Maker, that was a lot of gold, and silk. Far more silk than he would have expected in anything related to the chantry. In his mind, the chantry was all hard wood pews, grouted cobblestones, and fraying woolen robes. Cullen felt a growing urge to turn around and run, and they hadn't technically gotten past the front room, which Orleisans would argue themselves to death over whether it was a foyer or a vestibule. He missed his old days of referring to it as the mudroom, which would certainly cause some of the soft spoken Mothers in Val Royeaux to faint straight to the marble floors.

"Forgive the state of things," the Divine spoke beside him. She'd rolled up her drooping sleeves and pinned them in place with the eye of the Inquisition. It felt strange to see the symbol that encompassed so much of his life yet again. "I'm afraid no one's really cleaned it up since Justinia."

"Leliana, it's beautiful," Lana gasped, her eyes widening even more as the Divine pushed open a door revealing a room large enough to house the entire scouting regiment of the Inquisition. With the inborn manners of a dog, Honor barreled past her owner to stand panting in the middle of the room. Her stubby tail wiggled back and forth, daring Cullen to call her out for being naughty in the face of such adorableness. Sighing, he only pointed a finger at her and threatened in a whisper, "Do not break anything."

"Oh dear," Lana's gaze wandered over to him and she placed a hand to her gaunt cheeks, "I fear this may be too ostentatious for the Commander."

"Nonsense," Leliana waved her hand at Lana's statement before lifting a flint up off the mantle and bringing to life a candelabra dangling over a table inlaid with not only gold but what looked like silver and possibly rubies as well. "This is the breakfast nook," she gestured at the table whose sale could probably buy them an entire cottage. "And somewhere in the back is a proper dining table."

"A proper..." now Lana's lips slackened in her own shock. Cullen turned his cocky grin and mouthed "ostentatious" back at her. She only shrugged, her eyes widening further. This was even beyond the jaded Arlessa.

"Wait until I show you the bedroom. There's a jewel encrusted washing basin from the Blessed Age."

"I..." Lana moved to take a step, when her body slipped out from under her tight control. Cullen raced forward, both hands grabbing onto her. One caught her arm, digging tight around her brittle bones, while the other managed to wrap around her waist. It pained him how easy it was to lift her back up, but he kept a calm turn to his face.

As he bore her far too light weight, Lana lifted her weary head. "Sorry, perhaps I should sit for a spell," then she paused and laughed at her own pun. Even while putting on a brave face, Cullen and Leliana shared a concerned glance over Lana's head.

"Allow me," the Divine wrapped her own arms around Lana's waist, the mage winding a hand over her friend's shoulders. "Most of the furniture here's as hard as a chantry pew, but Justinia had one of the softest divans I've ever sat upon installed which I ordered moved here for the time being." Guiding her past the golden arm chairs with high backs designed to make the sitter look imposing and not comfortable, Leliana jerked her chin at this mythical divan. While the rest of the furniture bore the same crimson, deep gold, and cherry wood motif of the chantry proper, the divan was every designers worst nightmare. Wide enough to seat two people, it bore a swooping back that bulged at the bottom to fill into someone's lower back, while the sitting cushions themselves fluffed upwards with a good foot of downy give. But what was perhaps most perplexing was the upholstery done in soft pinks and greens and bearing a continually repeating folksy chicken pattern.

The Divine helped Lana down onto it, then sat beside her. Ever since she first threw her arms around Lana in her office, Leliana hadn't let her get further than a few feet, even chasing away some very important grand clerics, not that Cullen could blame her. He felt the same need when he looked at Lana, to touch her skin, hear her voice, and remember that this was all real. She was back.

Uncertain what to do, Cullen slid off the pack around his neck, letting it lay beside the door. He picked up one of the chairs and pulled it closer. Sweet Maker, the thing had to weigh a good hundred pounds. Not expecting it to be made from solid gold, Cullen struggled to get a better grip before a chair worth more than himself slipped from his fingers and broke. Gritting, he managed to lift it a few inches off the floor and placed it near the divan. He caught a small quirk of Leliana's lips from his strain, but she didn't say anything. She was too busy fussing over Lana, who kept trying to wave it all away.

"If you are tired, you could nap," Leliana said, gesturing back towards the most imposing room in the apartments lurking behind a solid door. "The bed is beyond grand, but the reliefs carved into it are...not what one would expect. Apparently, Divine Innocente had a particular aesthetic that belied her rather stringent reign."

Lana buried the panic he came to know whenever sleep was mentioned. She needed to rest so her body could recuperate, and she knew it. But any mention of sleep and returning to the fade drew forth a sinking in her lips and dread in her eyes. "No," Lana shook her head, her hand patting Leliana's in a comforting fashion. The Divine frowned, her painted lips knotting from the sharp bones poking up through Lana's skin. "I only need to sit for a time. Take in all this grand splendor. It's..."

