using blood magic—and not bring the best resources you have to even the odds a bit? I am the best you have for this. Why do you insist I stay back?”

Cullen hung his head, no longer meeting his eye. “If I…” he started, then turned back up to face her, blushing lightly. “If I tell you, you will just make fun of me for it. I swear, you were not this mean when we were children.”

Casey snorted. “Not to you, maybe,” she said. “I thought the sun shone out of your arse. I can assure you Mia is quite used to this version. But since you bring it up, consider this to be no different than my promise to be your squire.”

“Every good knight needs a squire to fix his sword from him,” he quoted back from long ago.

Casey smiled, immersed in the memory. “I’d argue you were the mean one, telling me you didn’t need a squire. Those old men that liked to sit out of the tavern all day told you you’d be happy to have a woman look after your sword one day, do you remember?”

Cullen reddened further. “How could I not? I yelled back at them that I could take care of my own sword. As soon as I was old enough to understand why they were laughing...that particularly memory likes to haunt me from time to time.”

“Point being, think of it as me following behind you to help as I did back then,” she said. “Even if you don’t want it, and even if the ‘sword’ I have to care for has grown somewhat.”

Casey winked at him, and took great pleasure at watching Cullen’s face signal that he desperately wish the floor would cave in. It wouldn’t, of course. Casey was very good at her job. And his blush was excellent payback for the sparring ring incident.

He sighed. “And just like back then, you don’t understand how I feel,” Cullen said. He turned his body towards her, his knee up on the bed touching the side of her thigh. “I can only endure the things I must endure when I know that somewhere, those I care for are safe. If you are by my side, it means you are in danger, and I do not want that.”

Casey was taken aback. Sure, things had become less hostile as of late, but she didn’t realize she fell into the group of people Cullen cared about. Their childhood friendship had always felt rather one-sided. The part of her that used humor to deflect any social situation she was uncomfortable in—which to her secret shame was just about all of them—wanted to say something jovial and brush off Cullen’s burst of honesty, but she couldn’t bring herself to be that cruel.

“I don’t understand how you feel, Cullen,” she said slowly, hoping she could steer her words away from anything dangerous by watching her face as she spoke. “And you do not understand me. We are...I am not against being friends, but you do not know me. You knew me from 0 to 11, sure, but at this point we’ve been apart longer than we were ever together and I have to say a LOT happened in those years.”

He turned away from her and was quiet for a long moment. “That is true,” he said at last. “You are...you are the same in some ways, but you are different. I do not know you. But I—I would like to. And I will not get that chance if you die.”

“Hadn’t planned on dying,” Casey said. “I was just going to keep the wheels on some trebuchets.”

“We do not know what evils we will face,” Cullen said. “There will always be a chance, even if you are not storming the gates.”

Their eyes met, and Casey let herself be taken in by his gaze for a moment. His eyes, at least, were the same as she remembered. Now they were, at least. They were a warm honey gold, untainted by blue. They were the same eyes that all the Rutherfords had, but she had always fancied that Cullen’s eyes were softer, somehow. She blew out a large puff of air and flopped back onto the mattress with a sound of disgust.

“Fine, Stanton, have it your way,” she said. “We can try being friends. But I will put forth no effort—all the friend wooing is on you. And if you’re really going to pull the friend card this early to get me to hang back, you owe me.”

Cullen leaned slightly so he could look down at her. His face was tinged with pink, but he looked amused. He looked happier than she had seen since she joined the Inquisition.

“What exactly would you be owed for his?” he said, his voice low.

She crossed her arms over her chest. Her hands felt shaky—she had no choice but to hide them.

“I want you to let me cheat at chess,” she said. “And I want a mabari.”

“It’s a deal,” he said. His half-smirk pulled at his scar and Casey’s stomach did a small flip.

Oh, she was right fucked.

Chapter Text

“The only thing the stop accomplished was slowing down our return to Skyhold,” Cullen said, removing another one of Casey’s pieces from the board. She didn’t even know which one it was. Something Chantry related with a funny hat. That didn’t narrow it down much because they ALL seemed to wear funny hats.

Cullen had been back from the world’s shortest siege for a grand total of two days and had already managed to rope her into another session of a game she hated. Even though her cheating bothered him, he let her do it. And somehow, he was still winning. Cullen seemed to be determined to stick to the promise she had demanded of him in jest. Really, she should have known better. The man took everything literally.

He had been bitching for the past half hour about stopping at one point on the return from Adamant to stay for a few days at the estate of “some Orlesian noble.” It had been funny at first, but Casey was starting to tire of his complaints.

“I don’t see what’s so terrible about spending a few days in a soft bed with clean clothes and good food under an actual roof,” she said in exasperation.

“It’s just...everything was so Orlesian,” he said, his face expressing mild disgust.

“Well, you were in Orlais,” she said testily. “Were you expecting dog statues and a pit out back to piss in?”

“It just galls me whenever we are forced to do something needless simply to please some scheming noble when we are in the middle of a war,” Cullen said.

“Let me get this straight,” Casey said, happily sitting back and ignoring the slaughter of her units. “A noble offered you and your entire army free run of their estate for four days so you could get a good rest in after a long battle before picking up and heading all the way back to Skyhold and you think they were being selfish?”

“It is Orlais,” he said simply, as if it made everything clear. “I don’t know what they may have stood to gain, but I’m sure there was something.”

“This is the same noble who gave you the use of her trebuchets?”

“Yes.”

“And who also allowed you to bring those same trebuchets back to Skyhold?”

“...yes.”

“I see,” Casey said solemnly. “What a selfish, poncy bastard.”

“Point taken,” Cullen grumbled. “They just spend so much of their time scheming that they made it a national sport. It is hard not to be suspicious of their motives.”

“No sense worrying your pretty head over it now, my good Ferelden,” she said. “Hurry up and put me out of my misery. I am late for my 12 o’clock roll with the hounds.”

“Ha ha,” Cullen said sarcastically, but he followed it up with a smile.

Casey had to leave a week before the rest of the Inquisition to prepare for the Winter Palace. For one thing, she didn’t want to make it obvious that she was going to be in attendance, along with everyone else. Quin had already gone ahead to prepare for her preparations. He had written to let her know that she had a lot of pampering to catch up on if she wanted to be “fit for civil company.”

She had argued rather strongly that nothing about Celene’s court was “civil” but it didn’t make a difference. She was at the mercy of her butler. She would have to submit to whatever treatment would make her acceptable in the eyes of Orlais.

Casey hesitated as she slung her pack over her shoulder, looking at the notes on the desk that she had left behind. As she had done before, she had tied up all of her work with a neat bow, ensuring no projects would fall apart in her absence. They were at the point where most things could wait and those that could not were all things that were easy enough for her apprentices to handle. In truth, there was little call these days for Casey to stay in Skyhold, but she found herself reluctant to leave. So did Gatsi. This place was practically their baby now. Both of them wanted to keep working to make it the most impressive building they could with whatever time and budget they were given.

And if Casey had other reasons to stay, she wasn’t going to voice them. Not even to herself.

She remembered Cullen’s reaction the last time she had taken off without letting him know. Really, there was no reason to tell him now—even if he had declared himself as her friend. She had not said it back, after all. She didn’t owe him a detailed accounting of her comings and goings. There was not a single military project in process at the moment, so he had no right on a professional level to demand to know her whereabouts either.

But Mia will never let me hear the end of it if Cullen goes bitching to her, she thought, heading for his tower with a heavy sigh.

Mia had been ecstatic to hear that she was friends with Cullen again. Nevermind that Casey disputed the fact—her precious brother Cullen himself had reported that it was true and she wouldn’t hear another word about it. Mia had already sent so many requests for the two of them to come for the First Day festival in South Reach that the Spymaster herself had written to tell her to bugger off because she was tired of reading about it.

After getting further confirmation that Leliana was reading anything and everything to come through Skyhold, Casey took extra care to add a nug joke to any correspondence she could squeeze one in to. She knew the Sister liked nugs, and Casey happened to know a fair bit about the wrinkly little fucks. She had even read a rather exhaustive book with details of their anatomy and potential origins. They were the weirdest animal in Thedas, in her opinion, and while she didn’t enjoy them on the same level as the Spymaster, she did find them fascinating enough to keep a rather large collection of jokes about them in her head at all times.

Casey was almost disappointed when she saw the flickering of a candle through the thin tower windows that told her Cullen was likely awake. She knocked softly on the door and shortly after she was greeted by a slightly ruffled looking Cullen. She had not roused him from bed—he was still fully clad in his armor and furry ruff—but she had roused him from sleep. He had a small blotch of ink smeared on his cheek, right at the tip of a prominent quill imprint.

“Am I interrupting a trip to the Fade, Commander?” she said, trying not to smile. For such a large and imposing man in armor, it was amazing to her how often he managed to look adorable.

“What?” he said, startled out of a daze. “Um, no—well, okay so maybe I did drift off for just a bit there, but you weren’t, um,” he stopped to rub the back of his neck. “Your interruption was welcome.”

“May I?” she said, gesturing into the room.

He stepped back quickly to allow her in and shut the door behind her, hovering behind her nervously as though he weren’t sure what to do with himself. Casey sat herself on a backless couch thing that had been pushed up against one of the walls. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was the only place to sit besides Cullen’s chair at his desk. Even she wasn’t quite rude enough to sit there. There were no chairs in front of the desk—all of his soldiers were expected to stand to give their report while he sat. It was some sort of power move, she figured.

Or the bastard was too cheap to ask her to build some more chairs.

“What’s the point of being friends with a woodworker if you don’t ever ask her to build you anything?” she said on the tail end of this thought. She looked up at Cullen, who was awkwardly standing next to the sofa as if he was unsure if he should sit down or not. She made the decision for him, scooting over and patting the upholstered seat. He sat down so stiffly she was tempted to push him and see if he would fall over like an empty suit of armor. But she didn’t. She was being nice.

“I have asked you to build plenty of things,” he said.

“Not for your office,” she countered. She stood and walked over to the ladder leading up to the loft where she presumed he slept. Casey pressed herself against the wall and sure enough—

“Andraste’s flaming asshole, Cullen, you’ve still got a hole in your roof!”

Cullen stood and made his way towards her, putting his body between her and the ladder in a vain attempt to block her view. As if she could unsee the way the moon and a fucking tree were invading his room.

“What do you do when it rains?” she said, arms akimbo.

“I have a few large oilskins to drape over the bed and the floor,” he said, sheepishly, refusing to make eye contact. “It...keeps any of the papers from getting damaged. Mostly.”

“Maferath’s cock,” she exclaimed. There were no other words behind it. She was speechless.

There hadn’t been an order in from Cullen in WEEKS. She had been building nonsense for the nobles. She had just put together a fucking sex harness for an Orlesian and Cullen “Dumbfuck” Rutherford had a hole in his roof.

“Could you at least keep it to one blasphemous thing per conversation?” he said, ears tinted pink. “Are you even Andrastian anymore?”

“Most of the time,” she said. “Sort of. Unless it’s a holiday. The Avaar have some really good holidays. Did you know around Wintersend they get around a big fire and they get completely nak—“

“Yes, I had heard about that one,” he said quickly, his flush increasing. “But let’s not talk about that. About ANY of that. Why are you here? It’s late.”

“Well since you made such a fuss last time, I came to tell you I’m leaving,” she said.

Cullen took a step forward in alarm. He was now very much in her personal space. She could feel the warmth coming off of his body. Her breathing picked up, and she felt flushed. Her body recognized the familiarity of the situation before her conscious mind did. Casey took a deep breath and sidestepped, rapidly making her way over to Cullen’s desk so she would no longer trapped between a Rutherford and a hard place.

He turned to follow her movement, but took no further steps to get closer to her, respecting her right to take back her space. Casey breathed a sigh of relief. Cullen’s look changed from alarm to concern, but then back to alarm again as he remembered what had set him off in the first place.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” he said. “Why?”

“I have some business to attend to at home,” she said, hoping that would be enough and he would leave it. She should have known he wouldn’t. Stubborn ass.

“Mia hasn’t said anything about plans for you to head back,” he said slowly, suspiciously. “And she absolutely would have. She managed to get a letter about First Day into Skyhold past Leliana. I have no idea how. I think she wants to recruit my sister.”

“Maker help us all,” Casey said with a small laugh. “But um, I don’t actually live in South Reach anymore. I moved...about 6 years ago now?”

Cullen stilled. “You did? Why did you...whenever you spoke of home, you always mentioned South Reach. And my family.”

Casey shrugged. “Well yeah, Honnleath is no more but it will always be my hometown. The house my father built is no doubt in ruins now but it will always be my home. And like it or not, your family will always be my family, too.”

Cullen’s face underwent a strange transformation as she said this. She had no point of reference from her knowledge of Cullen now or her knowledge from 20 odd years ago that explained his expression. The closest thing she could compare that look to was “awe” but somehow that missed the mark. She wished, quite often, that people were as easy to read as wood.

“That’s...I understand,” he said, voice filled with an emotion she couldn’t name. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was on the verge of tears. “So if South Reach...if my family is where your home is, why don’t you live there anymore?”

“I moved because...I moved for a job,” she said. That wasn’t exactly a lie. Sure Quin did most of the work, but being the Lady of and estate was a job, of sorts.

“Where will you be going?” he said. Then, as if he realized she might bristle at his tone, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I figured you would ask,” she said with a sigh, picking up an inkwell on his desk and fiddling idly with the lid. “If I had wanted to avoid it, I could have just left again. It’s in Orlais.”

“You live in Orlais?” he exclaimed in shock.

“See, that’s why I didn’t say anything,” she said,advancing on him angrily. “Fucking Rutherfords and your Ferelden pride. Do you know how much Orlesians will pay for ridiculous things? I slapped together wood scraps once and sold it to an Orlesian Marchioness. Told her it was ‘art’ and it paid for a new silo on YOUR family’s farm!”

“I did not say there was anything wrong with Orlais,” he said. Despite what his words said, he ended the sentence with a sour look on his face.

“You don’t have to say anything, I know that tone,” she said. “You sound just like Mia did when I told her I was going to be--” She stopped, not able to finish that sentence how she planned. She had almost said “going to be a duchess.” Of course, THAT conversation had gone even worse than this one.

If there was one thing Mia liked less than an Orlesian, it was an Orlesian noble.

“When you were going to be…?” Cullen prompted, eyebrow raised.

“Moving,” she finished lamely, giving a half shrug.

“Hmm,” was all Cullen said in reply, searching her face for signs of some truth he knew she was hiding.

There was no way he could possibly guess her truth though. It was so far-fetched she could barely believe it herself at times. She had been tempted—usually while drunk—to pitch her life story to Tethras as an idea for a new book and see if he even thought he could pull it off as fiction. She always chickened out at the last second.

They were both silent for a moment, with Cullen looking at her, and Casey staring into the ink as if it could spirit her out of the room.

“So will you be coming back, then?” he said quietly.

Casey looked up sharply. “What? Of course I’m coming back!” she said. Until he had asked, she hadn’t realized she felt quite so strongly about it.

He gave her a small smile. “Good,” he said. “Come on, then. I will see you off, my dear squire.”

Casey repeated those words in a loop in her head the entire ride to Maison Detre but no matter how many times she replayed the moment, one thing was clear—Cullen Rutherford might not be as indifferent to her as she had hoped.

Chapter Text

“Presenting Her Grace, the Duchess of Val Firmin,” the herald announced. Well, not the Herald herald, but a puffed up servant with a loud voice and a frilly coat who had what he thought was the enviable job of shouting out people’s names at the top of his lungs.

Casey didn’t have to fight as hard as she had expected to get him to use only her title and not her name. As it so happened, Quin had some connection to the Inquisitor’s friend Sera. She had had a drink with the woman in the tavern once or twice, but didn’t really know her. While she enjoyed the pranks Sera had pulled on the Commander, she was a bit too chaotic for her tastes. And she had a tendency to stare really hard at Casey’s tits when she got drunk.

Sera was either a member of the Red Jennies or Red Jenny herself. That wasn’t very clear. What was clear is that she had a strong influence over every servant in the Winter Palace—including Mister Frilly Coat. Sera herself had been announced as Her Ladyship Mai Balsych of Korse. If Casey had known such a name was an option, she might have pushed for one herself, but Leliana likely would have protested. She was here as a distraction, after all.

Heads turned and whispers started as soon as her name was announced. She stood straight and tall, as Quin had whispered harshly in her ear for her to do, then stepped forward to greet the Empress. She said something along the lines of “excellent party, good day then” and then just walked away. She completely forgot to bow, a fact that Quin angrily whispered into her ear. Casey almost turned around to go back and make up for it, but Quin stopped her.

Apparently her entrance actually gained her some measure of respect among the nobles, who thought she was trying to maintain an air of mystery. Really, it was simply a combination of panic and her desire to continue living as a normal person—while she was in Skyhold, at least. If the herald had called out the name ‘Lady Acacia’ across the ballroom, odds are one of the many Inquisition members in the room would put two and two together. Acacia was not a very common name in this country, after all. Potentially any country.

Her mother had apparently been unusually fond of trees. It certainly explained why she married a poor carpenter.

Casey quickly found herself a place in the shadows by the wall, hoping she would be ignored for a short while. Just until she could catch her breath. Quin had no trouble with this. His hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail to showcase his ears and rather than wearing the rather fine fabrics he usually preferred, he was in a very simple outfit, dyed to match the dress of his mistress. Casey, unfortunately, was like a magnet for nosy Orlesians. And it seemed that not only were they drawn to the secrets she kept hidden, they were also drawn to something very much out in the open. Namely, her chest.

When she tried on the lovely blue velvet dress that Quin had made for her, she had completely forgotten that such things were generally worn with a corset. What she had thought to be a slightly low-cut dress was now nearly scandalous. She prayed that Leliana did not expect her to dance. Quin had talked himself blue in the face trying to convince her that she was in no danger of “falling out”, but she didn’t believe him. She felt like she was one deep breath away from being tits out in front of a bunch of perverts in masks.

“Quin,” she hissed out from behind her fan. It served the dual purpose of hiding her mouth AND her cleavage. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now.”

“You certainly should not be speaking with your lowly servant, Your Grace,” Quin said with a hint of mischief. She shot him a glare and he responded with a small smile that was the Quin equivalent to laughing in her face.

“Perhaps I could yell at you a bit,” she groused. “Would add a bit of realism, wouldn’t it?”

“I believe the best course of action would be to mill around at your own pace as though you do not care about anybody here,” he said.

“But I DON’T care about anyone here,” she said.

“Then it should be easy for you,” Quin replied. “No go. I suspect a few rumors have already begun at this point that we are sleeping with each other.”

“We have only been speaking for a few minutes!”

“A few minutes more than most bother to spend with their servants,” he said grimly. “Now go.”

“Fine,” Casey said, snapping her fan shut and stomping off before remembering she was supposed to be a lady and ladies didn’t stomp. She spotted Josephine and made a beeline for her. Not only was she a friendly, familiar face, but Josephine knew who she was and might be able to offer something more useful than what Quin had given her to work with.

“Lady Montilyet! Good evening,” she called out, affecting an Orlesian accent.

It was actually very good, according to Quin. She had never told him that she had developed it over time by mocking Orlesian chevaliers for the children’s amusement back home. But he knew her pretty well by now. He probably suspected as much.

“Your Grace,” Josephine said, doing an admirable job at hiding her surprise. “You look very well. I...was not made aware that we would have the pleasure of your presence this evening.”

Casey sought out Leliana in the sea of faces. Their eyes met and Leliana bowed her head with a small smile, knowing exactly why Casey was glaring at her.

“I hope it is a pleasant surprise, Lady Montilyet,” Casey said with a fake, tinkling laugh, trying her best to mimic those she heard around her. “I do confess I expected your associates would have made you aware of my intent to join the festivities.”

“Unfortunately, no,” Josephine responded, her eyes now scanning the ballroom with anxiety. “If I may be so bold, Your Grace, you may want to consider taking in some air in the garden. It is quite lovely and I believe there is a fountain you may enjoy.”

Casey gave a small bow of the head, but she really wanted to kiss Josephine for the suggestion. The garden was the perfect place to be. Maybe she could get some air under her mask. Leliana had not given any specific indication of what she should do once she got here, instead encouraging her to “be herself.”

She was making her way to the door of the ballroom when she ran into Sera, who was carrying a serving tray.

“How goes it, Your Graceyness?” she said in a low voice. “Love what you’ve done with the rack. Don’t be too upset with, Quinty, yeah? Known about you all along, but you’re one of the good ones, so I kept my mouth shut.”

Casey had nothing to say at the sudden onslaught of words. She was starting to think the entire situation had overwhelmed her country sensibilities. Just a bit. Sera handed her a glass filled to the brim with alcohol and a few tiny cakes on a tiny plate.

“Wouldn’t eat anything unless I give it,” she said. “Might not be poisoned or nothin’, but some of these rich fucks have weird taste. Later!” And just like that she was off. Casey looked after her for a moment, then at the cakes in her hand, and shrugged.

“Be yourself,” she whispered, then proceeded to put all three cakes into her mouth and wash it down by knocking back the full flute of alcohol, tilting her head to make sure she got every last drop.

There was a hushed gasp and tittering as she did so. She tilted her head back down and shoved the empty glass at a passing servant before walking out of the ballroom. She didn’t even bother to look at the people who were absolutely talking about her now. It was high time she got some fresh air.

Casey was astounded at the types of crazy shit the nobles were just outright discussing with her. She got more information on mistresses and scandals and even murders than she knew what to do with. She was included in some conversations as a matter of deference to her higher rank. In other cases she was roped in by the group’s curiosity at her origins. Still others pulled her in only to mock her or proposition her. Those last groups were the worst, but she got to be rather good at avoiding them as the night wore on.

Nothing about the evening was increasing her opinion of the Orlesian court, but she was at least funneling information to Sera and Leliana at an impressive rate. Casey had no idea if she was doing as well at providing a distraction, but as no one had screamed that the Inquisitor was scaling walls in the back garden yet, she figured things must be going well.

Bells began to toll signaling those who were milling about in other parts of the palace should return for a dance, so she made her way back to the ballroom. When she entered, she noticed there was a bit of a crowd off to the right, so she indulged her curiosity and went to see what everyone was looking at. She still hated every minute of her time here, but Casey was no longer uncomfortable moving through the crowd.

Quin’s advice had been the best, after all. Once she fully accepted that she did not care what these people thought of her, it suddenly did not matter how (or if) she responded when they spoke to her. So there was no fear or hesitation as she pushed through to see what the fuss was about.

There, at the center of the crowd, was Cullen. He looked supremely uncomfortable—and terribly attractive—in the stupid Inquisition military dress that everyone had been forced to wear. The only other ones pulling it off with any degree of success were Dorian and Cassandra, but Cullen beat them by a mile. He made it look good. Which was impressive, because it had a fucking sash on it, of all things.

His face was flushed, not with drink or pleasure, but pure prolonged embarrassment. He had a ring of men and women batting their eyelashes up at him. She heard one woman practically beg him for a dance to which he gave a firm and emphatic no.

“Tell me, Commander, do you ever train with your recruits in the nude? I hear it is an excellent way to practice defense.”

“No.”

“Are you sure you will not dance? You deny us the pleasure of seeing how well you move.”

“No...I mean, yes, I am sure? I will not dance.”

“Have you and the Inquisitor ever--”

“For the last time, no, we have not. I do not know his preferences but I do not—Maker. Just...no. Please stop asking.”

“I have twelve daughters, you know,” an ancient looking woman said from one side. Casey got the impression that this wasn’t the first time the old bird had announced how many kids she had. “You’re such a…virile looking young man. You would do quite well for one of the younger ones.”

“You will excuse me madam, but I have promised myself elsewhere,” Cullen said.

The crowd flew into excited murmuring at this statement. Casey stood stock still, the voices around her drowned out by the pounding of her heart in her ears.

Cullen was engaged? Surely not. He would have mentioned it at some point. They were friends, now right? He said they were friends. Friends tell friends if they are engaged. He must be lying to get the crowd to go away. Cullen was typically not the type to lie, unless someone’s life depended on it. She doubted anyone’s life was riding on this. It’s just his dignity, she thought.

He had responded so quickly, so easily, that it must be true. But to who? When? How?

And why did her chest hurt so much?

“Good sir,” she said, still adopting her phony accent. “Could you please help me?”

At the word “help”, Cullen was immediately at attention. His head swiveled around until his eyes met hers. She knew he would not resist a call for assistance, and there was a mild note of panic in her voice that lent the request an air of truth. She wasn’t panicking for the reason he likely thought, but it didn’t much matter. She had to get him out of that crowd. SHE had to get out of that crowd. It was genuine and he could tell.

Cullen looked her over and it was like she could feel his eyes on her. She flushed slightly, seeing her own chest turn pink in her peripheral vision. Cullen’s eyes went to her chest, and unlike all the Orlesians she had spoken with that evening, she could tell it was entirely involuntary. The color of his blush changed as he realized what he was doing. He swallowed and forced his eyes back to her face. When his eyes met hers again, he looked confused but no less eager to escape.

“Uh, yes. Right away, madam,” Cullen said. He gave a slight bow to the others. “If you will excuse me.” This last was said with an undisguised air of relief.

Casey quickly scoped out a place in the atrium where they would be away from others but Cullen would still be within the line of sight of an Inquisition member. He likely wouldn’t have been comfortable following her otherwise.

“May I ask what you needed help with?”

It hadn’t been hard to maintain the accent around everyone else. It was somehow harder now that it was just Cullen. She cleared her throat.

“I...was no longer able to handle being in that crowd, and you looked as though you could not tolerate them either,” she said honestly, or as honestly as she was able while speaking in a fake accent. Cullen tilted his head as she spoke, listening harder than the ambient noise warranted.

“It’s strange but I swear...do I know you, my lady?”

“I…” she faltered. “I was announced when I entered, just as you were.”

“No, it’s just that your voice sounds so familiar.”

“Commander, I am a Duchess of Orlais. Have you met many duchesses before tonight?” She held her breath as she waited for his answer.

He shook his head. “Fair enough,” he laughed. Casey breathed a small sigh of relief. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “While I am appreciative of the rescue—for it was indeed a rescue—I should no doubt head back in to the ballroom.”

“Is it strictly necessary?” she asked. “I find I am enjoying the thought of a conversation with someone normal in this...viper’s nest. Besides, your angry lady friend by the stairs is in view, should you suspect me of having designs on your virtue.”

Cullen colored at that, but gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I was as rude as I felt I could be without causing a diplomatic incident and they still refused to go away,” he said, shaking his head. “I am fairly certain one of them actually pinched my bottom.”

“Orlesians,” she said with disgust.

His eyes narrowed for a moment and he stared her down. Just as Casey was starting to think she had royally fucked up, his face relaxed and he leaned against the wall with a smirk. “Aren’t YOU Orlesian?”

Shit, Casey, real smooth, she thought. Think fast, dumbass.

“I have a confession, Commander,” she said. “Though you must not tell anyone else and ruin me at court. I was actually born in Ferelden.”

He smiled and Casey felt that weird clenching sensation in her chest again. Sera came by and deposited a drink in her hand with a wink. She downed it in one go while Cullen looked after Sera curiously.

“Born in Ferelden,” he said quietly to himself, sounding mildly amused. “Perhaps that is why you seem familiar?”

“Perhaps,” she said airily. “Now that I have shared something of myself, maybe you can tell me some more about the one you mentioned earlier.”

“Pardon?”

“You said you were already betrothed,” she prodded. “I do not look for names, monsieur, I only wonder what your betrothed is like.”

She did want to know names, she very much wanted to know names, but Casey knew better than to push her luck.

“Ah...that is complicated,” Cullen said, turning redder than he had been all night as he rubbed at his neck. “And perhaps not something to discuss here.”

“Whyever not?” she said. “Are you afraid your words may make it back to them? I assure you, I am simply bored of talk about politics. And sex. And soup. There was a fat man who insisted on talking to me about soup for an hour.”

Cullen laughed. “You certainly are not very good at being an Orlesian,” he said.

“Not an Orlesian, Commander, remember?” she said with a wink she wasn’t sure made it through the mask. “I am a Ferelden in disguise.”

He smiled at her and seemed to relax, just a bit, though he did cast a glance at Cassandra. With a nod that seemed to mean something between soldiers, she remained at her post by the stairs.

“Very well,” he said. “Although I cannot imagine what you wish to know.”

“How long have you been betrothed?” Casey asked a little too eagerly, because that question burned the most after “Who is she?”

“It is not a betrothal in the traditional sense,” he said. “More of an unspoken promise.”

Casey raised her eyebrows in surprise, though of course he could not see this through the mask. Still, some of it no doubt leaked into her voice. “Good sir, a betrothal is the speaking of a promise aloud,” she said. “This sounds more like a crush.”

“I sincerely hope it to be more than that,” he said fervently. “I hope that she cares for me, despite all that has happened.”

A picture was starting to form in Casey’s mind. Cullen had found a woman sometime in the past 15 years, somewhere between Kinloch and Kirkwall. They fell in love, but then there was a Blight and a war getting in the way. Was she another Templar? A mage? The sexy pirate in Varric’s novel?

Casey whipped her fan open and hoped the cool air would quell the nausea in her stomach. The idea of Cullen being engaged was not something that should bother her. She had long since dropped the foolish notion that they would get married. They were barely even friends at the moment. Hell, she had even had relationships over the years. If you could call them that. It might be more accurate to call them ‘extended flings’, but the fact remained that she hadn’t pined to be Cullen Rutherford’s wife in a decade or more.

So why did it hurt to find out for sure that she never would be?

Before Casey could fully process these feelings, the bells rang once more, calling all to come back into the ballroom. Cullen bowed slightly and offered her his arm. Despite her inner turmoil, she accepted and followed him in with as much grace as she could muster.

She never had the chance to continue her covert quest for information before the whole evening went to shit. The Inquisitor stormed in covered in blood, someone tried to kill Celene, and one of the Duchesses left the party in a box.

Worst of all, Casey herself was stabbed by someone dressed up like a fucking clown of all things.

Her memories became disjointed at that point—more a series of images than a consistent stream of thought. The feeling of pain blooming in her abdomen. Looking down at the rapidly spreading darkness against her already dark dress. Quin running to her side from across the ballroom. Quin’s dagger buried in the neck of the person who stabbed her.

Warm arms around her shoulders. The smell of elderflower and oak moss. Smells that made her think of childhood. Of home. Of Honnleath. She leaned into the smell, pressing into something solid and soft with her eyes closed.

“Acacia.”

She heard her name and felt it at the same time. Casey summoned up the energy she had left. She could feel the black taking over. She had to get this out. It was important.

“I…” she began. She took a shuddering breath. It hurt. “I fucking hate Orlais.”

And then she passed out in the arms of a very worried Commander.

Chapter Text

Halamshiral was actually closer to Skyhold than it was to Val Firmin, even with the mountains to consider, but Quin was not about to retreat with his mistress to anywhere other than Maison Detre. It was a rough ride, from what Casey understood. She hadn’t been conscious for most of it.

It was a week before she was able to leave the bed and even with daily potions, she was still quite sore. She was already quite grumpy—not just from the stabbing, but events in general—but whenever she tried to laugh, it hurt and that only made her grumpier. To top it all off, she was now staring at a rather large pile of correspondence.

“Quin, what am I looking at here?” she said wearily, waving at the stack of parchment with her butter knife before diving back in for more. Quin shifted nervously, which caught her attention. Quin didn’t get nervous. He barely showed any emotion at all, most of the time.

“Quin,” she said, her voice a warning.

“They are...proposals,” he said. His voice was off, but she couldn’t figure out why.

Casey knit her brow and looked back at the pile, perplexed. “Proposals for what? Do the drains need to be redone again? Because I am NOT up for that discussion.”

“Proposals for marriage, my lady,” he said.

“WHAT?” she said, turning back to the pile with wide eyes. “Why? And why are there so many? When did these come?”

“They began arriving shortly after we returned, and there has been a steady stream each day while you recovered,” Quin said.

Casey looked back at the stack. It was about as thick as Varric’s smutty novel and probably less than half as fun to read through. She stared at it for a long moment as though she hoped to set it on fire with her mind, then turned back to buttering her toast.

“Easy solution here,” she said. “We ignore them.”

“You cannot simply ignore them, we have discussed this.”

“Then we respond with a ‘No’ to all of them.”

“You cannot send a letter consisting of a single word.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. Write back ‘Fuck no.’”

Quin pinched his nose in exasperation and Casey felt a mild twinge of guilt.

“I’m sorry I’m being difficult,” she said humbly. “This was my first ever time being stabbed. I think it might be affecting my mood.”

“I’d say your demeanor is so close to normal one would hardly know,” he responded coolly. “To put it plainly, you will need to review and respond to each proposal.”

“Can you help me?” she said. “You usually help with things like this. I will definitely offend someone horribly if I respond.”

“I will help you avoid such pitfalls, and I will even gladly serve as your scribe, but you must craft each answer on your own,” Quin said.

Casey turned away from him and stared down at her plate. This was unheard of. Part of her wanted to stomp her feet and demand he do what she asked like a real duchess. It was the first time she had ever had such an impulse, and she wondered at it. Perhaps she had never even been tempted to flex her influence because no one had ever really denied her anything she asked. She had no idea if this was because they truly liked her or if she had simply never asked for anything they were unwilling to provide.

The thought made her mildly uncomfortable. Casey took a deep breath.

“Quin, I realize this falls well outside the scope of your normal duties,” she said with forced calm. “I am willing to provide a bonus if you could help me with this.”

“No,” he said simply. Casey snapped.

“What do you mean ‘No’??” she said, slamming a hand down on the table hard enough to make the silverware clatter a bit. Quin did not so much as flinch. “You have every right to turn a job down, I won’t force you, but why do you insist I do this myself?”

“You need to consider the future of the estate,” Quin said. He wouldn’t look at her as he spoke. “There are three different wars going on outside of our doorstep. Should...should the worst happen, have you ever considered what will happen to u—the estate?”

Casey was caught off guard by this line of thought enough that she stopped and thought about the question honestly. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Since she hit adulthood, Casey had banished all thoughts of marriage. She had a trade, she was able to defend herself, and she could even go hang out with Mia’s children whenever she felt a maternal urge. There was absolutely no reason to tie herself down to a man.

But things were different now, weren’t they? She was no longer a carpenter patching up wagon wheels in the backwoods of Ferelden. Casey was a duchess and had more assets than she could reasonably track most days. She had to have a whole host of people help her out with the daily running of the house and when she died, she now had a title that had to go somewhere. And along with that title, would go Maison Detre and all of the staff.

“Can’t I just...draw up something legal that says everyone living in the house owns it or something?”

“If such a thing were possible, the dukedom would not have passed to you,” Quin said.

Casey blanched at that and dropped her toast. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Quin slid his chair up beside her and placed a hand over hers. “I am no more happy about this than you are,” he said quietly. “And I would not have you jump into an arrangement where you became little more than a means to an end. I do not suggest you consider these proposals specifically, but that you consider marriage in general.”

“Would it have to be an Orlesian noble to...you know, take?”

Quin shook his head and Casey let out a breath. “It would cause quite a scandal if you do not marry another noble, of course, but unless the Empress herself steps in, there are none who could dispute your choice.”

That made things better, if only by a slim margin. The fact remained that Casey did not want to get married at all, but the thought of marrying whomever she wished made it slightly easier to bear.

“I won’t marry for anything less than love, then,” she said. “Or extremely good looks and charm. Maybe even someone who prefers men. We can be great friends and he can have as many mistresses...misters? Quin, what do you call a male mistress?”

He gave her a slight smile. She wondered if she could ever get him to laugh, what it would sound like. “Lover, perhaps?”

“That works. He can have as many lovers as he could wish as long as they keep the noise down when I’m trying to sleep,” she said, ridiculously pleased with this plan. “Alright, now that we’ve got a plan, let us take a look at the desperate pleas from those who wish to woo me, shall we?”

“As you wish,” he said with a slight bow, and they set to work.

Casey felt herself turning beet red, and she couldn’t quite tell if it was from anger or embarrassment.

“Is this even physically possible?” she squeaked out.

She handed Quin the letter she had been reading and could see when he reached the problematic part by the change in his face.

“We will NOT be responding to this one,” he said firmly. “Unless you wish me to contact the House of Repose.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she said with a sigh, letting her head fall into her hands. “I knew this would be bad but I have to say I hadn’t anticipated they would be THIS bad.”

Some of the better letters actually attempted to flatter Casey. Others laid out the benefits of a marriage in practical terms. While cold, she found she infinitely preferred those letters to the ones that laid out, in excruciating detail, all of the sexual acts the writer wished to perform with her. Of those, some even had pictures.

Quin had tossed those straight into the fire without even bothering to add them to a pile.

There was a pile for letters that required polite response and a pile of letters that would likely join the nastier ones in the fire since they were too insulting to justify an answer. Despite how fair minded she had attempted to be going into this exercise, she had found no one who qualified for the currently empty ‘Maybe’ pile. Casey was worried she would get fussed at for being too picky or some nonsense, but to her relief, Quin seemed to agree there were no good candidates.

Still, they persevered, until Quin hit a letter that made him blanch, somewhere towards the end of the stack. Casey had just thrown another letter into the ‘No Response’ pile in disgust and caught the change in his facial expression.

“Another dirty one?” she said with a snort. “Fucking Orlesians.”

Quin shook his head, and simply handed her the letter to read. Casey was not as stone-faced as Quin. Some might even say she was too expressive. Still, her words seemed to fail her. She sat back in her chair with a thump and looked to Quin, as if to confirm with him that she was not having a bad dream. He was looking at her with something akin to pity.

“Well, shit.”

Chapter Text

Casey and Quin arrived in Skyhold under the cover of darkness a little over a fortnight after she recovered from her mild case of stabbing. She had written ahead to inform Josephine she would be returning soon, but she still felt nervous approaching the keep so late at night. Almost as a reflex, she looked up at the tower where Cullen worked and slept as they crossed the drawbridge. She was not at all surprised to see that at least one candle still burned there, despite the late hour.

A rather tipsy looking stable hand even helped them put the horses away. Josephine had managed to get a message to Casey as they had traveled that her rooms would be ready for her arrival, but it would be more difficult to find accommodation on such short notice for Quin.

Casey hoped Quin wouldn’t need a place to stay here. If all went well, he would be able to get back to Maison Detre, which is where he absolutely preferred to be. He fretted the entire way to Skyhold about whether or not those he had left to pick up his regular duties would be up to the task. Casey would have picked on him for it if she hadn’t been worried about the same thing. She decided he definitely needed more money after this, and perhaps an apprentice or three.

One way or the other, he needed a place to sleep tonight, and Casey was not about to leave her friend to sleep in the stables. Together, they made their weary way up the battlements to her tower. They weren’t making any attempts to be stealthy, but she still used her knowledge of the guard rotations to skirt the soldiers where possible. She just really didn’t feel like talking to anyone after their journey, and she had befriended quite a number of nosy guards who would want to know who she had with her.

Casey let out a heavy sigh as she finally locked the door of her tower behind her. She turned and threw back the hood on her cloak only to be met with the sight of a standoff between Cullen and Quin. In a room that was already very well lit.

“Cullen,” she said, her weariness dulling any surprise that might have crept into her voice. “What are you doing in here?”

Cullen flushed a bit, and turned to face her, but she noticed he kept his body angled towards Quin. Quin looked at the Commander steadily, as placid as a Tranquil.

“Josephine mentioned you would be returning today,” he said, drawing closer to her. She noticed he kept Quin in his peripheral vision as he moved. “How are you feeling? Why did you not come back sooner? Who in Andraste’s name is this?”

Casey unclasped her cloak and threw it in the direction of her workbench before directing Quin with a wave of her hand to get comfortable as well. She moved forward and took Cullen’s elbow to guide him to the other side of the room. He allowed himself to be led or she never would have managed to get his fully-armored frame to the corner.

“Okay, I can’t remember what order you asked in but, I’m feeling a bit sore but alright. Quin said I owe that Solas guy my thanks for having all of my organs intact. Uh, let’s see, getting stabbed took slightly longer to get over than I expected, and this is Quin. You have met before,” she said. Casey yawned. They really had to stop meeting like this. “Did I get everything? Can I go to bed now?”

“What about him?” Cullen said, jerking a thumb back towards Quin, who was quietly unpacking their things.

“What about him?” Casey repeated, blinking stupidly. She really had no idea what he was driving at.

Cullen let his arms fall to his sides, suddenly looking as weary as she felt. He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s nothing. Well, then, I, um, I should probably go. Let you get your rest,” he said. “But I will see you tomorrow, then?”

“I guarantee it,” she said with a small smile. He smiled tentatively in return.

Cullen made his way over to the door, but drew up short. “Shall I help your...friend find his way to his lodgings? If he is to be stationed in the valley with your apprentices, someone can ride him down into the valley at the next guard change.”

Casey let out a huge yawn again, unable to stop her self. “S’alright, Cullen, he’s staying in here with me until he can head back home. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Cullen went completely still, his hand tightening around the door handle. Quin was looking at Cullen with his head tilted, like he was a painting he was trying to figure out the meaning of.

“He will be staying in here? With you?” Cullen echoed, his voice slightly strained.

“Yeees?” She heard Quin huff in annoyance. She was missing something and she didn’t give two fucks what it was.

“I see,” he said, then he left with a slam of the door behind him. Quin moved in quickly to lock the door behind him and Casey let out a rough sigh.

“Finally,” she said. “I mean, really, couldn’t that have waited until morning?”

Quin was staring at the door that Cullen had slammed, his lips pursed. “I will sleep down here tonight, Casey. You should get to your bed. I will wake you when it is time to meet with Lady Montilyet.”

“We’ve been on the road for days and there is plenty of room in the bed. I made a huge one because I could. You’re perfectly welcome to come upstairs with me.”

Quin turned to face his mistress with a disapproving glare. “Do not forget why we are here,” he said. “I do consider you to be my friend, Casey, but you will need to begin considering your station and treating me accordingly.”

“I just now got you calling me Casey and now we have to go back to ‘my lady’ again?” Casey lamented. “I don’t understand why. You are my friend, dammit. My friend that I pay to do things for me, but still. I’d never ask you to do something you don’t want to do.”

“Then do not ask me to do this,” Quin said simply.

“Fine,” Casey conceded, too tired to argue. “Do you at least want to lay your bedroll down upstairs? The wood has got to be softer than the stone down here.”

“I am perfectly content to sleep down here,” Quin insisted. “Now, go.”

Casey thought of about 15 different excuses to keep her in the tower before Quin finally had to resort to dragging her out. She was wearing the simplest dress she had that still passed Quin’s standards, but she still felt completely wrong in it. The dress was a steely gray satin that matched the color of the storm clouds currently clustering above Skyhold. Despite it’s relative simplicity to other Orlesian noble dresses, it was still very much an Orlesian noble dress, complete with a delicate mask that was suitable for “daily wear.”

There were some whispers as she made her way to Josephine’s office, her elven “manservant” in tow. From what she could hear from the louder ones, they were mostly wondering who the new arrival was. No one suspected that they had already seen her around the keep for months. The ones she had seen at the Winter Palace also didn’t seem to suspect that she was the mystery Duchess. She had no doubt the whispers would get a lot nastier once they knew all.

Anxiety tore through her and twisted her stomach up in knots. She regretted eating the croissant and grapes Quin had forced on her this morning. On top of making her feel entirely too noble, the food now felt very unsettled inside her. So Casey did what she always did when she was upset, or nervous, or scared, and got a bit angry instead.

“Let’s get this over with, Josephine,” she said as she entered the woman’s office before stomping straight through to the War Room without taking a look back to see if Josephine even followed. She thought she heard a sigh behind her. Casey wouldn’t have thought it possible, but apparently even sighs can have accents.

It was so early that no one else had arrived. A pleasant chat with Josephine about the weather died rather quickly, so she turned her attention to the War Table itself. She hadn’t had the chance to look it over the one or two times she had been brought in here before.

It appeared to be a single slice from a very large tree. She knocked on the wood to get an idea of the hardness. It had been sealed, but it looked like it had been a hardwood. Casey began talking again, but it wasn’t to anyone in particular. She was more addressing the room at large. She didn’t really care if anyone was even listening, she was so enraptured with the table.

“Where did you even find this, Josephine?”

“The table was already in the fortress when we arrived,” she responded. “Thankfully it was unharmed.”

“You can say that again,” Casey said with a wistful sigh. “You could empty your coffers and still not have enough to replace a piece like this. I don’t even know what kind of wood this is.”

“Acacia?” a deep voice said behind her.

“No, it’s definitely not acacia,” she said with a laugh, bending over to inspect the rings again. “They don’t get anywhere near as big. And I mean just look at these rings. You can tell how good the rain was in any given year by looking at these rings and tell how old the tree is to boot. Do you ever move this map? I’d love to count them.”

Casey had moved around the table so the door was at her back. She heard a throat clear behind her and turned to see that the Inquisitor, Spymaster, and Commander had all entered the room. The Spymaster had a small grin on her face. The Commander was looking her up and down and appeared to be stricken dumb. He blushed when she caught his eyes as they raked up and down, taking in her appearance, including the delicate mask that did nothing to hide her features.

The Inquisitor approached the table with interest and pulled the map back to study the rings with her. She hadn’t looked very closely before, but she realized now that the swirling purple lines tattooed on his face formed a tree. Casey wanted to ask what kind of tree it was supposed to represent, but she wasn’t sure if it would be offensive or not, so she held her tongue.

“You know, for all that the Dalish love wooden things, I find I never really looked closely at this table,” he said, rubbing his beardless chin thoughtfully. “Now I’m wondering how many rings it has, too. They say the trees in Arlathan could grow to be larger than a whole fleet of aravels combined. Do you think this could be that old?”

“I don’t see why not,” she said eagerly. “I have certainly never seen a tree grow to this size and this had to have been sitting here for an age at least. Don’t you have people in your clan who pass on stories? Knowers? Maybe they’d, um, know something?”

“Keepers,” he said with a smile, thankfully amused and not offended. “I’ve been meaning to write anyway. I’m sure they would appreciate this bit of news far more than what I’ve been sending back lately.”

“Speaking of, how are you feeling?” he said. “I tried to convince your friend to bring you back to Skyhold, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He is very protective of you.”

Casey gave a small smile at that, but the reasons why she had shown up in this room came crashing down on her. She wished she could step back to five minutes ago when the table had made her happy. The Inquisitor was looking at her, politely expectant. Casey looked up to Josephine, her face pleading for help.

“That is actually why Casey has joined us in the War Room today,” Josephine said tentatively. “After the incident at Halamshiral, things have become somewhat complicated.”

“Complicated?” Cullen said gruffly from somewhere behind her. Casey jumped and turned at the table so she could see everyone who stood around it. Leliana, Josephine, Cullen, and the Inquisitor had all fallen into positions that seemed familiar. Casey was standing at the Inquisitor’s right hand. A glance back told her Quin had quietly positioned himself at the door, ready at a moment’s notice.

“Interesting you should reveal yourself now when you have worked so hard,” Leliana said with a tilt of her head. Then, it seemed something clicked for her, and she gave a wicked grin that Casey did not like in the least. “Jean-Gaspard?”

Casey’s groan at that name was the only confirmation Leliana needed to her suspicion.