"You didn't see the apartments the first time you visited the Grand Cathedral," Leliana smiled. "Though these are nothing compared to mine."

"I'd imagine," Lana bobbed her head. "Enough room to raise your nugs?"

"Three families."

"You've been to the Grand Cathedral previously?" Cullen interrupted. He shifted against the hard seat already trying to flatten his tailbone. Any longer in it and he was liable to wind up without a backside, period. Absently, his hand patted Honor's head as she took up sentry sitting beside him.

Lana tipped her head, "Officially, no. But..."

"She assisted me in a small matter," Leliana filled in.

"I hope there were no darkspawn involved for you," Cullen chuckled.

"Maker, no," Leliana shook her head with a laugh and then a wry smile rose, "No sex either."

"Leliana," Lana groaned, burrowing her head back deeper into the cushions.

"Am I to keep pretending as if I'm not aware?"

"No, but, I don't know. It's a bit...all," Lana waved her hands through the air as if she was trying to cast a spell, then she glanced over at Cullen. He was doing his best to glare through the wall and pretend he wasn't there. It was one thing when her dearest friend caught him nearly naked with Lana, but now that Leliana was the Divine his brain all but shut down at the very idea. Maker, it was bad enough fearing what Alistair would do to him. What havoc could a vengeful Divine wreak?

For her part, Leliana merely turned her head back and forth, washing her hands of the whole affair. She'd left her official hat back in her office, she claimed it was so she'd fit through the doors. Cullen began to suspect it was because she didn't want to be the Divine when with Lana. "I assume you two are still..."

"Yes," Lana interrupted, then concern shifted over her face and her eyes darted over to Cullen, "I mean, right?"

"Of course," leaning off the chair, he grabbed onto her hand. The chill of it rattled across his own skin, and he placed his other palm overtop it to warm her up. "Assuming you still wish to..."

"Oh yes, I mean, I only..." Lana glanced over at her friend and sighed, "We're still working on it."

He felt the calculating glare not of the Divine but the Spymaster who worked beside him for a year, cutting through every inch of his body. She sized him up almost immediately, causing a chill to ride up Cullen's spine. As her ice blue eyes burned through his soul, her whispered threats of what she'd do to him if he ever dared hurt Lana bobbed out of his buried memory. And that was from before she had the entire arm of the chantry with her. Could a Divine declare an Exalted March against a single person?

Either unaware of the rising tension, or in order to diffuse it, Lana rose up a bit from her seat and cheerfully called out, "I could really go for a snack."

Half of a picked clean chicken rested in the middle of the breakfast nook table. At first Lana felt a bit self conscious having Leliana watch her eat, but the gnawing hunger in her stomach won out over the blush and she dove fingers in. On occasion, Cullen would try one of the multitude of sauces she'd mention, dipping into them with the sweeter breads left on silver platters, but for the most part he also sat back watching. Apparently, it was quite the event to see the nearly starved to death, ex-grey warden chomp through a half dinner. Only Honor attempted to join in with her, the mabari steadfast as she sat statue-still waiting for her treat. She chuckled at the seriousness the dog mirrored from her owner, and her fingers occasionally slipped a pinch of bread to her greedy mouth.

Lana reached for one of the mustard based sauces when her stomach rolled in a loop. Having fallen barren for Maker only knew how long, at first Lana couldn't fill it with more than a few bites. Each day she found herself able to eat more, but pushing past that limit only ended in nausea or worse.

"I'm afraid I'm stuffed," Lana admitted aloud, folding her napkin up on the edge of the table. She caught Cullen's eyes wandering over the remaining food, a calculating concern flaring in them.

Leliana shook her head, "Don't concern yourself with that. The chefs will find something to do with the remainder, I'm certain."

"Chefs?" Lana mouthed at Cullen, and he shrugged. Back at the Vigil they only had the one, and she also doubled as a blacksmith when Wade was in one of his moods.

A soft whine drew them towards the apartment doors cresting open. A cleric stood in the opening, her robes starched and pressed, whiter than a star. She practically glowed regulations as she ran a finger down the clipboard in her hands. "Your Most Holy," she bobbed her head deep to the Divine relaxing in the chair, one of Leliana's hands holding up her chin.

"What is it?"

"It's only that, well, you see..."

"Maker's Breath, spit it out Gatlin," Leliana rose up from the chair, a fire in her words.

Gatlin dove deep into her clipboard, her entire face eclipsed by the vellum, as if she hoped it could defend off the incoming Divine's wrath. "Well, my Perfection, it's...you seem to have spent most of the day in private commune with..."

Lana rose up at the hand pointed at her and a panic knotted around her throat. She didn't want...what did she want? Maker, with a full stomach and her limbs crying out for relief, all she wanted was to rest on the divan. Not about to let her friend waft in the breeze, Leliana interrupted, "The Commander of the Inquisition and his accompaniment."

"Of course," Gatlin bowed in relief, her quill scratching down the information for chantry records.