“That IS unfortunate,” Leliana said in response. “I will see what I can find to help, but Josephine will no doubt need to do the heavy lifting on this one. Provided the Inquisitor approves, of course.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything without everyone’s approval,” Casey said wringing her hands. “And I wouldn’t trouble you, but I had nowhere else to turn.”

“After everything you have done for us, we will be happy to assist however we can,” Josephine said earnestly.

“Would someone please explain what is going on?” Cullen said, his impatience making the question come out as a growl.

“I would rather like to know myself,” the Inquisitor said much more pleasantly. “Especially if I am to make a decision on something.”

Casey was silent so long that Josephine took it as her cue to begin an explanation.

“There may be some necessary background required first. Inquisitor, as you know, Casey Joiner been with us at Skyhold for some time now as the head carpenter,” Josephine said. “What have not been made aware of is that Lady Casey Wainwright, the Duchess of Val Firmin, has also been contributing a steady stream of funds in addition to the labor and craftsmen she has provided. Her only request was that I keep her full identity private.”

Everything was silent for a moment until Cullen broke in.

“What is this nonsense?” Cullen said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t Leliana just make all of that up to sneak the lady carpenter into the party as a distraction. A move, by the way, I am still very unhappy with.”

“I would still argue, Commander, that such behavior falls squarely into my domain,” she said.

“I don’t care who is in charge of it, you had no right to use an innocent woman as bait,” he said, jamming his finger into the table for emphasis. “She had no reason whatsoever to be there.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Casey cut in, staring at the table mournfully. “I have received an invitation to the Winter Palace for the past five years. And Leliana did not force me. I agreed to go.”

She refused to look up. Refused to see the disgusted look on Cullen’s face as he processed the truth. If she was being honest with herself—and she rarely ever was—that dread was part of what compelled her to keep her identity a secret in the first place. She blew out a breath to steady herself and looked up at the Inquisitor, forcing herself to maintain eye contact with him and him alone.

“I have been hiding from everyone for years, Inquisitor, but now that I have outed myself for the sake of the Inquisition...I, well,” she paused, her attempts at trying to sound professional failing her. She gave up with a sigh. “Listen, I really hate to ask but I need your help because some idiot is trying to marry me.”

The room was silent. The Inquisitor stared at her for a moment before letting out a hearty laugh. It was transfixing to see his normally serious face break into mirth, and she could suddenly understand how he had managed to get so many to follow him.

“Please don’t misunderstand me, madam,” he said, still chuckling lightly. “I am not laughing at your situation, but rather your presentation of it combined with the look on our Commander’s face.”

Casey told herself she was a big girl now and with a deep breath finally turned to face Cullen. He didn’t look disgusted, or pissed off, or even elated. He looked instead like a man who expected Sera to pop out from under the table at any moment and scream “Gotcha!” before careening off into more mischief.

“That is not possible,” he said, voice strangely quiet. “Your father...You lived in Honnleath. I have watched you chase chickens. For fun.”

“Yes, but my mother was apparently the daughter of a Duke,” she said with a shrug that was very Orlesian. If anyone had said as much to her at that moment, however, it might have been rather upsetting.

Leliana let out a small gasp. “Lady Marianne was your mother, then?” she said, not really asking. “That was quite the scandal.”

“I haven’t looked into it much to be honest,” she said, shoulders drooping as she leaned heavily on the table. “Too busy running an estate and trying to dodge as many noble functions as possible. I was doing a damn fine job until Sister Leliana stepped in, too.”

“I can be quite persuasive,” she said with a grin. “And you were quite successful as a distraction. The Inquisitor was able to force everyone to work together thanks to you.”

The Inquisitor nodded at her gratefully. Cullen was mumbling to himself.

“If I may, Inquisitor, I would also like to thank you for the loan of one of your mages to assist with the process,” Quin spoke up from the door, bowing when the Inquisitor turned his way. “My mistress would have been unbearable had her convalescence lasted any longer than it did.”

She stuck her tongue out at Quin, a fact that Mahanon made note of. “You have an unusual relationship with your servant,” he said, the last word dripping with disgust.

“He is not my servant, he is my friend,” Casey said firmly. “He is no more my servant than anybody in this room is yours.”

The Inquisitor looked surprised at this, but not at all displeased.

“I believe we have veered slightly off-topic,” Josephine said. “Her Grace’s title or role at the Winter Palace is not we are meant to discuss. If we wish to stick to the proposed agenda, we must return to the topic at hand.”

“You are the only one with the agenda, Josie,” Leliana said fondly.

“Yes, and I am the only reason why these meetings do not drag on longer when you and Cullen begin bickering,” Josephine retorted.

“And for that, I am grateful,” Mahanon said sincerely. “What is the matter we are meant to discuss, exactly? I caught something about a marriage, but—meaning no offense—how is this an Inquisition problem?”

“As the Duchess said, she has made every effort in recent years to avoid noble gatherings. She was only persuaded to attend the Winter Palace to aid the Inquisition. As a result, Lady Casey has found herself on the receiving end of...attentions she may not have received otherwise if it were not for our insistence she attend the ball.”

“Attention? Such as?” the Inquisitor prodded.

“Marriage proposals,” Leliana supplied.

“Why would this need to be brought to the Inquisitor?” Cullen said, clutching the hilt of his sword as though he were resisting the urge to pull it out and threaten everyone at the table. “Surely she can reject the offers on her own.”

“So quick to assume they would all be rejections,” Leliana purred. “Perhaps the lady wishes to accept and is having a hard time deciding?”

Cullen snapped his mouth closed with an audible click of his teeth and clenched so hard Casey thought his teeth might crack.

“I don’t plan on accepting any,” she said quickly, looking back to Leliana and the Inquisitor. “But as Quin and I were going through the pile trying to figure out the best way to say ‘No’ without starting another war, we found a...strange one.”

“Jean-Gaspard of Lydes claims that he was promised to the next female heir to the duchy of Firmin,” Josephine said nervously. “While it is...doubtful the former Duke had any intention that his estranged granddaughter would be forced to wed Jean-Gaspard, that is the issue we need to address.”

“What Josie means is that the Duke no doubt drew up such a contract to please the former Duke of Lydes with no intention that the contract would ever be fulfilled,” Leliana supplied. “The Duke’s only daughter had run away, and his sons had only sons. It was likely meant as an insult. He may not have even known of Casey’s existence.”

“Jean-Gaspard of Lydes,” Cullen said, his eyes boring a hole in the map. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“The Inquisitor...assisted in the dispute over the inheritance of the dukedom,” Josephine supplied. “You sent one of our soldiers to fight on behalf of Caralina’s husband...Stefan de Firmin.”

“And after a sound beating, Jean-Gaspard slunk back to lick his wounds and watch as his cousin took over his brother’s duchy,” Leliana continued. “Stefan was later found poisoned and conveniently in possession of evidence that his wife had been unfaithful. It was enough to prevent her from inheriting the dukedom of Val Firmin as well as Lydes.”

“Is all of this to say that our lady carpenter’s current predicament is mostly our fault?” Mahanon said with an edge of nervousness to his voice.

“Unfortunately so, Inquisitor,” Josephine said. “And if action is not taken, Her Grace will be forced to marry Jean-Gaspard.”

“Who is 15 years her senior and an idiot to boot,” Leliana said. Casey felt almost offended at the how gleeful she sounded. What kept her from anger was the impression that Leliana wasn’t pleased at her pain, necessarily. She just seemed excited by the drama.

“Fucking Orlesians,” Cullen grumbled, his head falling into his hands.

For once, Casey agreed with Cullen wholeheartedly.

Chapter Text

Cullen didn’t speak to Casey for a week. It wasn’t that he was avoiding her. Or at least, she didn’t think that was the reason she barely saw him. She spent most of her time tied up in meetings with Josie, various solicitors, and legal experts, trying desperately to find some sort of loophole or out for her marriage contract. So it was fine that they hadn’t spoken. Really. She had spent years at a time not talking to him, so it wasn’t a hardship at all. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been.

Casey found she itched to know what Cullen thought of her position, and it bothered her that she cared. She told herself that it was because she was proud of her roots and she didn’t want anyone to think she was ashamed of Honnleath and her upbringing there. But it wasn’t the real reason and she knew it. In reality, she didn’t want Cullen to hate her for being a noble.

He had been nice enough to her at the party when he didn’t know who she was, but surely that would change. His week of silence only seemed to prove that he didn’t want to have friendly chats or play chess games with a duchess, so she took to hitting things with her hammer instead. If she was able to do it in fancy dress, all the better.

When the nobles in residence at Skyhold found out that the carpenter was actually a duchess, the result had been more explosive than when the Inquisitor had recruited a bunch of creepy cultists. Whispers erupted wherever she went. She wondered at times how things might have been different if she had been a Ferelden noble. Would the Banns have had enough respect to not gossip where she could hear it? Orlesians certainly had no qualms about shit-talking someone who was only outranked by the Empress herself.

“She spends quite a lot of time with that handsome elf. Do you think he is her lover?”

“I hear he sleeps in her tower with her.”

“She sleeps in a tower? Are there not…squirrels?”

“No doubt she is used to such things, having been raised by the dog-lords.”

“Not even the dog-lords, she was raised with the dogs themselves, I hear.”

“Have you seen her arms? Absolutely brutish.”

“Indeed, it is a wonder they do not split every dress she wears.”

“Blood cannot cover all deficiencies, and even on her mother’s side there was...wildness.”

Quin insisted she keep wearing dresses, but she ditched the mask after day 3. By day 5, even Quin was unable to keep her from occasionally hitting a practice dummy with a large ax to work out some of her frustration. Her personal commissions dried up almost completely, leaving her with very little in the way of work to keep her occupied. The nobles took their business elsewhere rather than ordering from the strange duchess, and the regular citizens were afraid to request such paltry things as tables and chairs from someone so far above their station.

They were no closer to a solution despite the Inquisitor giving his blessing to Josephine to work on her problem almost exclusively until it reached its resolution—in one way or another. Casey had not expected results in a week, but she was still frustrated by the lack of progress and was hitting things in her usual spot by the tavern with The Right Hand of the Divine as her silent companion. They had not spoken much, but Seeker Pentaghast knew of her situation somehow. They had a mutual understanding as they took out their frustrations the best way they knew how.

Casey heard a commotion at the front gate and at first she ignored it and continued swinging. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Quin approaching, his face even more serious than normal. Without a word, she dropped her ax and followed him to the lower courtyard.

An Orlesian man had entered the keep, followed by a large retinue. He was dressed in garish yellow tights and a shimmering veridium doublet. His golden mask glinted in the sun where it stuck out from beneath his overly large lemon colored hat that sported an equally large peacock feather.

“I must insist that you take me to my betrothed at once,” the man said. “I will not be kept from her side until our vows are read. If you continue to get in my way, I will have to insist upon satisfaction from your leader.”

Casey let out a groan and sagged against a wall, tucking herself out of sight. Her fiance had arrived.

Chapter Text

After less than one day of being forced to interact with her fiance, Casey started wearing masks again. She picked the ones with as much coverage as possible. They didn’t completely keep her out of trouble, but they hid most of the pained or disgusted facial expressions she couldn’t seem to keep off her face whenever Jean-Gaspard spoke. And boy did he speak.

He followed her everywhere, or at least he attempted to. Where he could not follow, Jean-Gaspard would attempt to force her to stay with him.

“It is most undignified for a lady of your standing to be seen in the tavern.”

“You should send your servant to find someone to handle that job for you. Once you are my wife, you will no longer have to abase yourself with manual labor.”

“I am sure you never learned this with your disadvantaged upbringing, my dearest, but you must let my experience be the guide for us both.”

Jean-Gaspard also tried to regale her with tales of his exploits on the battlefield, only to splutter when she asked why he wasn’t still on the battlefield. There was still a war, after all, she declared in the sickliest sweet voice she could manage. Despite the Inquisitor’s success at Halamshiral, there were bouts of fighting all throughout the Dales. Beyond that would be the cleanup. He mumbled something about an injury to his knee and never brought it up again. Quin insisted she keep things civil in order to avoid an incident, but Jean-Gaspard was beginning to wear on him as well.

At first he treated Quin in the same dismissive way that most upper class Orlesians treated elves, but when he realized that Casey was very fond of Quin, he turned cruel. He was smart enough, it seemed, to never be outright abusive or do anything that would cause harm, but he was nasty at every turn and sent Quin off to perform unpleasant tasks whenever possible.

It was inevitable that things would reach a boiling point eventually and Casey only hoped she had her ax in hand when it did. No place in Skyhold was safe from him, but she found that the most tolerable place was the Herald’s Rest.

She was hiding there from him one evening, wearing her favorite pair of butter soft leggings and a loose tunic in the hopes that she would blend in longer. Quin was out running interference by leading Jean-Gaspard on a wild goose chase for his mistress about the castle in order to buy her some precious time alone. Bull, who always seemed to be present in the tavern, gave her a nod when she arrived. After that, no one seemed to bother her at all, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he had something to do with it. Cabot ran the bar, but Bull ran the patrons.

“May I sit with you, my lady?” she heard as she stared moodily into her cup of ale.

She started, and looked up at the last person she expected to see in the tavern. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure out what his angle was. That’s when Casey realized she had been spending too much time around Orlesians. She let out a heavy sigh and waved her hand at a chair.

To her surprise, Cullen didn’t take up the seat across from her, but instead sat right beside her, close enough she could feel the heat from his leg where it rested next to hers. He turned his body towards her, and their legs touched. She looked at it, then up at him, wondering what she had missed. Something was going on today and she was out of the loop. Cullen Rutherford was in a tavern. He was touching her leg to his. He was looking at her with an expression she hadn’t seen since they were kids.

She looked back down at her ale, and then up at Cabot with suspicion. She’d be watching that man from now on. Cullen took Casey’s silence to mean he should speak first. Considering where her mind had gone, that was probably for the best.

“How...how have you been?” he started lamely. He seemed to realize it too, if his neck-rubbing was any indication.

Casey just blinked at him for a moment. “Have you MET my future husband?” she said, then took a large swig of ale in response to her own question. Cullen’s face was a strange mixture of hard and contemplative.

“I have,” he said tightly. “He came into my office insisting that you be assigned a personal guard.”

“Please tell me you told him to sod off,” Casey said, some life finally creeping into her voice. “Or that you punched him. Oooh, Cullen, did you punch him?”

“I did not punch him,” Cullen said sternly. Did she detect a hint of regret? “I haven’t...I don’t understand…” Cullen let out a frustrated sigh and ran his hand through his hair. He leaned in closer and dropped his voice. “Acacia, why on earth are you marrying that man?”

Casey discovered in that moment that maybe she had already had too many ales for the day. Cullen’s face was very close to her own. She could feel his breath ghost across her cheek. She looked down at his lips and had to resist the urge to trace a scar there. She wondered why she hadn’t asked him how he got it yet.

She closed her eyes, as if not being able to see Cullen would render her immune to his proximity. It helped some. Not enough, but some. She opened her eyes again.

“If you hadn’t noticed, I came to Josie looking for help to do just that,” she said. “And I’m currently drinking the worst ale in Thedas hoping I can get a half hour today without him trying to grope me.”

Cullen turned a bit red at that, his sense of chivalry no doubt niggled. “I have seen the contract. It is ridiculous,” Cullen said, smacking a fist into his open hand. “You cannot be forced into marriage with that...with such a…”

“Maker-damned idiot? An ignoramus? A pompous Orlesian poppycock?”

“Exactly,” he said grimly. “You cannot be forced to marry him.”

“I mean, sure, I could run off, but then I’d be handing the estate to that asshat on a silver platter,” Casey said with exasperation.

“Why do you care?” Cullen said, no longer bothering to be quiet now that he wasn’t calling her by name. “Why would you want to be a noble of all things?”

“Why do you say that like it’s a dirty word, Cullen?” she said, pushing herself away slightly. “Sera has a thriving hobby of turning aristocrats into pincushions and she seems to think I’m alright but you…”

“But I what?” Cullen challenged.

“You’ve been avoiding me like the plague since you found out,” she said, unable to keep some of the hurt from leaking into her voice. They weren’t exactly being loud, but she knew that Bull and Sera were watching. There was no doubt this would spread like wildfire soon, at least through the gossipy inner circle of the Inquisitor’s friends. You might think they’d be too busy helping Inquisitor Lavellan save the world to get wrapped up in petty drama, but you’d be horribly wrong. They were the worst of the lot in Skyhold.

“Is it so bad--” she stopped and attempted to lower her voice. It was difficult to do when she was drunk. Her tongue felt a bit too heavy. “Is it so bad that I’m a noble? I’m still the same girl from Honnleath. I’m still ME.”

“It’s not...I’m not…” he stumbled, looking flustered and mildly ashamed. “I do not care if you are noble, you will always be my—I will always care for you.”

Warmth bloomed in Casey’s chest at his words, but she had to push forward, had to figure things out. “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he said. “It is very hard to deal with your fiance, but it is even harder to see him with you.” He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke, and he looked slightly pink.

Casey winced. “He is very forward,” she said. “I imagine it’s no fun for anyone to witness. So—are we good then?”

“We are,” Cullen said firmly. “But there is still the matter of your marriage. There are Inquisition camps all throughout Ferelden and Orlais. You could lay low at a camp for some time. Leliana may even be able to assist with crafting you a new identity.”

He seemed particularly excited by this plan. Casey looked at Cullen for moment, mouth agape.

“That’s…” she began. “Cullen, I think that’s the most underhanded thing I’ve ever heard you suggest. I absolutely hate that I have to turn the offer down, truly.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, frustration returning. “Why would you rather be that idiot’s wife than simply give up your title and go back to the way you used to live?”

The old Casey—which was really only the Casey from a few months ago—would have gotten angry at this point. But the Inquisition had taught her a lot, not least of which was that there was a glowing scar in the heavens and there was really no point in getting up in arms over every little thing. Cullen was making an effort to understand, he was even offering her an out. She would be patient.

“Cullen, if Leliana wrote up a contract promising you to an Orlesian in marriage, and all of the Inquisition’s soldiers would be forfeit if you didn’t go through with it, what would you do?”

Cullen drew up, his face confused and mildly upset. “I fail to see how that would ever happen,” he said.

“Just answer the hypothetical question, Cullen,” Casey ground out. She wasn’t a saint, after all. “Would you abandon your men and everything you have worked for the past year to save your own hide?”

“No,” he said, looking away from her. “I would not. But I fail to see how that is the same.”

“It may not be some grand military, but the people who work at Maison Detre are my responsibility. I have worked very hard to make their lives better and I’ll be damned if I give them over to the ridiculous decadence of some desensitized noble prick again!”

She may have shouted the last bit, she couldn’t be sure, but based on the look on Cullen’s face she figured she had finally gotten through.

“Is this man bothering you, my dear?” came a heavily accented voice from the door. Casey looked up and groaned at the silhouette of her fiance standing against the failing light that made it’s way through the tavern door. She resisted the urge to slam her head on the table—or perhaps slam his head on the table—but only just. Knowing her luck, the bastard would still attempt to marry her even if she was comatose. Best not to risk it.

“I am fine, Jean-Gaspard,” she said dismissively. “Just discussing the burdens of responsibility with the Commander.”

“A worthy topic, my darling bud,” Jean-Gaspard said, coming to stand in front of her. He looked down at the chair on her other side briefly before deciding he would not be sitting there. “Perhaps this is a fortuitous chance that brings you to be here, Commander. I wish to discuss a matter of security.”

“As I said before, the Inquisition’s soldiers are not for hire,” Cullen said. He glanced briefly back over his shoulder at the Chargers. “With a few exceptions. The Chargers are our only mercenary group. If you pay well enough, they may be enticed to assist with...whatever it is you need.”

“But I assure you, this would be Inquisition business,” Jean-Gaspard said with a slimy grin. “My lovely bride-to-be is an official member of the Inquisition, after all, as are some of her...underlings. It would seem my dearest’s manservant has found himself on the wrong side of a mage.”

Cullen stilled and turned to face the man. Casey likewise stopped trying to desperately shrink in on herself and turned to look at him with wide eyes.

“What do you mean? What’s happened?” she said, angry now at the slur in her voice. Of all the times to be drunk, she thought.

“Your servant was leading me to a bottle of wine he suggested you may care for in particular. We were separated and he ended up trapped. Of course, me and my men had to see to ourselves in such a dangerous situation,” he said with a sniff. “I have tried to tell you, my dear, that you need to dismiss him. He is more trouble than he is worth.”

“What do you mean he’s trapped?” Cullen said in alarm, standing up quickly and advancing on Jean-Gaspard, looming over the man. Jean-Gaspard was too dense to feel threatened, but his guards had the good sense to be intimidated by Cullen in full Commander mode. One of the guards spoke.

“She was blocking his way out of one of the store rooms,” he said tentatively, glancing at Jean-Gaspard to see if he would be upset that he dared to speak. When Jean-Gaspard waved him on, he continued. “She said she would make the elf love her by any means necessary.”

“Maker’s cock,” Cullen swore.

Casey started. She had never heard Cullen let lose with a real swear before. It hammered home the seriousness of the situation the way nothing else could have. He grabbed the man who had spoken and started to make his way to the tavern door. Casey scrambled to follow behind on wobbly feet.

“You’re going to take me to him,” he said to the guard. “This should have been reported to the nearest Templar immediately and instead you wasted time to find me specifically. If I find he has come to harm, I will hold your master personally responsible.”

Jean-Gaspard, who had been following along, squawked at this. “Really, Commander, I simply believed the situation demanded only the best,” he said. “It is surely more than the knife-ear deserves. But really, you cannot take one of my guards from me. There are many who would wish me dead.”

“Of that I have little doubt,” Cullen bit out. Casey’s heart gave a little flip. It was the hottest thing he’d ever said. He made eye contact with the Iron Bull.

“Bull, could you please keep an eye on our esteemed guest,” he said, his voice dripping with so much angry sarcasm that even Jean-Gaspard noticed.

“Sure, thing,” Bull said with a gracious nod. “I’ll keep two on him, if I find an extra one laying around.” Bull’s grin was more menacing than usual as he said this.

“Commander, you will not leave me with this...this brute!”

“That brute is the leader of the finest mercenary band that money can buy,” Casey said, losing patience she didn’t have to begin with. “You will sit here and let him protect your precious ass while the Commander does what a real man would have done in the first place and saves my best friend.”

Jean-Gaspard sat down with an offended grunt, and Casey turned to storm out of the building, leaving Cullen and Jean-Gaspard’s guardsman to follow behind. If she noticed Cullen looked ridiculously pleased with himself, she didn’t call it out. There were more important things that needed to be done.

Hang in there, Quin.

Chapter Text

Cullen ordered the first runner he saw to track down a couple of Templars and send them to the lower store rooms. Casey was surprised that Cullen had not yet tried to order her away. She could only assume it was because he knew such an effort would be wasted. She didn’t have much of an idea what to do with an unhinged mage and she was wearing a very stupid dress that was not suitable for fighting, but she would be damned if she left Quin to deal with this alone.

Rather than waiting for the other Templars to arrive, Cullen advanced slowly on the room that Jean-Gaspard’s guard indicated held Quin and the mage. The door was closed, but voices could be heard from the other side, one more clearly than the other. Casey recognized the sound of Quin’s voice, though she could not make out what he was saying. She also, unfortunately, recognized the voice of the mage who was presumably blocking Quin from getting to the door.

Casey didn’t press Quin for details of his personal life, either as his employer or as his friend. She figured his business was his own and he would share what he wished to share. He gave Casey the same courtesy. He had told her once, in an off-hand way, that he had befriended a former Circle mage and they had been spending a decent amount of time together whenever Jean-Gaspard drove him away.

Raelis, that was her name. A city elf who had been taken to the circle at a young age. Things were fine at first. Quin seemed to enjoy having a new friend outside of Maison Detre. But then things got a little weird. Casey and Quin started to find that some of their things were going missing. She had also found a nearly illegible note on her work bench one day. She couldn’t make out what it said, but she knew it wasn’t anything pleasant. Quin thought it looked like Elvhen, but he didn’t actually know any, himself.

She hadn’t mentioned any of this to Cullen. The both of them had honestly shrugged most of the incidents off until the woman began to show up more and more where she was neither expected or wanted. Quin began to make an extra effort to stay by her side, no matter how cruel Jean-Gaspard became.

Casey felt like a fool and a horrible, horrible friend not to have done something sooner. She worried she had been too passive as a friend. She pulled at Cullen’s arm and brought him close so she could whisper all she knew into his ear.

Cullen turned his head slightly, his face brushing her hair away. He spoke into her ear in the same low tone she had used to tell him about Raelis. “I’d rather you turn back. We do not know what she may resort to in her desperation.”

“I’m not leaving you or Quin to deal with this alone,” she whispered fiercely.

Cullen sighed. “Very well. But please, stay out of sight. If what you say is true...it may not make things better if she sees you.”

Before she had a chance to figure out what Cullen had planned, the door opened and the woman emerged. But she was no longer simply a woman.

Horns had burst from her skull, and none too gently, either. Bits of bone and blood were trapped in the former mage’s hair. There were breaches in her skin and purple now peeked through. Her head was crowned in a pinkish flame and her hair floated about her head as though she were underwater. Her eyes glowed and when she spoke, it sounded like multiple voices layered together.

“Oh, isn’t this a treat,” the Raelis abomination said. “I promised that no one would have Quintus besides Raelis, especially you. But you are familiar. I know I do not have to worry about you.”

The abomination laughed and Casey paled. There was no way. The Warden had killed that desire demon years ago. There was no way this could be the same one. She didn’t realize she had spoken aloud. Or maybe she hadn’t. The abomination responded anyway.

“You can never truly kill Desire,” it purred. “The most you can do is suppress it for the time. I have made my way back. To a host more willing.”

Casey looked to Cullen, her entire world narrowing, her breathing becoming rapid. This couldn’t be happening. Cullen, however, was not faring much better. He looked just as pale as he stared down the demon. He drew his sword and stepped forward a bit, angling his body so that Casey was behind him.

“The offer still stands, you know,” the abomination said. “For both of you.”

Casey and Cullen looked to each other, temporarily startled, before settling back at to the matter at hand. Casey wasn’t sure what Cullen’s strategy was. Did a smite no longer work if the mage was already an abomination? She knew that, unfortunately, he had more experience than she did in these matters. If he wasn’t using his Templar powers, surely there was a good reason for it.

Cullen charged, prepared to attack the abomination head-on, when it crumpled to the ground. Two of Quin’s daggers were buried in the abomination—one at the base of the neck going into the brain, and another mid-spine angled up to the heart.

Quin gave Casey and Cullen a shaky smile. “Thank you very much for the distraction,” he said.

He passed out just as the Templars Cullen had ordered arrived. Casey retrieved Quin’s daggers and Cullen opted to carry Quin’s limp body out of the store room himself. The least the Templars could do after showing up a minute too late was deal with the cleanup.

She had seen quite enough.

Chapter Text

Casey absolutely insisted that they bring Quin back to her quarters, propriety be damned. Since Jean-Gaspard’s arrival, Quin had begun sleeping in the servant’s quarters. But now, he was going to wake up and have to deal with whatever awful things that desire demon had said to him and Casey knew that Quin would not want other people to be around for that.

Cullen looked none too happy with it, but he relented, carrying Quin all the way up the battlements to deposit him in Casey’s very large bed. She split off from him in the courtyard and picked up restoratives from Adan, then grabbed a few sleep potions as well. Adan assumed they were for her. He wasn’t entirely wrong. She was absolutely going to need at least one for herself tonight.

When she got to the top of the stairs in her room, Cullen was sitting in a chair by her bed next to Quin’s unconscious form. He was staring at her headboard. She cleared her throat as she came in, not wanting to startle him and signaled him to be quiet when he looked up. She set a restoration potion by the bed, along with a note for Quin she had quickly penned downstairs. Casey waved silently for Cullen to follow and they made their way back down the stairs, out of her room, and into the fresh air on the battlements.

“Can we go to your office?” she asked. “I don’t really feel like being alone after that.”

Cullen nodded and that was all the permission she needed. The light had gone completely during their time underground and the first round of night watchmen were spreading themselves out along the walls. They saluted as the Commander passed, but he only gave them the briefest of nods before moving on at a quick pace, Casey trailing behind him.

He opened the door to his office and she scrambled in. Casey stood in the middle of the room in silence, watching him light candles and lock up the doors.

“Please, make yourself comfortable. I have reports to look forward to and your input will be necessary.”

Casey gave an incredulous laugh. “Right, paperwork,” she said. “My friend was almost destroyed by a desire demon and now there’s paperwork. This day gets better and better.”

She made a disgusted noise and hopped up on one end of Cullen’s desk. He had already sat down and pulled out a piece of parchment to begin the aforementioned report. The desk was ridiculously long—he still had plenty of room to write, even if he poked both elbows out while he did it. Her knees wouldn’t even touch him unless she spread her legs ridiculously wide—which she didn’t. She just sat on the desk, facing him where he sat in his chair, and wondered why he looked so flustered.

“I do have a perfectly serviceable set of chairs in here now, thanks to you,” he said. “The upholstered one is upstairs, but I can fetch it down.”

She shrugged, and slapped the top of the desk. “I don’t know who built this thing, but it’s very solid. And it’s big enough I fancy you could fuck on it and not even risk falling off. I’m comfortable enough, thank you.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “Yes, well, um…” he began.

“Desire demon,” Casey supplied helpfully.

“Yes, the desire demon,” he said. “I...I do not mean to pry but I will likely need to put in the report that it spoke to you. It said that it knew you. Why?”

“It said that it knew you, too,” she hedged, picking at her nails instead of looking at him. “Why?”

Cullen was silent for a long moment. Casey looked up at him and he seemed to be deep in thought. Finally, he spoke.

“What did you hear about Kinloch?” he said softly, putting his quill down and leaning back in his chair to look up at her.

“Only what everyone else heard,” she said slowly, thinking. Luckily, her thinking wasn’t much slowed. The adrenaline from what had happened had gone a long way towards sobering her up. “The tower was overrun by abominations and the Warden stepped in to save the day.”

Cullen nodded. “One thing that was not exactly advertised by the Chantry was the fact that nearly every Templar in Kinloch lost their lives. All of them except the Knight-Commander—and me.”

“What happened?” Casey said, leaning in, speaking in a near whisper even though they were alone and no one could possibly hear. It felt as though Cullen was telling her a ghost story. In a way, it was a ghost story. Only it was far less enjoyable to hear than the ones Mia told at harvest time.

“I was…” Cullen began, his eyes glazing. “I don’t know how long I was in there, Acacia. The others were all dead but she—it—kept me alive. It wanted me to give in.

“When Warden Cadash arrived, I was convinced he was an illusion. That the demon had finally given up on—on tempting me with...other things and was now tempting me with the chance to escape.”

Casey shook her head with a sad smile. “From what I’ve heard that’d be a really odd thing for a Desire demon to offer, but I can’t say I blame you for not thinking straight. Did you even have food or water?”

Cullen looked at her oddly. “You know, no one has ever asked me that. I did have water, actually, but no food. And seeing all the men and women I had trained with slaughtered by those we were trying to protect...it broke something in me.”

His words got quieter as he spoke. Casey was having a hard time remembering why she couldn’t simply lean forward and give him a hug. It was Cullen who reminded her why. He looked up at her after taking a deep breath.

“What about you?”

Chapter Text

Casey, Age 17

Casey went on regular trips into the woods. She said it was to keep an eye on some trees she was growing for later harvest, but in all reality it was to get some peace and quiet. She would always be grateful for the Rutherfords, but Branson and Rosalie could be quite the handful sometimes.

The time away also gave her a chance her house up—the house her Papa had built with his own two hands. She used his workshop and brought in money of her own. Casey had never wanted anything more than to follow her father into his chosen craft and she worked hard to keep that dream alive.

The day her life changed, she returned to the village to find everything she had ever known in a state of utter chaos. Bodies—or parts of bodies—were strewn about the streets. The thatch on many roofs had caught fire. A survival instinct Casey did not know she possessed took over and she hid in the shadow of a building, eyes and ears peeled. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she would know it when she saw it.

Her eyes landed on Thomas. He lay there in the street, his eyes unseeing. His chest was torn open. She turned away, and caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She followed it, warily, not knowing if she followed something friendly or followed whatever had done this to people she had known all her life. She saw blonde braids and advanced faster.

“Amalia,” she hissed out in a loud whisper. “Amalia! What’s going on? Come back! It’s not safe.”

Amalia was only 9 years old. Even though Casey didn’t know what she could possibly do to protect anyone, she knew she stood a better chance than a little girl did. Amalia was the granddaughter of a mad mage that had once lived in Honnleath. No one admitted to avoiding the little girl because of this. They said it was because she was odd and preferred the company of animals. Casey suspected that was a lie, but as Amalia didn’t seem to care she figured it didn’t much matter.

She would take frequent jaunts into the woods and come back with a whole host of pets, from nugs to—on one very special occasion—a druffalo.. It had been a baby druffalo, but it was still impressive. And potentially theft, but they had never found out who the druffalo belonged to in order to return it. Mathias ended up selling the beast to Da Rutherford. Amalia still came to visit it sometimes. She had named it Steve.

Amalia backtracked now and grabbed Casey’s hand, leading her to her house.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Grandpa set up wards, we’ll be safe there.”

Casey looked at the girl in surprise, but nodded. It made sense. Perhaps Mathias had brought others into his home with the same intention. He was a good man, if a little strange. If he could help, she knew he would. She hoped she would see the Rutherfords there, but she worried. The Rutherford homestead sat well outside the village. What if they didn’t know what was going on? What if they were already—

Casey swallowed hard at the feeling of dread that overtook her and tried to focus. If nothing else, she had to protect Amalia. She knew Amalia was alive. She could only hope that the Rutherfords could handle themselves.

Amalia kept a firm grasp on Casey’s hand even as they entered the house. They passed through wall after wall of pink energy. Casey assumed those were the wards Amalia mentioned. Eventually, they found themselves in the basement, surrounded by strange contraptions she didn’t dare to touch. Casey let out a deep breath and sagged against the wall. Amalia didn’t seem out of breath in the least, being well used to chasing after animals she wanted to befriend.

“Will we be safe here, do you think?” Casey asked into the deep stillness of the room.

“Definitely. Papa said my grandpa had his flaws but he was really, really smart!”

Casey spent a lot of time thinking over that in the years to come and she couldn’t ever seem to decide if it was blatantly false or simply a gross understatement. Because it turned out grandpa had done something amazing—but also dreadfully stupid. He had somehow managed to trap a Desire demon with the intent to study it and then had died before he could kill it or release it back to the Fade.

It was a real dick move, and now, years later, Casey would be the one to pay the price for such heinous fuckery.

Chapter Text

Casey told Cullen nothing more than that she was trapped in a basement at 17 with a desire demon and that the Warden saved her. She didn’t mention the form that the demon took or that the Warden found her pressed against a wall with her dress rucked up to her waist. Cullen didn’t ask, but his eyes betrayed his curiosity. There was no way she’d tell him. She only prayed that he didn’t guess.

Her shame as she spoke had been obvious. Cullen placed what he had probably meant to be a comforting hand on her knee only to retract it a second later when Casey let out a gasp and scooted away.

“Sorry,” he said, his own face flushing. “I—I didn’t think. It’s just, you didn’t endure for nothing. You saved Amalia, as surely as the Warden saved you. I shudder to think what the demon would have done had she been alone.” Cullen sounded bitter as he praised her, as though his own torture had been for nothing.

“You stood strong for days, Cullen,” she said, tentatively placing a hand on his fist where it rested against the desk. He looked up at her, eyes wide, but did not pull away as she had done. “I was only down there for a short while and it still haunts me to this day and...and the worst part is I was minutes away from giving in. I could not have held on as long as you did.”

He hung his head, casting his eyes over her hand over his. He relaxed his fist, laying his palm flat against the desk, but didn’t move it away.

“I hadn’t thought of it quite that way,” he said quietly. “You always did know how to make me sound more noble than I actually was.” He smiled at their hands. A small, sad smile.

“Yes, well, I don’t necessarily approve of how you acted after, but I can’t say I don’t get it,” she said ruefully, pulling her hand back with no small amount of reluctance and crossing her arms over her chest. “And you pulled your head out of your ass, I suppose. Eventually.”

“Eventually,” he echoed, the ghost of a smile growing just a bit. He took a deep breath and got serious again. “All this talk about Honnleath...I never got the chance to thank you.”

“Thank me?” Casey said, her mind going blank. The fuck does he have to thank me for?

“You saved my family,” he said, sounding almost incredulous that she didn’t know what he was about to say.

“Oh, that,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I didn’t do much, that was all Gem.”

“Jim?” he said, confused. “The scout?”

“Not Jim, Gem,” she repeated, trying to emphasize the difference. “The statue.”

“The statue?” he said, confused.

“It’s...okay so it’s not a long story, but it is a weird one,” she said, then repeated as much of what happened as she could bear.

Chapter Text

Casey, Age 17 (still)

Casey was a shaky mess. She was so happy to see the Warden that she was willing to overlook the comments his elven companion made about how flushed she was. The ridiculously handsome knight he had with him wouldn’t look her in the eye, and for that she was grateful. He reminded her too much of Cullen and she simply couldn’t bear it just then. The nice sister made them both turn away while she helped Casey fix up her dress.

She stuck by Sister Leliana as they made their way from the basement, and answered her gentle questions as well as she was able. As soon as Amalia was reunited with her father, Casey found herself at a loss. It was the Sister who suggested they might be able to look for her parents.

“My parents are both dead, but the ones that took me in...I’d very much like to see if they are alright,” she admitted. “But I wouldn’t ask that of you. Just give me a weapon, maybe? I’ll check in myself.”

Warden Cadash looked at her with an appraising eye. “If we were to give you a weapon, would you hurt the darkspawn or hurt yourself?” he asked, then shook his head, not waiting for an answer. “Best to stick with us. We’ll head that way soon, but first I’m going to see about this golem.”

When the statue that Casey had spent most of her childhood babbling to came to life, it melted what was left of her brain. When Gem—or Shale, rather—spoke to her, Casey was only able to respond with nods.

“For such a talkative human you are awfully quiet now,” she said. “Still, I am glad you live. You scared those horrid birds away. You’re perhaps the only human in this town worth something.”

That snapped Casey out of her stupor the way nothing else could. “That’s not true!” she said angrily, then turned to the Warden in a panic. “What about the Rutherfords? You said we would go find them. We have to go find them.”

“Calm down, child,” Shale answered from behind her. “I owe you at least this much.”

Watching the massive stone statue of her childhood tear through darkspawn was a truly awe inspiring thing. Casey avoided dreaming as much as she could, but when her nightmares came to visit, she would sometimes try to force herself to remember Shale and the way the golem reduced alpha hurlocks to a dark smear on the ground.

Despite having been rooted to one spot for many years, Shale knew the way to the Rutherford homestead without prompting. Whether this knowledge came from a time before she was deactivated or from Casey’s own ramblings, she never found out. It didn’t really matter as long as they were saved.

The house was in flames. The Warden and his company stood outside with solemn faces. Casey rushed past them, straight into the building. She covered her face and squatted as the smoke hit her eyes. Da Rutherford’s body lay by the door, his pitchfork still in hand. Ma Rutherford was slumped in front of a shelf that Casey knew immediately wasn’t where it ought to be.

It was blocking the door to the cellar.

“Mia!” she called out frantically, in between hacking coughs. “Branson, Rosalie! Are you in there?”

She heard muffled voices beyond the door, but she couldn’t make the shelf budge. It killed her to do it, but she stepped past the bodies of those she loved and risked heading back outside. The Warden was on her at once.

“That was a frightfully stupid thing you just did, young lady,” he said sternly. She wondered, deliriously, if he had children. Could Wardens even have kids? He sounded very much like a parent. She giggled.

“We have to save them,” she said, eyes wild. “They’re in the cellar. The three of them are in the cellar.”

And Casey promptly passed out. When she came to, she started at the vision of Shale looking down at her with cold stone eyes. She scrambled up and noticed that Mia, Branson, and Rosalie were stretched on the grass next to her. An older woman was tending to them, her hands glowing with gentle light. A mage healer then. Good.

Casey sagged in relief, thankful that she had put her faith in someone deserving. If they had died...she didn’t want to think about it. But she knew she would have never forgiven herself.

“Thank you,” she croaked, her voice rough from the smoke. The Warden was picking through spoils leftover by the darkspawn, but he heard her well enough.

“It’s not me you should thank, but our new friend here,” he said, nodding to Shale. “The fire and smoke didn’t bother her at all.”

“I saved your fellows in thanks for all you have done,” she said. “Even though the small male had the audacity to draw something unspeakable on me once. I still saved him. For you.”

“Thank you,” Casey said, sincere despite the strangeness of this conversation. Surely any minute now she would wake up. Maker, please let me wake up.

“I have one more boon to offer,” Shale said. “Then I will consider us even.”

She set a large ax on the ground next to Casey — the ax she would later dub “Thwack” — and stood.

“I request that you kill as many birds as possible with this, young Acacia,” she said. “Fuck the birds.”

And with those words both Shale and the Warden left Casey and the Rutherford children to figure out the rest of their lives for themselves.

Chapter Text

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said. Then, he chuckled lightly. He had had years to recover from the death of his parents, but the story about the golem was brand new. “Mia obviously did not give many details of what happened, but I wonder that she did not tell me about a golem, of all things. Perhaps she thought it sounded too far-fetched.”

“And yet, you believe it,” she said.

“Absolutely.”

She sighed. “What does that say about the past decade?” They sat in silence, contemplating this.

Casey tried her best to shake the memories she had shared. Part of her feared she would have the nightmares again after this, but part of her felt lighter. As if the nightmares might go away now that she had shared them—and shared them with Cullen specifically. No one else, not even Quin, could relate to what she had said more than he could.

She didn’t have to explain the layout of the village or describe Gem—Cullen knew. Cullen shared enough of the memory that she could ease her burden without feeling like she had relive every detail.

“I was hurt by your silence after my last letter to you, you know. I realize now you needed time, and then the Blight hit but...I admit I was somewhat bitter. It did not help that Mia gleefully reported every time you had a new beau.”

“You were bitter, eh?” she said, choosing to ignore the fact that her beau, such as they were, had been a sticking point for him. She didn’t like the little flip her heart had done. Stupid fucking heart. “Is that why you told me to whore myself out at the Blooming Rose?”

Cullen stood abruptly, his chair screeching across the floor. “By the Maker, what?” he said, outraged. “I would never—what are you talking about?”

His reaction was so shocked, his outrage seemed so genuine, that Casey almost believed he didn’t know. But how could he honestly not remember something like that? She canted her body on the desk to face him and leaned forward, trying her best not to get angry.

“What do you mean when? When I came to visit you in Kirkwall!”

“You never came to visit me in Kirkwall!” he protested, running a hand through his hair and dislodging a few curls. “I absolutely would remember if I had seen YOU of all--”

Cullen stopped speaking abruptly, looking off into the middle distance. He was straining hard for a memory and when it came to him, he paled and sat back down in his chair heavily. “Maker. No.”

“Maker no what?” she said testily. “Out with it, Stanton.”

“That was you,” he said, eyes still glassy from the memory. “It was actually you.”

“Of course it was actually me,” she said. “And you actually told me—well, I won’t repeat it. Sounds like you know what you said.”

“I didn’t think...Maker, Acacia, I am so, so sorry,” he said. His eyes cleared and he turned to her with a pleading look. “What I said was unforgivable, but please, you must believe me when I say I did not know it was you.”

She looked at him for a long moment and it felt like a cold bucket of water to her head when she realized it—he wasn’t lying. If there was one thing Cullen Rutherford sucked at, it was lying. And cards. Which involved a great deal of lying. He was an excellent strategist, but it really was for the best that they had the Sister for spying.

“How is that even possible, Cullen?” she asked. “I know we hadn’t seen each other in years, but did I really look that different? And I gave my name to the Templars that let me in!”

Cullen started to blush but she absolutely was not going to let him out of this one. The man owed her an explanation.

“You did look like you but you also looked quite different. You were—are—more, um...mature. At first I wasn’t even sure you were real, but when the others addressed you...Acacia, do you know what lyrium does to a person?”

“Don’t change the subject now,” she said.

“I am not, I assure you,” he insisted. “Do you know?”

“I know it makes you stronger and I’ve seen Templars take hits of the stuff instead of sleep,” she said. “I get that it helps keep you going, but fuck if it doesn’t make the lot of you testy bastards, too. Don’t know why the Chantry puts up with it.”

“The Chantry doesn’t just allow it. The Chantry gives it to us.”

“They what? Why the fuck would they do that?”

“It is to bind us, and empower us. Think about it—you cannot simply buy lyrium. It must be sourced, and the Chantry controls the source. And lyrium...is what gives a Templar their power,” he said, looking down at his hands. He began pulling at the fingers, sliding his gloves off. He tossed them onto the desk and leaned back, letting his head rest against the back of the chair.

“I was given my first philter shortly before the abominations took Kinloch. I took my last dose just before Meredith succumbed to madness.”

“Maker,” Casey whispered, appalled. What a horrible thing. So that meant… “Is that why you didn’t just smite that bitch earlier and be done with it?”

Cullen nodded. Or at least she thought he did. It looked odd, the way his head was angled. “The withdrawals have been...it has been awful some days, but I feel I am finally on the other side of it. I do not have enough in me to manage one.”

Casey was silent for a long moment, absorbing all of the information she had just been given. It certainly painted things in a new light. And it painted the Chantry in a bad light. There was no way Mia would ever bully her into going to a service again after this, that was for certain.

“That, uh...that still doesn’t explain why you called me a whore, Cullen,” she said at last, breaking the silence.

“Lyrium doesn’t just give us powers. It makes you stronger and gives you energy—as you said. But it also dulls your senses and weakens your, um, higher functions,” he said. He wouldn’t make eye contact. “If you ingest enough lyrium, you become paranoid and angry and—and—“

“Horny?” she ventured.

Cullen made a disgruntled noise. “To put it plainly, yes,” he said.

Casey started to put the scene back together in her head, looking at things from different angles, putting more thought into it than she had dared to in years. Cullen seemed to be doing the same now that he knew she had, in fact, been there and been herself. At the end of it, Casey was smiling and Cullen looked like he wanted to die.

“So that means you saw a woman who look just like a ‘mature’ version of your childhood friend and you told her that you’d like to visit her at the whore house?” she purred. “Did I get that right?”

The blush was a new one, intense in color, and it pleased her to no end. The situation sucked, for sure. What he said still hurt, but she could sympathize more. She could forgive him. And with that forgiveness came the capacity to tease. If nothing else, Cullen had just admitted in an indirect way that he found her attractive enough for a one-night stand. It wasn’t much, but it sure was something.

“I didn’t know,” he insisted.

“Oh, but that is what makes it all the better,” she said gleefully. “Cullen Rutherford found me fuckable. Well, when I was younger at least.”

He stared so hard at the desk that it would have caught fire, if he had been a mage. “You have only improved with age,” he mumbled. He was more blush than man when he finally turned to face her. “On the outside, at least. Inside you are more rotten than ever.”

He smiled at her then and it was like the past 20 years hadn’t happened. He smiled and they were young again, laughing breathlessly as they ran through town for no reason except to experience the joy of running. He smiled and she saw him for the man he was now—the type of man who charge a demon to save someone he barely knew.

Before she could think about it long enough to second-guess, Casey leaned forward and pressed her lips to Cullens.

The world was silent and still for what felt like an eternity. Then, Casey smiled at the feel of that scar against her lips and Cullen reacted faster than a man in armor ought to be able to. He sat up and kissed her with a ferocity that caught her off guard. Her kiss was sweet and spontaneous. His kiss was desperate and gave the impression it had many hours of thought behind it. She placed her hand against his chest and pushed him back gently from where he had placed himself between her legs. To her great relief, he allowed himself to be pushed away.

They were both breathing heavily. She looked into his eyes for a moment and then reality came back to her. Casey had been so wrapped up in nostalgia—even if it wasn’t exactly the pleasant kind—that she had forgotten why they were here in the first place. The mage. Quin. And Jean-Gaspard.

Casey refused to have her heart be broken by the same man twice, even if that man hadn’t even been a man when he broke it the first time. She pushed him back further and slid of the desk inelegantly, backing towards the door as the look on Cullen’s face morphed from confusion to despair.

“Cullen, I...we can’t, okay? Goodnight,” she said, then fled. It couldn’t have really been described as anything else when she sprinted out the door.

As she sat in the tavern with a drink in her hand, Casey swore to herself that soon they would sit down and talk again. She would be an adult and get things out in the open and not let it fester for another 20 years. Maybe, just maybe, they could even be friends again. But tonight, she just couldn’t do it.

Tonight she would drink until she washed away the feel of his lips against hers and fall asleep on the upper floor of the tavern under the watchful eyes of a creepy ghost boy whose whispers she wouldn’t remember come morning.

Chapter Text

Casey really had planned on being an adult about things, truly. It likely didn’t look that way to Cullen, especially after she ran off after what was somehow the best and worst kiss of her entire life. If you took the kiss (or kisses) objectively, it wasn’t great. The kiss she gave him was a mere press of the lips, and the kiss he gave her was too frantic and forceful.

But it was Cullen. Cullen had kissed her and that meant—something. She wasn’t sure what it meant to her anymore. What he meant to her now that the dreams of youth were dead and Blighted and probably on fire, too. It didn’t exactly solve her predicament anyway. She still needed to find a way out of the marriage with Jean-Gaspard, or at the very least save the people she cared about from becoming slaves to his no doubt very strange whims. And that meant she was honestly just busy for the next few days.

Cullen tried to get her to step outside with him the next day but she was completely immersed in estate law discussions with Josephine. He asked her to see him after dinner, but Quin was still having a hard time dealing with what had happened. He had seemed to be very cool about it when he plunged his daggers into the abomination, but in reality this was one trauma too many. As someone who had dealt with the creepy advances of a desire demon herself, Casey felt uniquely qualified and obliged to help.

After a week had passed, Casey could see the frustrated desperation on Cullen’s face. He had been thwarted one too many times and though she tried to communicate with her eyes that she was genuinely remorseful for it, he didn’t seem to buy it.

Things came to a head about a week later when a tower collapsed in the valley and Casey was called in to find out what had caused the collapse and direct work on a new tower. When it came to major problems, the Inquisitor didn’t care that she was a noble. He only cared that she was the best person for the job and she was so very grateful for that. Cullen traveled to the valley with her. She wasn’t sure if it was another desperate attempt to get some time alone to talk or if he genuinely needed to be there.

Either way, the talk finally happened.

Casey was standing in the center of what should have been a solid wooden watchtower with a strong stone foundation. It might not have stood the test of time the way Skyhold had, but that tower should have held another twenty years, at least. She had certainly put enough coatings on the wood to proof it for that many winters of thawing and refreezing. As it was, it hadn’t even made it through one season. The tower was walled in all the way up and the walls at the base of the tower were still intact.

It had either been the roof or the platform at the top where the watchmen stood that had failed, and that collapse had pulled the top part of the walls in. She squatted down, using one of her longer hammers to flip over what used to be a bit of roof.

“Maelan, Jody, there’s not much you can do here,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I’m going to poke around a bit more. You two head back and get dinner lined up, would you?”

The two were more than happy to leave. A few of Cullen’s soldiers that had come along now looked at him hopefully.

“You are dismissed as well,” he said and it sounded like he was trying to seem grudging about it.

He failed, at least to Casey’s ear. She closed her eyes and sent a wish to the Maker that Cullen wouldn’t just immediately blow up on her as soon as there were no witnesses. The soldiers took off eagerly after Maelan and Jody, leaving the two of them very much alone.

Casey continued poking around at the remains of the tower. She thought she was starting to have an idea of what may have happened, but it was hard to concentrate when she knew Cullen was watching her. She turned her hammer around and dug the claw into a piece of wood and it came out soggy—and sooty.

“Oh, I’m going to kill someone,” she spat.

“What did you find?”

Casey jumped at hearing Cullen’s voice so close. He had knelt down next to her while she had been trying to desperately focus on her task. She supposed that meant she had been doing a very good job. She stood and Cullen stood as well—very, very close to her.

Focus on what you found. Focus on the sheer dumbassery of it.

“Someone, or multiple someones, has been boiling shit at the TOP of the tower,” she said angrily. “I built a watchtower, Cullen, not a fucking elevated soup kitchen!”

They stared at each other for a moment and the silence stretched. Cullen’s lip quirked, the scar on his lip twitching. Casey scrunched up her nose and held her breath. Cullen broke first.

His laughter echoed in the night, followed shortly by the sound of Casey’s own inelegant snorts and wheezes.

“Oh Maker, that might be the dumbest thing I have ever heard,” Cullen said, chuckling. “I am livid of course and whoever is responsible for this will be held fully accountable but...I am almost inclined to be lenient because it’s just so--” Cullen stopped, searching for the word.

“Lazy?” Casey supplied.

“Yes, thank you,” Cullen exclaimed. “They couldn’t even be arsed to come down from the tower and light a fire on the ground.”

“What do you think they were cooking?” she said, eyes sparkling. “Do you think two of your watchmen might be involved a steamy romance? They must hide their lust from the world—but that doesn’t mean they can’t have dinner first.”

Casey waggled her eyebrows and set herself off laughing at her own joke. When Cullen didn’t join her, she settled down and tried to gauge how hard he was judging her humor by his face. It was getting hard to see in the failing light, but he looked thoughtful.

“So...will you stop running from me if I buy you dinner?” Cullen said in a low voice.

She tried to pass the shiver that went through her off as a reaction to a cold breeze. She wasn’t sure if Cullen bought it—like any good Ferelden she thrived in the cold and the wet. Maybe not to the extent of the Starkies, but they were a special bunch, to be sure.

“I wasn’t running from you, Cullen,” she said. “I have honestly just been busy, I swear it—I swear it on my hammer!”

Cullen looked taken aback for a moment at this, knowing just how much she liked that hammer, but he recovered rapidly. He took a step forward and maneuvered himself so she would meet his eyes.

“So the dinner is not required for the—how did you put it? Steamy romance?” he said hopefully.

Casey blushed and it was a blush deep enough to rival the pinkest shade of Rutherford. She thanked the Maker it was night. She felt so warm she might spontaneously combust. At least then she wouldn’t have to continue this conversation.

How many years had she spent fantasizing about Cullen saying something like that to her? How many stories had she read where she replaced the main love interest in her head with Cullen?

For it to finally be happening when she couldn’t just let herself be swept up in it was intolerably cruel. It was the surest sign ever that the Maker had turned his back on Thedas. Or at the very least, on Casey.

“Cullen, we can’t,” she said. She knew all the reasons why, she just had to convince him. And she knew it would take some doing. Cullen was extremely determined—but one could only call it determination when it was positive. The flip side of it was that he could be unbearably stubborn.

“Why not?” he said, clear and clipped. She suspected the soldiers who fucked up the tower were in for a hell of a time if he used that voice for disciplinary procedures.

“You mean besides the 20 plus years of baggage?” she said, exasperated. She knew that wouldn’t be enough to close this down, but she still felt it bore mentioning.

“It’s a matter of perspective,” he said blithely.

“Cullen, I spent a solid chunk of that time hating your guts,” she said incredulously. “We’ve barely just become friends again, I can’t just turn it off.”

“You were thinking about me the entire time we were apart,” he said. “I do not think that means you hated me, even then.”

Okay, so Casey had not expected the conversation to go quite this way. She had pictured something more along the lines of:

“We cannot be together, there is too much in our past.”
“It means nothing to me, I want you too much. I have loved you since we were children.”
“That’s creepy and gross if you were lusting after me as a child.”
“Acacia can’t you be serious and let me love you?”
“No Cullen, and I’m finally going to tell Josephine that you keep using my fucking name.”

Okay, so maybe even when she imagined the conversation it was a bit off the rails but she still hadn’t expected Cullen to take her years of vitriol and spin it as a positive.

“I don’t think you get quite how much I disliked you,” she said incredulously. The sky was green and some idiots had collapsed a tower because they really wanted nug stew, but somehow this was still the oddest part of her day.

“Mia said you could not even stand to hear my name without falling into a depression,” he said smugly. “That sometimes when you would look at Branson, you would get misty-eyed.”

“MIA is a master manipulator, Cullen, and you damn well know it,” Casey said. None of that was a lie, of course, but Mia had likely made it all look like pining more than seething. And it absolutely was seething. She would die on this hill.

“She also said you told her ages ago that you loved me, for nearly our entire childhood together,” he continued, undeterred.

“That BITCH,” Casey exclaimed, startling a nearby bird in a bush, who flew off with an angry squawk.

“Watch it, she is still my sister,” Cullen said gruffly, crossing his arms.

“Fuck off, Rutherford, she’s practically my sister, too and telling my secrets is just low,” she fumed. “She had no right to tell you that, even years later!”

“So it is true?” Cullen said, stepping forward, eyes intent.

“Yes, okay? I loved you when we were children,” she conceded grumpily. “But that doesn’t mean that—I mean, I still have to deal with Jean-Gaspard.”

Cullen’s face tightened at the sound of Jean-Gaspard’s name. “That is a separate matter entirely.”

“Is it? Even if it’s a bullshit marriage, I don’t intend to have a lover like some sleazy dowager.”

“So you would want to be with me? If the arrangment was no longer an issue?”

She stuttered. “I didn’t say that.”

“You sort of did,” he said with a wicked grin. “You implied that you would be my lover if only your morals did not stand in the way.”

The words “my lover” coming from those lips was torture. She swallowed. “But I don’t,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to—there are too many things standing between me and you. You can’t just lust them all away.”

Cullen moved forward, stopping just shy of their bodies colliding. His breath ghosted against her face and she only had to look up just a bit to meet his eyes.

“Acacia, if there is one thing I have learned over the years it is I cannot take anything for granted,” he said. “I left home with the aim of protecting my family...of protecting you. You have held a place in my heart consistently since you picked me up from that mud puddle when I was eight.”

He reached up slowly, giving her every chance to back away, and brushed a stray hair from her face.

“Since the moment I saw you back in Skyhold, I knew I never wanted to be parted from you again. Even if you obviously did not immediately feel the same way. And who is to say you cannot lust the lingering bitterness away? I’m certainly willing to try if you are.”

“Even...even when I called you a nug fucker?” she said breathlessly. It was a last ditch attempt to deflect. This was spiraling out of her control quite fast.

He smiled as he leaned in towards her, moving ever so slowly yet again. “Perhaps especially then,” he said, his voice nearing a whisper.

This kiss was better than the one before because they were both on the same page now. Their lips danced against each other in a slow drag of give and take, push and pull, that built into something warm and dangerous. The kiss deepened, and it was hard to say who triggered the switch. It was almost as though they had moved to do it at the same time. A wall or two in Casey’s heart was set to crumble as surely as the soup soggied walls of the ruinous tower they stood in.

That was the moment that fucking Jim decided to show up deliver a message that would douse even the most ardent passion.

“Oi, Commander! Two of you are needed back at Skyhold,” he said so pleasantly that it was almost certain that he had caught them. “Your sister’s here.”

Chapter Text

Mia Rutherford looked like the type of women who would tear you down one moment and bake you a cookie the next. And she absolutely delivered on that image. She launched herself at Casey and Cullen almost as soon as they entered Josephine’s office, completely uncaring that she would get covered in soot and sweat and horse hair.

Casey allowed herself to sink into Mia’s embrace—and by extension Cullen’s, since he was part of this group hug and his arm was wrapped around her back. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scents she associated with Mia and wondered when the last time they had all hugged each other had been. When in fact had been the last time the three of them had been in the same room together?

Mia’s face was set in stern lines but her eyes were brimming with tears. It had been a few years since even Casey had seen her and she was shocked to see a few silver hairs glistening among the gold. It must have been even more marked of a difference for Cullen, who hadn’t seen his sister in a decade or more. Unless they had been hiding visits from her as well as letters.

“Mia,” Cullen said, his voice almost reverentially quiet. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Helping you out, Cull,” she said in a matching tone of fondness that sounded completely at odds with her words. Josephine seemed taken aback at this exchange, but Casey actually teared up for the first time since their reunion. It was good to know that no matter how far apart they were or for how long, some things never changed.

Cullen looked at Casey out of the corner of his eye and cleared his throat, eyes shifting back to Mia. “I don’t need your help, I was doing just fine on my own.”

Mia snorted. “Oh sure, Case’s angry letters have made it really clear you were making such excellent progress,” she said derisively. “I always knew you were oblivious, but I’ve seen bricks with more sense. But don’t worry, your darling sister is here to help.”

“You’re not helping, you’re meddling. Maker, do you never listen?”

“What were you planning on doing about her fiance then?”

“I...have been trying to talk her into running away. We can change her name easily. Not like she hasn’t done it before.”

“And what of her home, your home, her job, your job Commander, and the fact that she is still in denial that she even likes you?” Mia said, poking his chest plate with each word to emphasize her point. Cullen glared at her.

“Hey!” Casey protested. She didn’t really have much else to add.

“Oh don’t get me started on you,” she said. Despite her words, she did, in fact, get started. “You’ve been carrying a torch for my brother so long I’m surprised your feckin’ arm hasn’t fallen off and just when he gets his head out of his arse and realizes he’s been in love with you for ages, you go and get yourself locked up in a marriage contract!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, you cow!” Casey yelled.

Mia’s eyes narrowed and she was about to launch into what would have been an excellent tirade, no doubt, when Josephine decided she had heard enough and stepped in.

“If we could all take a seat—and a few deep breaths—your sister has found something that will help break the contract with Jean-Gaspard.”

Casey looked to Mia, going from disgruntled to bursting with hope in a matter of seconds. Mia looked decidedly smug, but Casey decided she could have it if she didn’t have to marry that odious toad of a man.

Mia ruthlessly decided to take her sweet time with an explanation, however. She went into a lengthy explanation of the letters she had exchanged with Josephine regarding the contract in secret. They had gone over every potential hole in the contract and found that it was almost impossible to break—with one giant exception.

“And do you know what that exception is?” Mia said with a slow smile. “If an earlier agreement of marriage can be found OR if an agreement was made by a closer relative, it would override the arrangement made by your much more distant grandfather.”

Casey slumped in her seat, her disappointment palpable.

“Yes, Mia, but there wasn’t anything like that,” she said forlornly. “I went through everything in Papa’s room after he...once he passed.”

“My father kept the contract at home. At the farm in Honnleath.”

“But Acacia said the house was on fire?” Cullen said.

Mia grinned. “It wasn’t in the house,” she said. “Da was worried Rosie would find the rings and cast them into the fire—she’s still far too obsessed with fire, even after all that has happened. So he had everything in the barn. Branson went out that way and found the box.”

Cullen was visibly excited now, looking back between Mia and Josephine. “Will that work? Is it valid?”

“It is a simple contract but it is still binding,” she said with a small smile. “It is the type of contract between friends, with no concern to covering eventualities and closing loopholes—it is very...Ferelden.”

Casey scrubbed her hands violently across her face and scrunched her eyes. “Will someone please tell me what the fuck you’re all talking about? Why would your Da have a contract for me?”

“Ah, poor Case, you were always a bit slow on the uptake,” Mia said with mock solemnity. “It’s what makes you so perfect for our dense little Cullybear.”

“Don’t call me that, wench,” Cullen ground out. “Can’t you let me enjoy the good news?”

“Both of you shut the hell up and let Josie give me the short version,” Casey groused. To her surprise and joy, they actually listened. She nodded at Josephine to start explaining.

“Your father and Commander Rutherford’s father entered into an agreement over 20 years ago that the two of you would be married. Not only does this contract predate Jean-Gaspard’s, it nullifies his because this arrangement was made by your father,” Josephine summed up.

Casey’s stomach dropped. Why in the world were they acting like this was entirely good news? Sure, she was ecstatic that she wouldn’t have to marry Jean-Gaspard. And Cullen...she didn’t know if she loved Cullen but she knew she could. She had done it before, after all.

It solves one problem, but it doesn’t feel right, she thought.

They were talking about rings that Mia had brought with her. Rings her father had designed along with Cullen’s father. Their words faded, like they were coming to her underwater. Cullen turned to her, smiling wide, and held a ring out to her in the palm of his hand. It was silverite and acacia wood—the Templar and the carpenter, intertwined. It was beautiful. It was perfect. The words she had wanted to hear so badly when she was young pierced through the fog around her brain.

“Will you marry me, Acacia?”

Her emphatic “No” shocked Mia and Cullen, but it came as no surprise to Josephine, who had been watching her with concern while the other two chattered on. When Casey got up to leave the table, it wasn’t in a dramatic rush. She stood slowly, gave a slight bow, and began making her way back to her tower in a daze.

She would find a way to be with Cullen, but it wouldn’t be like this. The ghost of the girl she used to be was screaming in her head, but she was determined. Casey would out-stubborn the Rutherfords, even if it killed her.

Chapter Text

Josephine Montilyet was a saint. In the aftermath of the awkwardness that arose when Casey turned down Cullen’s marriage proposal point blank, she handled breaking the news to Jean-Gaspard. To say that he was also extremely unhappy with this turn of events would be an understatement. He, along with his men, was soon turned out of Skyhold after he began raging and screaming that this was all a ploy by the Inquisition to “steal his beloved away.”

Casey had no doubt he honestly believed this—only in this case “his beloved” was not her, but her estate. Any other time she would have stood on the battlements and watched with extreme glee as Jean-Gaspard was removed forcibly from the keep. Really, he was very lucky that was all that happened to him. Upon inspection of his rooms, it was discovered that he had “accidentally” ended up with quite a number of the Inquisition’s good spoons in his belongings.

The spoons were returned and he was turned out, rather than Josephine pushing the issue. Casey had no doubt this was not done out of mercy. The Ambassador would hold this over Jean-Gaspard’s head in the event he stepped out of line again. Some of those spoons had been silver, after all.

But she couldn’t find it in herself to take joy in anything about the situation. She moped in the middle of her massive bed the day after Cullen “proposed” and wondered if she was being dramatic. Quin wasn’t a good judge of her actions. He considered most things to be dramatic. She wondered if that Pavus fellow would give her an idea if she was being ridiculous. It was assured that he was more dramatic than her, hands down. But he was also a horrendous gossip, often spreading rumors—even about himself—just for fun. Apparently such a thing was what they did for fun in Tevinter, according to Quin.

She had dreamed about marrying Cullen Rutherford for her entire childhood—yes, even when she was mad at him—and sometimes during adulthood. She hadn’t admitted as much to anyone, especially Mia. Good thing, too, since she had turned out to be a traitor. But there had been days where food had been scarce or she had to kill yet another bandit that tried to attack them as they looked for a place to settle down and Casey would daydream about Cullen riding in on a big horse to rescue her. He would apologize profusely, tell her he always loved her, and take her away to a lovely house with a large workbench and good tools.

If she was being honest, what had happened was kinda close. Skyhold was amazing—she had become very fond of her tower. Cullen had apologized for things she never thought she’d get an apology for. And Cullen had...well, he hadn’t actually said he loved her. She was starting to feel like he did, but did he love her the same way? It was perhaps a question that shouldn’t matter, but it did to her.

Prior to the marriage contract being “discovered” (Casey believed Mia was 100% the type to have forged such a thing) Cullen hadn’t mentioned anything about marriage. He had discussed running away. Sometimes, he had said she should run away, not both of them. This sudden desire to marry her felt more like it was driven by his need to save her from Jean-Gaspard. Cullen put protecting others above even his own happiness. Despite his words in the valley, she didn’t think that was the type of habit someone could just shake.

Cullen tried to come and see her, but Quin turned him away. Mia tried as well—much more insistently, but Quin was equal to the task of keeping her at bay. She felt as though everyone, even Josephine, was judging her for refusing Cullen. She didn’t understand why no one else could understand her reasons—especially Cullen himself. She could only conclude he was thinking with parts other than his brain. Whether or not that involved his heart or something else was irrelevant. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, Cullen did not want to be a Duke.

Even though Casey had done her level best to avoid anything noble or noble adjacent, she hadn’t escaped it completely. While Casey did want to protect those who worked for her, they still worked for her. She still benefited from the fruits of their labor and she felt a deep, petty sense of joy in keeping one small corner away from those who saw Val Firmin as another space on a chessboard.

Casey pulled her knees up to her chest and watched as Quin paced her room, an idea forming in her head. Really, it was something she should have looked into long ago but the very idea seemed impossible. After the scare with Jean-Gaspard, she didn’t want Maison Detre to be in jeopardy ever again. In her mind, there was only one way to make that happen.

“I’m going to visit Josephine,” she announced. Quin stopped his pacing and looked at her askance.

“Not dressed like that, I hope,” he said, brow raised.

Casey looked down at the overlarge tunic she wore. It was a castoff of Branson’s. A hand to her hair told her it was an absolute mess. With a sigh, she relented to Quin’s unspoken request.

“Fine, help make me presentable,” she said. “But I’m not giving you more than a half hour.”

It took an hour, and by the time she left her scalp hurt from Quin’s aggressive brushing. She would never admit it to him but something about the clothes Quin selected made her feel a bit more confident as she strode into Josephine’s office, especially as she passed through the hordes of whispering nobles. Josephine was a bit taken aback by Casey’s arrival but hid it very well, as expected of her. Casey outlined her plan as calmly as she could, her hands folded primly in her lap, and Josephine was silent at the end for a long while—giving the plan due consideration.

“You understand this would be considered quite shocking,” Josephine said finally. “I do not know that there is precedent for this.”

“I’m thinking all of that will work to our advantage,” Casey replied calmly. She had a few hours in advance of Josie to think it through, after all. “Orlesians love a good story to gossip over. And the lack of precedent will mean that no laws will have closed off the path. I hope.”

Josephine nodded, considering. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then abruptly stopped, having caught herself indulging in a bad habit.

“Of course, in exchange for your assistance, if we manage to make this happen, I will surrender my dowry—and a decent portion of my wealth—to the Inquisition.”

Please help me, there’s no way I wouldn’t screw this up if I did it alone, she thought, trying not to let her desperation show.

Josephine’s eyes widened. “And how much is that expected to be?”

Casey handed her a small slip of paper with a number she had worked up with Quin. Josephine let out a small gasp.

“It is just an estimate, of course,” she said with a shrug.

“Far be it from me to turn down such a generous donation but...Lady Casey are you quite sure? That would frankly be a very unbalanced deal.”

Casey sighed. “I am sure, Josephine. I never wanted the money, I only wanted to be happy. And annoy the nobility. This way, I can live the life I want AND piss off a fair amount of people AND do some good in the world. If anything, I’d say I’m the one getting the better deal.”

Josephine gave her a large smile. “Then let us begin.”

A mere three days later, Casey and Josephine emerged from piles of parchment with a solid plan in place. All Casey had to do now was light the match and watch her bridges burn. If all went as it should, she would be the wife of Quintus Aureus, formerly of Ventus in less than a week.

Chapter Text

It was well after midnight, four days after Cullen’s casual proposal, when Casey slipped into his office. A single candle burned on his desk and Cullen sat with his head in his hands. He didn’t even look up at her arrival, but he seemed to know who it was.

“Could you lock the door?” he asked, the question slightly muffled as he spoke it towards the top of the desk. “I imagine whatever it is you’ve come to say, you’d rather not be interrupted.”

“You’d be correct,” she said, moving about and locking each entry to the tower. The guardsmen knew to go around if they found those doors locked. “I know it’s late, but Jim has uncannily poor timing.”

Cullen let out a weak chuckle and finally looked up. His eyes were rimmed in red and Casey did not want to know if it was from crying or a lack of sleep. She would feel terrible about either, so she chose to look past it. Her news would be hard enough to deliver as it was.

“I don’t suppose you’ve come to tell me you’ve changed your mind?” he said, leaning back in his chair far enough that the most she could see of his face was the glimmer of his eyes in the flickering candlelight.

Without asking permission—or answering his question—she took the candle and use it to light a few more, unable to bear this conversation without seeing his expressions. If she hurt him, the least she could do was be a witness, to acknowledge this feelings. Not long ago she would have been very pleased to have such a wonderful weapon in hand to wound him, but things were very different now.

“No, I’ve come to tell you I think I found something better. For both of us,” she said. She was nervous in a way she didn’t often get.

“Better than having to marry me, you mean?” he said, sounding bitter. He walked around the desk so that he stood before her, arms crossed and leaning back with an air of forced casualness.

“Don’t give me that,” she said angrily, unable to contain the arguments that had built up inside her any longer. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you would have been okay with being a Duke? An Orlesian Duke?”

He blanched slightly but quickly recovered. She wondered if he had even thought that far ahead. Mia certainly had. Casey knew Mia was smart enough not to remind Cullen about it, though.

“I would deal with it if it meant we could be together,” he said earnestly. “I meant what I said before. I wish to be present for those I long to protect from here on out.”

“What if I don’t need a protector? What if need a friend? A companion? There’s more to being a husband than just protecting me, Cullen.”

“We are already friends, and I can give you more if you would just let me,” he said, moving towards her.

She stepped back angrily. “I don’t want you to give me something, like a Lord granting a boon. Marriage shouldn’t be your final sacrifice or some nonsense. If my plan goes as, well, planned and you still want to--to marry me...then I might reconsider.”

Cullen had been pacing restlessly—not stepping any closer towards her since she had moved back from him, but it was as if he had been unable to stand still. He stilled at this, and turned to her.

“You would?” he said, his voice small.

She wondered at it. Surely his pride had not been hurt that much by her refusal. Casey blushed and turned away.

“I know you don’t feel the same about me, I know you don’t...I know you don’t love me the same as I’ve always loved you,” she said to the stone wall. The really nice stone wall that she loved. Not to Cullen. That would be embarrassing. “I still love you. I don’t know that I ever stopped. And that’s why I couldn’t marry you.”

“You realize that makes no sense, don’t you?” Cullen said in a strangled voice.

“Loving you? Yeah, it never did. I could definitely do better.”

He couldn’t take it any longer, it seemed. He moved forward quicker than she could move back and turned her so she was forced to face him. She knew he would have let go if she put up even the least bit of resistance. She didn’t resist. Surprisingly, he was smiling down at her.

“You could do better, my squire,” he said. “And I won’t say I’ve become any more of a prize over the years.”

She snorted. “The Orlesians would beg to differ,” she said. “Has your bottom recovered from all the pinching yet?”

He grinned at her. “You could always find out.” Cullen took great pleasure in her blush and seemed determined to drive it further, to make it a permanent part of her skin.

“I love you, Acacia,” he said, his smile dropping and his eyes burning with intensity. “I have always loved you for every minute we were together and every minute we have been apart. And when the desire demon tried to take your form, do you want to know why it failed? Why I was able to hold on for so long?”

Casey shook her head. Her brain couldn’t get her mouth to work to say no.

“Whenever it would take your form, it offered me every part of you,” he said, leaning down so his breath brushed against her. “It showed me every sweet inch of your skin that I wanted to see so badly. It showed me a future where you called me husband. It showed me our children. But do you know what it could not do?”

By now he was speaking directly in her ear and every word sent shivers down her spine. She couldn’t have moved away, even if Jim had barged in through the door with his reportedly prodigious cock dangling in the wind with naught covering it but a jaunty little hat. Her attention was wholly captured, but he seemed to be waiting for a response.

“What?” she said breathlessly.

“The demon didn’t crack a single joke,” he said with a big grin.

Casey scoffed smacked him away, but couldn’t help but smile a little herself. “Hell of a confession, Rutherford,” she said, trying not to show how very much it had truly affected her. “Excellent sense of comedic timing.”

“I know my audience,” he said, unrepentant. “If I had been too serious, you wouldn’t have listened.”

She cocked her head at him. “What about you, then? What do I have to do to get you to stop deflecting and let me tell you my plan?”

Cullen sighed, then he looked as though an idea struck him. “You would do anything to get me to listen?” he said slowly, his gaze calculating.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “As long as it did not impact my ability to speak,” she said. “Or your ability to listen.”

He thought for a moment on these restrictions, the nodded to himself. “It has been a long day, and I am very tired. Do you think we could take this upstairs, to the bed?”

She blushed. “Dammit, Cullen, I don’t know how you think I could possibly get out a coherent plan if we’re fucking upstairs!”

“I didn’t say anything about that, but if you think you can manage—“

“Maybe if you really don’t know what you’re doing, but I am giving you more credit than that.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a smile. “I know we covered it with jokes but you said you love me back. I would be lying if I said I didn’t fear whatever it is you have planned so for now, Acacia, I just want to hold you.”

Casey felt like her heart was filling and breaking all at once. She knew what was coming, but how could she possibly turn him down?

Chapter Text

They made their way up his ladder, Casey grumbling at it the whole climb, angry at its very existence. She had offered the build him stairs multiple times. She sat on the edge of his bed, her nerves threatening to eat her alive from the inside while she watched him take off his armor. Her boots had taken far less time to remove. She was starting to think fucking would have been a lot easier on her. At least then you could let your baser instincts carry you away. Waiting for Cullen to join her in the bed for snuggles felt impossibly intimate.

She couldn’t take the awkwardness anymore so she laid down and turned her back to Cullen. She found herself surrounded by the scent of him—the smell of muscle liniment and earthy loam. It shouldn’t have smelled good, but it did. How could he be a soldier and still smell like a farm boy? A shadow fell over her as Cullen stood next to the bed. She heard him breath in sharply and then say “Maker’s breath” on the exhale. She looked up at him grumpily.

“Get in the bed, Cullen, it’s not like I pulled my tits out,” she grumbled, blushing.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, hopping slightly over her to land on the side of the bed closest to the wall. “But I have imagined you here so often that to see you, to have your hair spread out on my pillow. It’s like the Maker answered my prayers.”

Did he have to be so sweet? This was going to be harder than expected. Casey felt tears prick the corners of her eyes but she swallowed and took a deep breath, willing them away. He had put on a tunic and left on his leggings, most likely for her comfort, but it was still strange to see him without his armor. She could almost imagine that things were as they should have been. That they were in Honnleath, a normal man and a normal woman, happily married and laying down for the night.

Well, mostly normal.

“I found a way to pass the estate over to Quin,” she said. “He’s the only one I trust with it and I know it’ll piss Celene off something fierce. And...and I wouldn’t have to be a duchess anymore.”

Cullen reached forward and grabbed her hand and pulled it forward to rest midway between them, tracing small designs on the back lightly with his fingers. “That sounds ideal,” he said with a small smile. “But I imagine there must be a catch or it wouldn’t have taken you this long to tell me.”

“I have to marry him,” she said quickly, spitting the words out so she could finally, finally be done.

Cullen froze. “What?” he said roughly. Without his armor on, she could see every muscle tense, not just the ones in his jaw.

“And we have to be married for at least a year,” she finished.

“WHAT?”

“Oh shut up, you heard me,” she said, wriggling out from beneath his hand before he could grip it to death. “And it wouldn’t be a real marriage. We’d just have to keep it up for the entire year, maybe a little longer to ease suspicion, and then--” she made a shhkwhhhick noise and drew her thumb across her neck “I just fake my death. The Sister said she’d help.”

“That is insane, Acacia, what are you thinking? And would it truly be a fake marriage?” he said darkly. “I know how much you care for him and it is quite obvious he cares for you.”

“You stop that right now, Cullen Stanton Rutherford,” she said, more angry than she had ever been. She sat up in the bed and looked down over him. “I will tell you this once and once only and if it does not sink in, we might as well forget everything we said downstairs. I love Quin, but not the way I love you. He is my best friend and I trust him with my life, but I have no desire to make him squirm in various ways until death parts us. Not like I do with you.”

“How do you know he does not care for you?” Cullen said, the challenge in his eyes not totally gone. “Has he agreed to this plan?”

“He has. I told him first since he’s having to surrender a year of his life to this too,” she said. “He said it didn’t sound much different only maybe now he could get me to listen to him sometimes.”

“That doesn’t seem likely,” Cullen said.

“That’s what I said.”

He sighed heavily, rolling to his back and rubbing both hands over his face. “Why do you have to make everything complicated?” he lamented.

“I didn’t cause this mess, the Orlesians and their stupid laws did,” she groused. “I looked it up, if it had been Ferelden, I could have given my house and title to whoever I bloody well pleased.”

He reached up, his gaze softening as he twined her hair around his fingers where it fell freely, framing her face as she looked down at him. “I do not want you to marry another man,” he said, his gaze searing into her. “I don’t care if it is not real and it brings me no comfort whatsoever that you do not love him. I want you for my own. I want you to be a Rutherford, as you were always meant to be.”

Casey’s heart stopped, then started beating again at a rapid pace. She leaned down to kiss Cullen just as he surged up to kiss her and they met in the middle, with a sigh and a moan respectively. Casey clung to him, feeling adrift in both mind and body.

“Stay with me, Acacia,” he said, hands cradling her face as their bodies twined together.

She didn’t know if he meant ‘tonight’ or ‘forever’ so she just kissed him again, pouring a lifetime worth of love into the action as if it would excuse what she was about to do. They told each other with their bodies all the things they could never seem to be serious enough to say. It was everything she had ever wanted.

It wasn’t enough. And she couldn’t keep it. Not for now at least. If the world didn’t end, she’d have to be sure she had some sort of life to look forward to.

Cullen drifted off to sleep. She listened to the steady beat of his heart where her cheek was pressed to his bare chest. She looked at their intertwined legs with wonder, the sight shifting with the rise and fall of Cullen’s breathing. It was a peaceful moment she wanted to bottle forever.

But she pulled away. She hissed lightly when the places her naked body had been kept warm by his were suddenly exposed to the night air coming from the giant fucking hole in the roof. Cullen made a slight noise of discontent and she covered him up quickly so the cold rush wouldn’t rouse him. On her way out of the tower, she left a note on his desk. In a few days she would marry her best friend, and she could only hope the love of her life wouldn’t be too sore about it.

Even if he wasn’t, he’d probably still be slightly miffed to wake up after a night of hot, desperate sex to find his bed empty and a note in his office that said nothing more than, “You still owe me that mabari.”

Chapter Text

The wedding was a quiet affair, as it needed to be. The intent was to frame the whole thing as an act of passion. People who were run away with their feelings didn’t tend to do things like wait for a wedding date—or a wedding night. Casey tried her best not to be a glum mess but Quin had insisted she wear a really uncomfortable dress and she really, really missed Cullen.

Like a lot. A stupid amount. And it was definitely a stupid amount because she didn’t feel she had the right to miss him. She had literally loved him and left him. And she hadn’t just left him, she had left him to wake up alone after sex and ran off to marry another man. Willingly. After he helped break her out of a marriage contract so they could get married.

Mia wrote her letter after letter. She couldn’t bring herself to read them. Quin summed them up for her. They were all some version of “you’re a Maker-damned idiot, get back here and marry my brother.” At least she didn’t have to worry about Mia showing up in Orlais. Things would have to get much worse than they were to force her into such drastic action.

Quin left her to brood for most of the day after the wedding. That night at the Maison there was a wedding feast and Casey managed to shake off some of her melancholy long enough to enjoy the party, at least. The food was excellent and the ale they brought in was even better. One of the farmers had gone out of his way to track down a real Ferelden lager for her.

The people in the house were not aware of her plan. By necessity, only a handful of people knew the marriage was a fake. She got a fair few congratulations and a whole lot of winks, but the most surprising thing of all was the sheer lack of surprise that anyone showed. Even Quin was caught off guard. They had expected far more shock and awe when they returned and announced they were now man and wife. Or, she supposed, Duke and Duchess.

“’Bout bloody time,” Hadley had said. “Two of ye were like an old married couple anyway.”

“I always called it,” Francois crowed later on. “At least on his side. We all knew he was smitten with you.”

Quin had actually blushed at this, and if it weren’t so confusing, it would have been fascinating.

“She’s always been sweet on him, too,” Elaine chimed in, more than a few cups in to a very fine batch of wine. “She looks at him as though the stars were in his eyes.”

It was Casey’s turn to blush. She wasn’t sure what to make of any of this. Quin was amazing and she loved him as a friend. Had they really seemed to be in love with each other? Or was the knowledge of their marriage simply casting past acts of friendship in a different light? Eventually her patience ran thin. With the day, with the act, and with all the winks and nudges being sent her way.

“Alright, everyone,” Quin called, tapping a fork to the side of his glass. “I want you all to know how very grateful we are for the wonderful celebration you have put together. Starting tomorrow...absolutely nothing will change.” He dropped his voice and glanced at Casey with a look so loving, she had to remind herself that he was in on the joke.

“I love Casey, and I love the haven she has crafted for us all at Maison Detre. I will treat you all as I did before—as my friends and coworkers. And I will continue to be a loyal servant to my lady—just with a few added benefits.”

At this, a raucous round of cheers broke out, egged on by Quin’s wicked smile. No one but Casey seemed to notice it didn’t reach his eyes. Damn, he’s good.

“And on that note, we must leave you. I believe my wife is looking a little fatigued,” he said, then turned the full force of his gaze on Casey. “I’d be very upset if you all wore her out before we get a chance to be alone.”

The hollers and whistles did not cease until Casey and Quin were safely in her wing of the house—or their wing now, she supposed—with the door closed behind them. Quin turned to her with a deep sigh and loosened the buttons at the top of his Elvhen-styled suit.

“Do you need help getting out of those clothes?” he said.

“No, no I’m fine,” she said, looking around nervously. This couldn’t be what it seemed like. Surely he didn’t think he had to take the act that far.

“I am very thirsty,” he said in a low voice.

“I’m sorry, WHAT?”

Chapter Text

“Well, I drank too much to go to bed without a bit of water first,” he said calmly, as though he hadn’t just eye-fucked her before they came upstairs in full view of all their friends and then started undressing. “Care for a hand or eight of Wicked Grace?”

Casey looked at him for a moment, dumbstruck. Quin just looked back at her serenely and arched a brow. “Unless you’d rather play chess?” he said, his eyes flashing with mischief.

Casey laughed with relief, the pointed reminder of Cullen dismissing her doubts. She would have to get used to how good of an actor Quin was. If she showed any doubt or hesitation when he showed his affection in front of others, it would blow the whole charade. She didn’t think she could match his level of expertise, but she would certainly try.

If nothing else, she had had many years in her youth to practice being lovesick.

“You sneaky Vint bastard, you nearly gave me a heart attack. To hell with chess. We’re playing Wicked Grace, and after that display, I call dibs on going first.”

Quin bowed. “As you wish, dear wife,” he said sarcastically.

“Prepare to get your ass kicked, dear husband,” she said smugly, settling down in the armchair by the fire.

They played for a couple of hours, laughing and sharing stupid stories and slowly sipping water so they wouldn’t be quite so hungover come morning. Casey gradually relaxed and the sense of dread that had been hanging over her eased. Her life was not over. In fact, her life would barely change. It would just be her and Quin and the people at the Maison as it had been for the past few years.

She would continue to send money to the Inquisition. She would suspend her woodworking business and leave her entire team at the Inquisitor’s disposal. And in the meantime she would carry on with life –because what else could she possibly do? All the people in Orlais and Ferelden could do was wait and hope that the one man with the power to close the rifts would take care of the demons so they could go back to waiting for the next Blight in peace.

Quin let out a heavy sigh that turned into a yawn and threw down his hand. “I believe it is a draw,” he said. “But I cannot handle another. How do you want to handle the sleeping arrangements?”

Casey blanched. “Oh fuck, I hadn’t thought about that. It would look really weird if you went back and slept in your room, wouldn’t it?”

“It would, indeed,” Quin replied calmly, but she thought she detected a hint of amusement. “And while some of the nobles do keep separate suites of rooms, that would not make sense considering how…passionate we are for each other.”

Casey winced. “That reminds me...” she began hesitantly. She really didn’t want to broach the subject but it was best to get it out of the way now. “You, um, you did a really good job downstairs. You almost had me convinced. And I probably should have asked this before but rushing seemed like the right thing and you agreed. We have never really spoken about this, so I just want to be sure...that is I just want to check that—“

“That I do not actually want to fuck my mistress,” he said coolly.

Casey gasped like an old Chantry lady and slapped him on the arm.

“See, that’s what I mean, Quin,” she groused. “I’ve never heard you talk like that and it’s just disconcerting. I just need to hear you say that I didn’t rope you into a one-sided marriage when you know I’m in love with someone else.”

Quin was quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. Finally, he turned to look her in the eye, his gaze fond. “I do love you, you know?” he said, his smile small but far more genuine than any of the smiles he had given at the party. “But not that way. I would have never agreed to such a thing if it had been otherwise—for my sake and for yours.

“I’m no stranger to faking affection, as you well know, and I am grateful beyond measure that you have never once tried to insist that I show more emotion than I am naturally prone to. You have let me breathe. You have let me be myself, and it is a freedom I never even knew I could long for. But my acting tonight surprised even me and I think that is because some of it wasn’t acting. It was genuine. I love you. I always have, and I always will.”

Casey’s eyes stung a bit. She was probably too close to the fire. Damned fire. “But? I know there’s a but in there,” she said.

Quin shrugged. “But not that way. Not romantically, not sexually. In fact…” Quin trailed off and for the first time since he began speaking, he looked genuinely nervous. “I have never told anyone this but, I’m not actually interested.”

“In me? In women?”

“In anyone,” Quin said. “Even before...even before I was shipped out of Ventus I never yearned for things like sex. Companionship with someone who treated me as an equal? Absolutely. I am not even averse to romance. But such a thing is very hard to find when one does not wish to have sex.”

“Huh,” Casey said. She wasn’t sure what else she could say. It made perfect sense for Quin, even if she couldn’t fathom it for herself. But she didn’t have to. She just had to accept him for who he was. Considering she had always done this, it wasn’t that hard to take on one more piece.

“I mean, I honestly hadn’t really worried about it anyway, but I guess now I really don’t have to worry about you jumping me in my sleep, huh?”

“With the way you snore, wife, I’m surprised your lover didn’t shoot you thinking you were a bear,” he said.

“I do not--” she let out a wide yawn. “I do not snore. And based on how much he loves that fur thing on his neck, he might still fuck me if he did think I was a bear. Come on, we’ll pile in my bed for tonight.”

Casey and Quin barely loosened the ties on their wedding clothes and collapsed into the bed. So it was that they spent their first night as man and wife curled up sweetly asleep like two children tuckered out from a long day. It was a good preview for what the next year or so would look like.

It’s not a bad life, she thought. But as she drifted off to sleep, she saw Cullen’s pleading face behind her eyes and even the comfort of having her best friend close by did little to quell the nightmares that always followed.

Chapter Text

About a week after the wedding, things had already settled back into a semblance of what the normal pre-Inquisition routine had been. Sure, she had more guards now—here and at the farms—and the Inquisition had built some extra towers along the outer edges of Val Firmin when they stayed at the Maison on the way back from Adamant. And now her butler was calling her things like “my dearest” or “darling wife” and winking at her or kissing her every time people were nearby to witness.

But other than that, you know, it was totally normal.

When the courier rolled up to the Maison and insisted that he had to see the “mistress of the house” directly or he couldn’t pass off his package, everyone was immediately on edge. No one had forgotten that they lived in Orlais or that their mistress had been stabbed at the first and last party she had attended. The poor delivery man grew increasingly nervous as more and more threatening looks were thrown his way as servants poured from the house to stare down the cart.

Even Quin, who looked to be at ease, had his hands placed where Casey knew daggers were hiding. She thought they were all taking it way too far. Casey pushed past where Quin was attempting to act as a human shield and stepped up to the man.

“I am sorry for this, my good man,” she said in a low voice, giving him a pat on the shoulder. He relaxed to hear a Ferelden accent, but only just.

“There, uh, there been such trouble as all that here, miss, that your people are this wary?”

She smiled at him. “It has been a rough few years,” she admitted, relaxing her voice and letting her accent shine through even more than normal. “And Orlais never did have the same sense of hospitality as Ferelden. I’d offer you a stew, but I reckon you aren’t of a mind to stick around.”

He laughed, shoulders relaxing even further. “Too right, miss, too right. I beg your pardon if it’s too familiar, but it is good to hear a friendly voice out this far.”

“And what brings you into these heathen lands?” she said jokingly but she was truly curious. Even the merchants in Ferelden only went into Orlais begrudgingly, because there was good coin to be made. The relationship between the two countries had cooled down significantly, but there was still no love lost between the people who felt their ways of life were simply too different to be reconciled. The man puffed up with pride.

“A commission from none less than the Inquisitor himself,” he said. “He sends gifts for your wedding, but I’m meant to give you one in particular first. And he said to tell you: ‘It’s not from me, but I think you’ll know who sent it as soon as you see it.’ And the one as sent it said to say: ‘Sorry for the wait. It’s my turn to wait now.’”

With that, the man climbed into the back of the cart and emerged a moment later to deposit a mabari pup into the startled arms of the Duchess du Firmin.

The Commander of the Inquisition received a very long letter from the former Master Carpenter of the Inquisition that, according to a letter from the Nightingale herself, made him “chuckle and then fall into melancholy” like a madman for days. It had not actually been a long letter at all—it was a very short letter on a long length of parchment so Casey could get the letters the size she wanted them to be.

To Quin’s dismay, she used the good ocher ink to scrawl, “Fuck off, Stanton” in her rather inelegant script across a goodly length of “the good paper.” In much smaller letters, in black ink, she wrote another note she knew he would find.

“I love her. She’s beautiful. My turn to give you something next.”

Even if seeing the mabari gave her a little twinge of sadness from time to time, the pup improved her mood tenfold. The others in the house didn’t understand her love for the dog with the exception of Hadley, who was also Ferelden. Quin tolerated it, but drew the line at the dog sharing the bed or even spending time in what became their room, no matter how she pouted.

She took great pride in her hound’s name above all else and she was so grateful that the mabari had accepted it. They were very smart and if a mabari did not approve of it’s name, well, you just had to pick a new one. They wouldn’t respond to it otherwise.

Everyone in Ferelden knew that the name Cullen meant “handsome” in Old Ferelden—a thing Cullen had been a bit more proud of as a young boy than he would likely admit. A lesser known fact was that the name Cullen had also been fairly popular in Starkhaven once upon a time. Only there it had a different meaning. Casey and Cullen had stumbled upon this fun fact one day as he read some obscure linguistic text that Mathias had given Cullen for free. Books were not in such great supply in Honnleath that they could turn down even the boring ones.

Cullen hadn’t much liked it but to Casey it was just the sign she had needed that she was Meant To Be with Cullen Rutherford. Because in Starkhaven, Cullen meant “holly tree.”

So mostly out of spite and a little out of love, she had named her mabari Holly.

She wished there was some way to casually let Cullen know what she had named her pup. She wanted to see his reaction, see if he remembered. Would be get upset and turn a delightful shade of red violet? Would he laugh and kiss her? Would he shrug it off and say that it was typical of her to name a fine war hound after a tree?

The questions ate at her and the desire to return to Skyhold some days was overwhelming. Little did she know she was about to get her wish, only she absolutely wasn’t going to like it. Because only a month into her fake marriage things went to shit.

C’est la vie.

Chapter Text

Casey sat in front of Josephine’s desk with a sullen look on her face. Quin sat on one side, as placid as ever. On the other side, Cullen was sitting, his posture rigid and his arms crossed over his chest. She wanted to tackle him out of his chair and pepper his stupid grumpy face with kisses but she knew that would get her fussed at. They had a problem to deal with, after all, and the Ambassador wasn’t about to let her do anything that might jeopardize all the money the Inquisition would get at the end of this whole charade.

“Are people really listening to him?” Quin said, and Casey shook herself out of her thoughts and tried to rejoin the conversation. “From what I understand, he is not exactly respected. Or liked. Especially now that he has missed out on not one but two estates.”

“It is a rather poor showing and you are right that no one much likes to listen to Jean-Gaspard,” Josephine admitted with a look of mild distaste. On Josephine, however, a look of mild distaste was the equivalent of someone else going EEEEWWW. “However, the rumors have gained traction because people want to believe it. And they have taken the absence of evidence as the proof that the idea has merit despite the...unwelcome source.”

Casey sighed. Quin and Josephine could have a polite political conversation far above her head for hours if she let them, but she needed them to get to the damn point. By Cullen’s fidgeting, she figured he felt the same way. She wondered why the Spymaster wasn’t here since they were no doubt going to plan something sneaky, but she just assumed the Sister was busy shanking someone in a dark alley. Odds are, she would know every word spoken here anyways, somehow.

“So what do you propose we do, Josie?” she said, cutting off a disgruntled Quin mid-sentence. “You dragged us all the way back to Skyhold, so you must have a plan. What are we supposed to do to convince a bunch of gossipy nobles and Jean-fucking-Gaspard that Quin and I are actually married? Do you want us to fuck on the Inquisitor’s throne?”

Quin and Cullen’s choking noises came out in sync, as if they had planned it. Josephine, who normally would have given her a stern telling off for such vulgarity, instead looked quite amused by their reactions. She looked between the two men, and then winked at Casey.

“Perhaps that is an idea we can keep in our back pocket for now,” she said with well-practiced nonchalance, ignoring Cullen’s outraged noises. “But for now I just propose that you stay here, in Skyhold. Both of you. Do what you will, as long as you do it together—in full view of every noble from Orlais that has decided to camp here until Corypheus falls.”

“How is that any different than just going back home?” she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “We spent all our time together there.”

“Yes, but no one could see us, amatus,” he said, the endearment slipping from his tongue out of habit. Cullen winced, proving he had remembered at least a bit of their language exploration as children. Although that one had been in a romance novel rather than a textbook.

“It...may not be enough for you to merely be seen,” Josephine said nervously. “I would encourage you to be as affectionate as possible.”

There was a silence so strong it was suffocating.

“Kaffas,” Quin said under his breath.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Cullen said grimly.

Chapter Text

Casey had gotten somewhat used to Quin’s displays of affection at Maison Detre. They weren’t all quite so over the top as they had been on their wedding night—evidently he felt the need to sex it up a bit then, all things considered. For “daily use” he just stuck to using the occasional term of endearment or giving her a peck on the cheek when others were looking. The terms of endearments she got used to fairly quickly. In her mind it felt like new nicknames and nothing more.

The cheek pecks took a bit longer, but her honest blushes had luckily added to the effect rather than raising suspicion.

She wasn’t sure if Quin decided it himself or if some sort of conversation was had with Josephine, but he dialed things up significantly for Skyhold. Of course, he acted completely normal whenever they were in her—their—room. She often didn’t want to leave, but Quin was determined to, as he put it, “do this right.” That meant showing off as much as possible until every noble and resident within Skyhold thought that she had married her servant out of an excess of passion.

“We can use the fact that you are Ferelden to your advantage,” Josephine had said. “It would explain some of your...stiffness. They are not known for public displays.”

She had never been more grateful to be Ferelden in her life. Casey had often thought that the Ferelden habit of not showing emotion in public was a bit overdone, but it was really saving her ass now so she couldn’t really complain about the tendency to avoid hugs in public—even hugs from your mother.

Quin’s kisses shifted from her cheek to her mouth. Sometimes he would hear footsteps approaching with his much better elven hearing and she would be pinned to the wall before she even knew what was happening. She didn’t have to act flustered when they were “caught.” He called her pet names at every opportunity and when they ate dinner every night with the nobles, he kept at least one hand on her at all times.

Casey knew for a fact that Quin was enjoying this whole charade as much as she was—which is to say not at fucking all. In fact, he might even have it worse because at least Casey liked kisses. They had discussed extensively what could be borne and what could not. Quin knew where he could place his hands that would be intimate but not feel like too much, and Casey knew how much she should move her lips when they kissed before it triggered Quin’s gag reflex.

Sometimes things went a step further—Quin would pull her leg up and wrap it around his waist and just stand there, waiting for someone to stumble across them. Or Casey would tuck her head into the crook of Quin’s neck to make it look as though she was kissing him when really she was just awkwardly breathing him in and waiting for whoever it was to pass. The poses looked far more intimate than the kisses, but were actually a lot easier to stomach. On days where either of their moods turned dark and they resented what they had to do, having such things to fall back on made it easier to handle.

But the biggest problem wasn’t Quin or Casey or even the mouthier nobles who sometimes urged them to kiss—it was Cullen. Cullen Rutherford was a great thundercloud hanging over every event that Casey and Quin were forced to attend. The glares he tossed their way when he stomped through the main hall on his way to meetings with the other advisors would have seared the hair off a druffalo. The Orlesians ate it up, but because they didn’t perceive it as jealousy, Josephine apparently saw no reason to step in and tell Cullen to knock it off.

No, the Orlesians chalked it up to “ridiculous Ferelden propriety” and mocked him mercilessly for being such a prude who would be angered by what they considered to be tame displays of beautiful jeune amour. This, in turn, made Casey angry. Which did lead to a talking to. The whole situation was entirely unfair and the only thing that kept her from proclaiming it as such to everyone who would listen was the small voice in the back of her head that told her she brought this whole situation on herself.

And it was worth it. Sort of. She really hoped Quin still thought it was worth it. He wasn’t the ambitious sort, by any means, but he knew the good he could continue to do if he had a title before his name. Especially with Briala back in a position of influence within the Court. Quin knew how to play the game and play it well. He also liked the idea of getting the fake marriage out of the way so he would never feel pressure to marry again. If anything, once the idea was raised, she had been surprised to find she needed to convince Quin that he was not somehow taking advantage of her.

The only one whose feelings had been acknowledged but not really considered in all this was Cullen.

She wondered if he hated her. The glares and stomping certainly made it feel as though he did sometimes. But there were other times where their eyes would meet across the room and it was like it was the day after the soup tower incident again.

The first time Cullen heard her call out her mabari’s name, his head had snapped up and he pinned her with a playful glare that made her heart skip a beat. She had looked at him, one eyebrow raised in challenge and started to loudly talk to her mabari like she was a big baby—which she knew was a big pet peeve of his. Apparently you had to treat the “proud war dogs” like soldiers and never like the giant furry goofballs they could be.

“Yes, Holly, aren’t you just the bestest best girl in the world? Yes, you are. You are hands-down the most handsomest living thing the Maker ever sang into existence that was named after a holly tree.”

She heard a familiar snort and looked up but Cullen’s face was carefully schooled into neutrality.

“Do you find something amusing about my mabari’s name, monsieur?” she said. She wondered how she had ended up in a place where simply talking to one of her known acquaintances in full view of others felt so illicit.

“Not at all, madame,” he said. “I happen to agree that your fine war hound is the most beautiful thing to ever be named after a tree.”

She had to practically suck her lips into her face to keep herself from laughing. Cullen’s eyes were dancing.

“May I ask how an Orlesian noble found herself in possession of such a fine animal as this?” he said, kneeling down to pet gangling adolescent mabari.

“She was a gift from my future husband,” she said.

Only Casey was close enough to hear the catch in Cullen’s breath. He looked up at her with such heat in his eyes that she knew one of them would have to find a way out of this conversation soon. If not, one of them would blow the entire charade by ravishing the other behind one of the hideous drapes Josephine had lined the great hall with. The way she felt, it really could have been either one of them doing the ravishing.

They turned at the sound of shoes clicking against the stones and were met with a very irate Josephine. She shouldn’t have been as upset as she was about being “saved”.

“Commander, you are 15 minutes late,” she said. “If you are quite done playing with the dog, I must insist you come with me so we can cover all of the topics on the agenda.”

Cullen smiled, and gave Holly one last pat on the head before standing.

“Very well. Good day, madam.” Cullen gave her a bow slightly less deep than it should be and it was definitely intentional. She could see the edge of his grin.

“Good day, sir.” Casey droned, not bothering to respond with a curtsy. Josephine rolled her eyes and began walking back to the War Room, with Cullen dutifully following behind.

He went back to being a grump most days, but Casey found she could endure it just a bit easier after that.

Chapter Text

A huge celebration was in the works. Word had come from the Emprise du Leon that the Inquisitor had slain not one but three high dragons. Party preparations started almost as soon as the reports came in and once the man himself arrived, things kicked off in earnest. The dragon heads were put on display within the main courtyard on pedestals constructed by Casey’s apprentices. She found them a bit too gruesome, herself, and skirted past as quick as possible on her way to the great hall.

The smaller tables had been pushed to the side for “lesser” nobles to sit at, and a large table was brought in that stretched halfway down the length of the hall and was filled to the brim with food and wine. The Inquisitor would be seated at the head of this table along with his advisors, his companions, guests of honor, and the largest donors. If anyone was surprised to see Casey and Quin at the table, they didn’t show it. Especially when they were sat closer to the Inquisitor instead of nearer to the far end where the donors sat.

The Inquisitor and the advisors had not yet arrived when they settled down, but the companions that had not gone along to the Emprise were scattered about. Varric was seated at her right.

“How is married life treating you, Beams?” he asked.

Casey sighed. “Really? That’s the one you’re on now?”

“Hey,” he said holding up his hands in protest. “Can you blame me? You shot down everything else.”

“They were all inappropriate for polite company,” she said with a sniff.

“Since when do you care?” he countered with a grin. She took a long sip of wine, then shrugged.

“Touche.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, taking a bite of pheasant and looking at her knowingly.

She leaned back and gestured to Quin’s hand, which was resting in her lap. Varric leaned in and lowered his voice so that only she could hear.

“If fondling counts as affection, then Bull is in love with at least 20 people,” he said. “How is Curly taking all of this?”

She straightened up, suddenly stiff. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said from between her teeth. Damned perceptive dwarf. Why couldn’t he keep himself ass deep in a craft like the stone-obsessed dwarves in Orzammar?

“I think you do,” he said with a wink. “But don’t worry. I’m not the type to go telling secrets.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right, you just publish them in novels.”

“Hey, I change the names!”

“You didn’t change Cullen’s.”

“He deserved it.”

“Stop making good points, Tethras.”

“Might as well ask me to stop talking altogether, then.”

She was tempted, but he smoothly shifted to a far more interesting subject. Quin leaned in towards her and stayed silent as Casey talked with the dwarf, only occasionally offering comments but mainly listening in while caressing the small of her back. There was a slight commotion as the Inquisitor was announced, but Casey was far too invested in an argument with Varric to look up. No one expected them to stand for the Inquisitor anyway.

Quin leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “It would seem your Commander is going to be a nuisance again,” he said, finishing the message with a light nibble to her earlobe.

Casey’s head snapped up and her eyes connected immediately with Cullen’s—because he was sitting directly across from them. By the smug look on the faces of the other advisors, this was their idea of entertainment. Casey was not amused.

All through the meal, Cullen’s gaze never left her. He didn’t turn left or right to speak to anyone, he just watched Casey and Quin with an intensity that made her nervous. She got the impression that for once Quin was a bit shaken as well. He had gotten rather used to Cullen’s glares. In fact, he often sought to kiss her more whenever Cullen would pass. Normally Casey was all for antagonizing a Rutherford, but recently it had felt like a bit much.

Quin and Casey found themselves overindulging. It was easy to do with so much before you. Casey hit the wine out of nervousness. She wasn’t sure if Quin was doing it for the same reason, but it seemed likely. Despite the fact he rarely showed it, she knew he did still get nervous. Rather than making Quin more handsy, the wine had the opposite effect. His act began to slip more and more. He would get distracted by something someone said that was funny and drift further down the bench, away from Casey.

Casey, meanwhile, became more friendly with each sip of wine, and she made up for part of the lapse in Quin’s attentiveness naturally. She laughed too loud and fell in his lap with exaggerated movements, mostly on accident. At one point, she rather boldly licked the shell of one of Quin’s ears. Quin blushed brighter than she had ever seen before and nearly choked on his wine when he gasped.

They had discussed this move beforehand, but only in terms of using it as a last resort. This was because despite not desiring sex, such a thing would still feel entirely too good to Quin. Casey hadn’t known it before, but apparently elven ears were very, very sensitive. In her drunk mind, this was an emergency. She could see Quin sliding further away and felt it called for drastic action.

“Behold my blushing groom,” she said gleefully.

Then from behind them they heard a particularly unwelcome voice.

“Perhaps he is blushing because he this is the first satisfaction you have ever brought him, madame.”

Casey’s eyes narrowed and she turned to straddle the bench—far past caring that she was wearing a dress—and came face to face with none other than Jean-Gaspard.

“I was not aware you would be in attendance,” Quin said coldly, taking Casey’s hands in his to hide their angry shaking.

“I am an honored guest of the Inquisitor,” he said haughtily.

“Not honored enough to sit at the same table,” Quin goaded. “Perhaps your donation was not quite large enough.”

Jean-Gaspard sniffed with deep offense. “As expected—only one so lowly born would speak of such vulgar things openly.”

“Excuse you, have you not been discussing our sex life extensively to anyone who will listen?” Casey countered. She stood, and it was a bit wobbly, but she liked the fact that she towered over Jean-Gaspard and wanted to remind him. Quin stood to join her.

“Running away from the truth then?” Jean-Gaspard announced in a loud voice. The conversations nearby lowered significantly in volume. All eyes were on them, but it seemed no one wanted to make it obvious. “I never saw any signs of passion between you and your manservant before, madame. I doubt your marriage is even consummated!”

She stalked forward. “Well, having to deal with you on a daily basis didn’t exactly put me in a horny mood,” she said, quite truthfully.

Jean-Gaspard scoffed. “Everyone in this castle knows when two people are fucking,” he said. “And yet despite your shows, there are no tales of your supposed love.”

“Maybe there are but no one wants to tell you, you fucking toad,” she growled. “Why don’t you go off back to your estate—oh, that’s right. Desole! You don’t have one.”

Behind her, Quin snickered and it was all the encouragement her dumb, drunk brain needed. She smiled triumphantly.

“As if I could have been content to be married to a Ferelden whore,” he said.

No one was even pretending to not listen now. You could hear a pin drop in that half of the room, and the other half of the hall had quieted significantly, wondering what was going on on the Inquisitor’s side. There were sounds of a scuffle behind her, the screech of wood against stone, and angry voices. Quin had placed a warning hand on her arm, but a slight glance to the side showed he was just as livid as she was.

She’d like to think she wouldn’t have done it if she hadn’t been drunk but the truth was, Casey wanted to do it for a long time. Rather than go in for a dainty slap, Casey pulled back the arm not being held by Quin for a punch. It wasn’t her dominant hand, but Casey was very strong, very drunk, and very angry. There was a distinct crunching noise when her fist connected with his face. Jean-Gaspard went down like a sack of rocks.

Satisfaction coursed through her. Despite his insult, she relished the feeling of punching him. It was a dream come true.

“If no one else has anything insulting to say, I’m off to fuck the man I love,” she said, then gave a bow to no one in particular and grabbing Quin’s hand fucked right off out of the room.

Chapter Text

Quin pulled away from Casey as soon as they reached the gardens. Most people were still basking in the Inquisitor’s holy presence, so the area was mostly deserted.

“Casey, that was reckless,” he said, but he couldn’t keep the note of pride out of his voice. She absolutely heard it. “I know he is unpleasant but his comments can make things very hard on us.”

She pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. “Didn’t I just take care of it?” she asked. “I told everyone we’re off for a celebratory smashing of genitals.”

Quin shook his head. “Really you make sex sound so appealing. Truly, I should reconsider my stance,” he said dryly, then sighed. “The seeds of doubt have been planted. I had a difficult time tonight. You had to carry the entire act and you carried it well. You even had to resort to an emergency measure. I am sorry, amatus.”

Quin hung his head and Casey felt a bit light-headed at how ridiculous it was to have a man apologize to her for not groping her well enough throughout the night. What a life she led.

“Did you bring the hood and the mask?” she asked.

Quin looked up, alarmed. “I did but I don’t think it’s advisable--” he began.

“Fuck your advice,” she said, cutting him off. “Things got out of hand tonight and...and I don’t want to even think about what we’ll have to do for damage control tomorrow. So go have fun tonight. Find some friends, and win us some money playing cards. Just don’t come back to the tower.”

Quin sighed, but gave her a small smile. “Are you kicking me out to sleep with the dogs, my sweet?”

She snorted. “Hardly. Besides, what does that even mean?”

“I suppose a Ferelden wouldn’t see it as a punishment.”

“Damn straight, I love my dog,” she said fervently. He chuckled lightly and cupped her face. The loving look he gave her in that moment was very much genuine and it warmed her heart all the more for it.

“Thank you,” he said. “This is only bearable because it’s you.”

“Ditto,” she said. “Now go on before I change my mind and ravish you to prove a point.”

He gave a shudder that was only partially faked. “Maker forbid. I will see you tomorrow, wife.”

“Goodnight, husband,” she said, practically pushing him away.

Casey gave a heavy sigh once Quin was out of sight. That man could melt into shadows as well as any of Leliana’s agents. She had no fear that he would be discovered. He had taken a few nights “off” since they came to Skyhold, particularly when things were forced to get steamy and the stress became too much. It would be even easier to escape detection when everyone would be drunk off their asses.

Her gaze fell on the door to the chapel and she picked her way through the garden, lifting her skirts so they wouldn’t catch on branches and brambles. In true drunk girl fashion, she found her shoes to be more trouble than they were worth and shook them off into the bushes, savoring the feel grass followed by the cool touch of stone once she made it to the small room that she didn’t think was large enough to qualify as a Chantry.

There was only one candle lit, but it provided an adequate amount of light considering the size of the room. She had wondered, more than once, if this place had been nothing more than a broom closet at some point in the past. She chuckled to herself quietly at the thought. She heard the sound of the door latching closed behind her and turned to see a familiar armored back.

“Cullen,” she said, her voice sounding overly loud in the tiny room. “The fuck are you doing in here?”

He turned to her and she could see the look in his eyes now. He had been drinking cup after cup of heady wine as well and though he didn’t seem very wobbly, it had clearly lowered his inhibitions. He looked hungry, and Casey got the impression he wasn’t hungry for food or he would have stayed at dinner.

He stalked over to her and looked as though he were about to pin her to the wall. Casey’s breathing picked up—she felt warm all over with the way he was looking at her, but the idea of being pinned to the wall by Cullen Rutherford didn’t hold the appeal it had when she was a teenager. Despite not knowing the exact form her desire demon had taken, Cullen knew through observation that she didn’t like feeling trapped, so he corrected.

He made a quick decision and grabbed Casey’s hand. Leading her to the statue of Andraste, he sat and pulled her down with him. He positioned her on his lap so that she was straddling him. They sat face to face, panting lightly despite the fact they were both fully clothed and hadn’t even kissed yet. Cullen pulled her dress up so she could settle more comfortably against him. The feel of her bare knees where they pressed against the stone and the gaze of the Maker’s Bride over Cullen’s shoulder made the whole thing feel deliciously illicit.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” she said even though the last thing her drunk brain wanted right in that moment was more talking.

“It is customary to kneel in the Chantry,” he murmured, leaning in to ghost his lips up the line of her neck. Her head lolled back slightly and she closed her eyes, letting herself enjoy this small moment where Cullen’s head rested between her breasts and his hands supported her back.

“Cul—oh Maker--” she opened her eyes and looked down at him, clearing her throat to try again. He stopped his ministrations and looked at her, not even trying to play innocent. He was a supplicant and he wasn’t here to worship Andraste. “I’m going to ask you again, what are you doing?”

“You said you were going off to fuck the man you loved. I thought that might be a difficult promise to keep without me there.”

She sucked in a breath. “Ah, true, I guess.” The guilt threatened to eat her from the inside. It was always there, gnawing, but now it pulled itself to the front. Or perhaps she had just eaten too much. “Cullen, I’m so--”

“Don’t dare say you are sorry, Acacia,” he warned, looking her in the eyes once more. “You made your choice and...I can’t say it has made me very happy, but I understand it. You did what you thought was right.”

“And hurt you in the process,” she said, not sure why she was trying to argue against herself.

“Then I suppose we are even,” he said quietly.

She wiggled a bit on his lap and Cullen didn’t bother to stifle a groan. He only wore a few pieces of armor tonight meaning his lower half was protected by nothing more than a very tight pair of pants that did little to hide his...feelings.

“If you’re not angry with me and you understand why I’m doing what I’m doing...why do you always look so bitchy?” she asked. “Why have you been staring me down all night?”

“It doesn’t matter if I know it’s fake,” he said, rolling his hips up into her to elicit a gasp. “I cannot stand to see him kissing you, caressing you, whispering things into your ear. It is not pleasant to see another man where I want to be. Where I should be.”

“I want you there, too,” she whispered.

He pressed up against her once more, a bit more forcefully. “Do you?” he said, voice lower and darker than before. “I think I need to remind you who your knight is.”

Cullen leaned forward and captured her lips in a searing kiss that left her breathless.

“I—I have been very negligent in caring for your sword,” she gasped out.

Cullen pulled back from where he had been laving open-mouthed kisses across the tops of her breasts and smiled.

“You will need to rectify this immediately,” he said with mock sternness. “Or I may need to punish you.

Casey did an excellent job with the sword care, if Cullen’s responses were any indication, but she willingly accepted some punishment as well. She had an awful lot of misbehaving to make up for, after all.

Neither Casey nor Quin made it back to the tower they called home that evening, but she couldn’t exactly find it in herself to care. And at the very least, no one who saw her the day after could argue that she didn’t look like a woman who had been very thoroughly fucked.

Chapter Text

“I don’t think I heard you quite right,” Casey said slowly. “It really sounded like you just told me there are some Orlesians thinking I don’t think I fuck my husband even though he’s all over me all the time, is that—is that right?”

To say that Casey was livid was an understatement. Jean-Gaspard had been thrown out on his ass for the second time and this time he had a black eye and a crooked nose to show for it. Despite this and despite the fact that no one in court seemed to care for him or his misery, there were still some who gave credence to what he said. Casey could not believe that they were actually going through all of this.

“If I had married Jean-Gaspard—” she started, taking a moment to shiver at the very thought. “If I had married Jean-Gaspard, would any of this be happening?”

“We did warn you that it would be difficult,” Leliana said with a shrug.

“I just figured there’d be some nasty gossip!” Casey exclaimed. “Not that the rumors could potentially cause a court to overturn my marriage!”

Because that was indeed what was being threatened. All because some pompous Orlesian asshole was upset that she wouldn’t marry him against her will and a bunch of other pompous Orlesian assholes believed everything he said. Somehow. Against all reason.

“People believe it because they want to believe it,” Leliana explained. “The idea that you faked your marriage is even more interesting than the idea that you married for love and passion. Such romantic ideals would be far more appealing to Fereldens. In Orlais, the intrigue is more exciting.”

“Another reason to hate Orlais,” she grumbled.

“Yes, that is why you are doing this,” Josephine reminded her.

“So what do you propose we do?” Quin said. He had been silent for most of the conversation, lost in his own thoughts.

“And can I just say that the thing about fucking on that stupid pointy throne thing was a joke?” Casey said nervously. “I uh, I don’t want to do that.”

“It would certainly put the rumors to rest…” Leliana’s eyes were sparkling.

“No.” Casey and Quin spoke at the same time.

“Oh how adorable, you two are in sync with each other.”

“Go fuck a nug, Sister.”

Leliana narrowed her eyes dangerously. “I would watch what you say.”

Josephine sighed heavily. “Can we please stick to the agenda?” she said wearily. “We have a plan that does not involve anything quite so public.”

“Well, that’s not quite true,” Leliana said with a wicked smile.

“You used to be so nice,” Casey said with awe. “What happened to you?”

“Probably some of the same things that happened to you, Acacia,” she said, totally unrepentant.

“Touche. What’s the plan?”

12 hours later

“Fuck a duck, I really suck,” Casey swore, laughing. “Scratch that, we both suck. Are you sure we’re remembering how to do this right? This doesn’t seem right.”

“It has been a very long time for me, I confess,” Quin said, scratching his head.

“Is it even worth it to keep trying?”

“But I feel like we’re close,” Quin said and she swore he was almost pouting. “It’s nice to try something different, isn’t it? Do you want this relationship to stagnate?”

“Fine, show me what you got,” she said with a fond smile.

Quin laid down his hand and she laid down hers and they both tried to make sense of what they did (or did not) have. They weren’t even keeping track of points anymore, they were just trying to survive.

“I think a pair is good but three is bad?” she said. “And you want any face card except the one with the hat.”

“But four of them have hats, which one?”

“Ehh, good point.”

They had been trying, unsuccessfully, to remember the rules of Diamondback. Wicked Grace had always been the go-to game for Casey and Quin to play together but Quin had insisted they try something new tonight to honor the occasion. Tonight would be the night that they finally confirmed for all within Skyhold that they absolutely were married. Aggressively married, even. Complete with longing looks and chafed naughty bits.

The best part was the only thing they had to do was fuck off out of Skyhold and camp in the woods for a couple of nights.

Leliana’s plan had been so simple, but brilliant. Quin and Casey would surrender some of their clothes. Leliana would dress one or more of her agents in the clothes and make sure they were seen going into Casey’s tower. After that their only orders were to “have fun as loudly as possible.”

Casey hadn’t been quite sure how she felt about the idea of asking someone to fuck on command just to get her out of a pinch, but then Leliana had told her who she planned to recruit for the job. She was absolutely certain of two things: Jim would continue to keep her secrets, and he wouldn’t have any issues doing what he did every night anyway in a nicer set of rooms.

Eventually they gave up on Diamondback and retired to their tent. The next night they didn’t even bother and they went back to the game they knew and loved. She supposed that mean that neither of them were the adventurous types. They knew what they liked—why look for something new?

Chapter Text

Leliana’s agents helped them sneak back into Skyhold on one of the merchant carts. Jim and whoever his companion had been vacated the tower well before Casey and Quin were set to return and at first she was quite eager to return to her home away from home. But as soon as they stepped inside, Casey immediately changed her tune.

“Is that--”

“Yes,” Quin said sharply, not even wanting her to finish the sentence. He looked horrified.

“I think...I think I’m going to need new sheets.”

“At this point, amatus, I think you should just burn the whole bed.”

“That’s a good idea. I can always just build a new one.”

“And you might need a new workbench as well.”

“Oh son of a thrice-fucked nug! Is that my favorite ball peen hammer?”

Quin grabbed Casey by the arm before she could touch anything and steered her back out the door. “We probably don’t want to know,” he said grimly. “I can’t believe I’m about to encourage your bad habits, but I think this calls for a visit to the tavern.”

“Hear, hear,” she said weakly. She would have to burn it all. Nothing was safe anymore. Not even her fucking tools.

Aside from the loss of countless tools and a bed she had been quite fond of, the whole venture seemed to have been a rousing success. Rumors about a fake marriage switched rapidly to tales of their intense lust for each other, with stories of their supposedly wild sexual escapades growing more and more with each retelling.

By the end of the week, Casey had heard that they had: hosted an orgy featuring three Qunari and a druffalo, been part of a menage a trois with the Empress, and—Casey’s personal favorite—that Quin had used ancient Elvehn sex magics to fuck himself into a position of power. Quin didn’t find it quite as funny.

“Hey, you’re from Tevinter, remember?” she said, rubbing his back soothingly and whispering in his ear because they were in public. “At least they didn’t say it was blood magic.”

“Yes, of course, I feel so much better,” he said.

The only thing that put a damper on Casey’s mood was the fact that she hadn’t seen Cullen in a while and it was starting to worry her. He had said his withdrawal symptoms had improved, that they were practically non-existent now, in fact, along with his Templar abilities. What if he had been wrong? Could things get better and then get worse? She didn’t know. Eventually, she did see him and it became obvious why she hadn’t before.

Cullen didn’t want to see her. For the first time ever, it seemed he was actively avoiding her presence and doing a damn fine job of it, too. She caught him one day, heading to the War Room extremely early. He looked pale and drawn and when he caught sight of her he didn’t glare or yell—he simply turned away. But before he did, she caught sight of the devastation on his face and it tore her heart.

Casey decided to do something stupid, then, and followed him in to the War Room. The Inquisitor wasn’t in Skyhold. Something big was in the works. There were talks of the army marching soon to the Arbor Wilds. It was all the more reason to find out why Cullen looked so distraught. There was no way she could send a man into battle looking like that, especially one she loved. Cullen was alone in the room and he was none too pleased when he looked up and saw who had entered behind him.

“If your presence was not specifically requested, you should leave,” he said. “A meeting is set to begin shortly.”

“Then I’ll talk fast,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong, Cullen? Are you feeling alright?”

“Am I--?” he said, incredulous. He ran a hand roughly through his hair. Up close she could see he hadn’t even bothered to tame it, and it seemed he hadn’t shaven in a few days. “Maker, how can you ask me that?”

Casey was at a loss and she figured the best thing to do was be honest. “I have no fucking clue what you’re on about and I think it would be easier if you told me why you’re upset.”

“Easier for who?” he said, finally showing an emotion other than extreme weariness. “Because it is not easy for me to think about what you’ve done.”

“And what have I done?” she said, exasperated.

“I heard—I heard you and Quin. Not about you and Quin. I heard it,” he said, looking like he might be ill. “I am not happy with this plan of yours, I never have been, but I understood...I never expected you to go so far. I can’t stomach the thought. I just can’t.”

Casey’s arms fell to her sides in shock. “But Cullen, it was all fake,” she said. She was more confused than ever. “I didn’t touch Quin and he didn’t touch me. We played Diamondback. Well, we might have played Diamondback. It’s possible we made up an entirely new game.”

Cullen looked angry at this. “There is a hole in my ceiling and my tower is not far from yours,” he said. “You expect me to believe you made those noises playing with cards and dice?”

“You’re supposed to have dice? Maker, we were really off.”

“Answer the question.”

“It was a weird question but, uh, no? I don’t expect you to believe that because we weren’t even in the tower. Jim was.”

It was Cullen’s turn to be confused. Finally. “Jim? What does Jim have to do with this?”

“I think you need to tell him now, Leliana,” Josephine said from the doorway. “This ceased to be funny a while ago.”

Leliana sighed and closed the door behind them. “Fine, but I was really hoping for something more dramatic,” she said. “He has just been moping.”

“Get to it already,” Casey groused. “What is this about?”

The Spymaster ignored her and walked over to stand at the table across from Cullen. “In order to deal with rumors that the Duke and Duchess were faking their intimacy, I had Jim dress up as Quin and spend a few days and nights in Casey’s tower.”

“And he took full fucking advantage, too,” Casey said with feeling. “Some of my tools do not smell right and I don’t even trust the ones that do now!”

“But...I heard names…” Cullen said.

“Yes, well, that was part of what Jim was asked to do. Really the only concession he had to make.”

“Maker’s breath, why didn’t you tell me?” He was starting to get angry now, but it wasn’t aimed at Casey so she found she didn’t mind. Plus, she could see some of the life return to his eyes. He no longer looked like a soulless Cullen-shaped husk.

“I wanted to see how you would react,” Leliana said with a shrug. “It was rather disappointing.”

Cullen leaned forward and gripped the surface of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Get out. Both of you,” he said in a voice that was low but by no means gentler for it.

“But...the agenda,” Josephine said, looking between Leliana and Cullen. “We haven’t had our meeting.”

“Blight take the meeting,” Cullen said, banging a fist on the table. “You two hid this from me. If you have such little regard for me as an advisor that you would do something so cruel and senseless, then I see little reason for us to meet. Get. Out.”

Casey was awestruck by his speech. She agreed wholeheartedly but she had no idea what the others reaction would be. Josephine looked disgruntled. Casey had no doubt it had not been her idea to conceal the truth from Cullen. Leliana looked—well, she might actually be ashamed. Perhaps the Maker had not forsaken them after all. Leliana and Josephine looked at each other, then with a nod of silent agreement, they left the room.

Cullen looked up at Casey and beckoned her over. She swallowed hard and moved forward tentatively, moving her hands like she was trying to calm an angry horse.

“Now, Cullen,” she said soothingly. “I’ll have you know I had nothing to do with this.”

He tilted his head. Menacingly. She didn’t even know that was possible. “I wouldn’t say that is entirely true, Acacia,” he said, voice low but very clear. “You agreed to this ridiculous plan.”

She laughed nervously. “Which one?”

He sighed and pinched his nose at the reminder. “Just...can you come over here, please?”

Her shoulders relaxed at hearing him ask. Not that she minded being told in the right context. She couldn’t gauge his mood, but it didn’t feel very sexy.

How very wrong she was. As soon as Casey was close enough, Cullen picked her up by the waist and placed her ass firmly on the War Table. Scores of tiny metal markers went skittering across the map of Thedas, some landing on the floor with tiny tinkling noises.

“What are you--”

“Is this alright?” he asked, his hands gripping her thighs as he stood between her legs, eyes now broadcasting with a bit more clarity what his intent was.

Casey was at a bit of a loss—it wasn’t that she wasn’t game, she just hadn’t been expecting this turn of events. “I mean, it’s not my table,” she said, for lack of anything better to say.

Cullen laughed and then paused to think for a minute. The hand idly caressing her leg was far more distracting than it ought to have been.

“Well, I am the Commander of the Inquisition’s armies…” he said slowly.

Casey’s eyes lit up. “And they do call this a War Table, don’t they?” she said, catching on. “Pretty sure you need to send at least one solider to explore--” She lifted up her dress and looked at the piece of map between her legs. “The Free Marches.”

Cullen looked down, absolutely fascinated by the sight of the Waking Sea. Surely he was contemplating whether or not they needed to build ships. She wasn’t a shipwright, but they were made of wood. She could help with wood. He groaned and looked back up at her with that wicked smile she loved so much.

“To work?”

Chapter Text

There wasn’t exactly time to cuddle when you’ve just had sex in a room meant for serious business things, but as Cullen and Casey rearranged scattered tokens and adjusted clothes back to normal looking positions, there were still enough fond glances and light touches to make it well known that this little bit of technical adultery had been just as much about love as it had been about lust.

Casey didn’t get to see Cullen quite as often as she would have liked in the weeks after that. Despite helping Cullen with a very thorough, in-depth review of the potential need for the military to plunge into the Free Marshes, they found little opportunity for such a heated discussion after that. She was supposed to be happily married and he had to prepare the actual army for a real battle with Corypheus. At least now Casey didn’t have to be concerned that he was heading off looking as though someone killed his mabari. Now, he walked around with the confident gait of a man who kept a very well-oiled sword.

He seemed really confident about the planned march on the Arbor Wilds. Much more confident than Casey was about it. He was a Commander, a solider. He had been in the middle of fighting before and would be again. She knew that, but she had a particularly bad feeling about this one and she wasn’t sure why. In theory, the march on a fortress filled with demon Wardens was probably the scarier prospect, but it hadn’t quite as hard.

He hadn’t said he loved you before, her mind whispered. It was really hard to tell your own brain to fuck off, and it was even worse when it was right. Now that she had admitted she loved Cullen—still loved Cullen, had ALWAYS loved Cullen—and he had told her he loved her, too, the thought of sending him off to potentially die felt nearly unbearable. But she knew she couldn’t stop him. Knew she wouldn’t even try.

Because the only way the Inquisitor stood a chance at besting Corypheus—and by extension the only way the entirety of Thedas stood a chance—was if he had a stupidly noble and ridiculously stubborn man clearing the way for him.

They didn’t get any time alone before he left. There wasn’t even time for a kiss. All Casey could do was watch from the ramparts along with everyone else when he rode through the gates. Her eyes never left him and when he turned to wave, their gazes met, and she knew his wave goodbye was meant for her.

They didn’t know it then, but it was the last time Acacia Wainwright and Cullen Rutherford would see each other.

Chapter Text

The Inquisitor was successful in the Arbor Wilds. So very successful that a pissed off Corypheus had followed him home. Like many of those who lived within Skyhold, Casey had evacuated the keep when Corypheus tore open the breach once more. Plans were in place for such a thing but it was still chaotic. She knew Cullen had returned safely, riding well ahead of the rest of the forces who had yet to show. But Casey had not seen him. It was enough to know he was safe.

As she looked at the bleeding green sky she only hoped he would continue to be safe.

It would have been the perfect time to run away and start a new life. In the chaos how would anyone know if she lived or died? But Casey and Quin were only about a third of the way through their allotted time to be married. She couldn’t give up now and waste all the progress they had made.

But being in Skyhold, seeing Cullen every day...it was beginning to feel impossible. It had been a mistake to let him touch her. Multiple times. In multiple places. Sometimes with his penis, but not often enough in her mind. The more she had, the more she wanted. After every encounter with Cullen she grew more and more reluctant to play pretend with Quin.

So rather than head back to Skyhold when victory was announced, she continued on towards Maison Detre. It hurt her to do it for many reasons, not least of which was that she would miss a party of epic proportions. It would likely go down in history even though no one would be sober enough by the end to remember a bit of it.

It might have been better to tell Cullen in person that she was leaving. She was quite sure that Quin thought it was the more mature thing to do. Casey disagreed. She was mature enough, at least, to know that telling Cullen goodbye would be impossibly hard. He would plead, she would apologize, and they would very likely have sex.

It wouldn’t change anything. It would only make it harder. It would only make it hurt more.

Still, rather than slipping out like a thief in the night or waiting a week to send him a letter from home, she decided to send Cullen a gift to get him through the months to come. They weren’t far away from Skyhold when she made the decision, or she wouldn’t have risked it, but she trusted everything would turn out right.

She called for a rest—because it wasn’t only Quin that traveled with her, but a few of her apprentices as well. Skyhold didn’t have need of them anymore, and Josephine had agreed that those who longed to return home were allowed to. They had fulfilled their promise to the Inquisition and then some—no one would be held now that the job was done. Not if they wished to go.

Casey penned a quick letter, using a very disgruntled Quin as a writing desk. After signing her name with a flourish, she called for Holly and squatted down so she was eye-level with the happily drooling mabari.

“Can you take this to Cullen for me?”

Holly barked, her entire rear end swaying at the sound of Cullen’s name.

“What do you do if you see any bad guys?”

Holly growled and at least one of the apprentices looked nervous and scurried into his newly erected tent.

“What do you do if you see a bird?”

Holly’s growl was more intense.

“Good girl. But hey, don’t stray off the path—I want you to head straight to Skyhold and let Cullen take care of you for a while, okay?”

Holly whimpered. Casey scratched her in that special spot behind her right ear.

“I know, girl, but Cullen needs you. Will you take good care of him for me?”

A happy bark.

“You really are the best,” she said with a fond smile.

She tucked the letter she had written into a small pouch on Holly’s collar and ignored the snickers from her companions as she waved goodbye to her dog until she crossed over the horizon.

Chapter Text

After Corypheus fell, it did not mean there was no more work left to do. The breach was sealed, but many rifts still remained. There were strange reports coming out of the Fallow Mire and the Deep Roads. Those who had been driven out of their homes by war and demons still required aid. The Inquisition was still needed.

Still, for a few weeks at least after Corypheus’ defeat, everyone took the time to revel in the fact that they won. That they lived. It was a feeling of peace that they had not felt in many years, and might not feel again for many more. Life would continue and they were all still there to live it. Well, some of them were.

Following the parties, memorials were held for the dead. They mourned those who fell at Haven, those who fell in the field, those who fell in any of the many battles, and those who lost their lives to the general strife and chaos. Names of the missing were also recounted, including Solas. The Inquisitor had stumbled on his name, his sorrow at losing such a close friend profound indeed.

A few months later, the news reached Skyhold that the last of the rifts had been sealed—along with news of yet another loss. The celebration overshadowed the news of the death of the Duchess of Val Firmin for most, but there were some who drank a toast in her honor that night. If the Commander chose to lock himself up in his tower rather than celebrate, no one held it against him. It had been well known that the two had been friends, at least towards the end.

The official cause of death was drowning. Her Grace had been traveling without her husband when her ship had gone down in a sudden storm. Her body was not recovered, but that far out, it was expected that it would never be found.

For months afterwards, the Commander was distant and distracted. It came as little surprise when he put forth his resignation. The Inquisition had work to do, but he felt there was not much need for an army any longer. The Inquisitor agreed and though it was with a heavy heart, he let the Commander go—along with anyone else within his armies who wished to return to their homes. Many did, but many others stayed on to help with peacekeeping measures.

Commander Rutherford was granted a sizable amount of land by King Alistair in recognition of his efforts against Corypheus. The King supported the Commander’s plan to run a refuge for former Templars. Word was spreading that the Chantry bound their faithful with chains of blue, and this—along with other abuses—had been part of the reason for the Templar revolt. Many came to Commander Rutherford after learning that he himself had successfully broken his addiction to lyrium in the hopes he could help them do the same.

The land was located between Denerim and South Reach so the Commander would have an easy ride to report to the King and to visit his family.

It was the middle of the warmest season of the year when he arrived at his new home. It sat in the middle of a cluster of other buildings, including a barracks and a mess hall—the start of the refuge. He had not had the chance to inspect the buildings yet in person, but he knew the craftsmanship would be of the highest quality. Work had begun months before and the bulk of it was nearly complete thanks to the tireless efforts of his new partner.

Night had already fallen, and he dragged himself to the door of the only building with fires burning inside. As he approached, the door opened and he looked up with a smile at the silhouette of a woman and a mabari.

“It’s about fucking time you showed up, Rutherford,” she said. The mabari gave a bark, as if to emphasize her point.

His heart felt as though it was going to burst within his chest. It had been so long since he had seen her. Far, far too long.

“Pardon me,” he said, slowly climbing the stairs. “I am Cullen Rutherford, former Commander of the Inquisition’s armies, former Templar, former farm boy. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

She laughed and gave a small bow. “Robinia Wood, at your service,” she said with a grin. “Former dead lady, former duchess, former carpenter—hold the...still a carpenter. I built this fucking house. And I just so happen to have a thing for former farm boys.”

Cullen moved forward into the house and shut the door behind them, dragging Robinia into his arms and kissing her with fervor.

“Maker, I have missed you so much,” he said. “I can hardly believe this is real.”

“I missed you, too. And I’m pretty sure this is real. Holly has been quite gassy all day—I wouldn’t allow such wicked smells as that in any fantasy of mine.”

Cullen laughed and it was the laugh of a man unburdened. He looked at Robinia fondly and cupped her face in his hand. “Marry me?” he asked.

She considered it for a moment, and then a slow, wicked smile crossed her face. “Nonsense, good sir,” she said. “We’ve only just met! Now come on, dinner’s getting cold.”

Cullen groaned and followed her in to the kitchen. Despite her refusal, he simply couldn’t stop smiling.

Chapter Text

It took Casey some time to get used to a new name, but it was a small price to pay if it meant she didn’t have to be a duchess. She still got letters from Quin on a regular basis. He was making waves at court and the tales he told of offending nobles warmed her heart, even when delivered in calm, practical terms. Sometimes he would come visit and most of the time, Cullen was civil—even when Quin called her amatus purely to get a rise out of him.

Whenever she looked at her life and looked at Quin’s, she knew she had made the right decision. The both of them were not only putting good into the world, they were enjoying life more than they ever had before. The year they had been married was something to laugh about now, as hard as it had been to get through before.

Cullen still called her Acacia, but only in private. To everyone else, she went by Robin—even Rylen adjusted well to calling her Robin, though he did so with a little wink.

Every former Templar that passed through wondered—sometimes loudly—why Rutherford did not marry the woman who helped him run the compound. They seemed very close. They even shared the same house, although no one knew if they slept in separate rooms or not. Whenever the subject arose, Miss Wood looked amused and Mr. Rutherford looked mildly chagrined. No one knew quite what that meant.

In private, he had proposed many times. Sometimes it would be after planning an elaborate outing, other times he would cry it out in a moment of passion. On at least one occasion, his proposal had been more of a frustrated demand in the middle of an argument. The answer to each and every one had been ‘no’.

On a normal Tuesday night, about a year after the Commander’s retirement from the Inquisition, Casey made the only stew she knew how to make decently well. The cook had been given the night off and it was just the two of them in the house. She waited until Cullen was absorbed in his meal before reaching under the table and carefully retrieving what she had stashed beneath it.

She laid it carefully on the table between them, and then looked Cullen directly in the eye, waiting for recognition to kick in. He looked at her in confusion first, then back to the table. She saw the moment he realized what it was. He made a strange noise and swallowed the bite of stew he had had in his mouth.

“Is that…? You’ve had it all this time?” he said. He reached out his hand, and touched it lightly, as if he were afraid it would crumble to dust.

“Of course I kept it,” she said. “Any good knight needs a shield.”

Looking at it now, it was clear it was the work of an amateur, but the shield had still stood the test of time. Despite Cullen’s reverential treatment of it, it was as sturdy as ever. She didn’t know how it would fare in a real battle. She hoped there was never a reason to find out.

“So, Cullen,” she said casually. “Want to get married?”

He dropped his spoon into his bowl where it fell with a clatter and a splash. Their eyes met and held for a moment, then two.

“Are you serious?” he said.

“Well, I mean, if you’d rather not--”

“Yes!” he said with a laugh. “By the Maker’s beard, yes you insane, lovely woman. I’ll drag you to the Chantry tomorrow. Don’t you dare go back on your word.”

“I would never,” she said with a huge grin. “And well, if we’re to be married tomorrow, perhaps it’s not too soon to consider a family as well?”

Her tone was carefully innocent. Cullen’s eyes grew wide.

“I completely forgot to take my witherstalk and well, there are quite a lot of tree names I’d like to use…” she said, waggling her eyebrows at him suggestively.

The stew was forgotten entirely, as was the shield. Casey lay in bed hours later, happily resting against the chest of her first and last love. It was time to get used to a new name again, she supposed—but being a Rutherford didn’t sound bad at all.