"And they will be staying in these apartments for..." Leliana turned back to Lana for an answer, but she had none. Her mouth jammed shut tight as her widening eyes hunted through the ether. Smoothly spinning back, Leliana continued, "some time. They are not to be disturbed under any means."

"Of course, Most Holy," Gatlin bobbed again, her continual bowing giving Lana seasickness. "What of servants come with food or to draw baths?"

Leliana turned fully to Lana so the cleric couldn't see her face, but Lana only shrugged. In theory, no one else in Val Royeaux should recognize the Hero of Ferelden, but her portrait was passed around for sometime, especially after that woodcut was made and inked into every one of Tethras' books. "I will..." the Divine sized up her underling, "think of something."

"Very good, very good," Gatlin jotted that down as well, her tone switching quickly to condescending. Her watery grey eyes snapped up at the Divine, who crossed her arms and lifted only the barest edge of her lips in a snarl. Realizing her mistake immediately, Gatlin bobbed so low she was practically on her knees.

"If there is nothing else, the...Commander and I have much to discuss," Leliana said.

"Begging your pardon, my Worship, but as I said previously, you have spent the entire day with the Commander...without taking any other appointments."

A groan rolled through Leliana's throat, far more guttural than anything Lana thought her ever capable of. Even when under great stress, somehow Leliana always managed to keep the sweetness in her tone for the sake of appearances. But now she looked as if she wanted to rip the cleric limb from limb.

"It is the Grand Enchanter, is it not?"

"Yes, and she's, um, she's here," Gatlin squeaked, rolling back and forth on her heels.

"Andraste guide me," Leliana prayed, her hands clasping. "I cannot avoid this, not if Vivienne..." She snapped her crystal eyes up and spoke only at Lana. "Will you be all right to remain here for a few hours? Perhaps the entire day?"

Lana opened her mouth to speak, when she caught the cleric leaning in listening intently to try and suss out any gossip. Quick to catch on too, it was Cullen who answered instead, "Yes, I think I will retire. The road exhausted me more than I anticipated."

"Good, good," Leliana bowed her head, her eyes closing as she screwed up the courage to face whatever the Grand Enchanter had for her. She rose away from the table, already adjusting her robes and making preparations to swing by and pick up the hat. At the door, suddenly she scampered back to the table and threw her arms around Lana's shoulders. In shock, Lana barely had time to embrace back before her old friend stood and drug the cleric away with her.

Lana held her breath until the door clicked shut, leaving them both alone in the ostentatious room. "That could have gone worse," she said. A chill crept up her skin and she wrapped her hands around shoulders to try and combat it.

Always watching her, Cullen reached into his pack by the door and unearthed a blanket. Blue with green checks, it smelled of horse and the waning bitter weeds of the Anderfells. They bought it off a rattling merchant whom Alistair made certain to take the time to ask if he knew of any golems they could use. Alas, they didn't find anymore slayers of birds to add to their retinue.

After helping to wrap it around her shoulders, Cullen slumped back into his chair. One hand remained pinned to her upper arm, massaging life into it. Lana sighed into the back of her throat at the thought of his hands climbing up her legs to dig away at the pain. "You look exhausted," he said, those honey eyes trying to pierce through her hooded ones.

"I always look exhausted," she groaned. Cullen pursed his lips from her hand wave answer, and she chuckled at him. "No naps, but...we could sit on the sofa and would you mind rubbing my legs?"

He smiled, happy to have a task ahead of him, "Of course I don't mind." After piling up the few plates, he rose to his feet and offered a hand to Lana. She took it and brought her full weight to the waning muscles in her legs. The calves screamed out first, a fire burning from her daring to use them, then the thighs joined in. Lana felt herself sinking towards the floor - she'd pushed herself too far - but Cullen swooped in to rescue her. He caught her about the waist, both hands steadying her up as he transferred her weight off her legs and onto his arms. "I've got you," he assured her.

Lana couldn't bury the smile from how obvious his statement was as he worked her over to the couch. After she fell down into the cushions, Cullen gently scooped up her legs and brought them into his lap as he joined her.

"Maker's breath, this is comfy," he gasped while arranging the blanket around Lana's legs. Beginning with her right foot, he dug the heel of his hand against it, pushing with enough force to bring the blood down.

Biting down a moan almost on the edge of pain, she laughed, "I know. Think Leliana would notice if we stole it?"

"Most certainly," Cullen said, his palms rolling around her ankle and worrying up her calf. The pressure was a harrowing mix of pain when he gripped tight, and pleasure when he released it - her muscles contracting the way they were supposed to instead of the jagged stone feel of before. "If you intend to abscond with it, you best hope you can evade an Exalted March," he said, barely a hint of a laugh in his tone.

Rising up as best she could, Lana's fingers traced down his jawline, then back up so his scruff scratched them up. "I have faith in you," she sighed wistfully. Focusing on her thumb, she traced it against his lips in a tempting circle before aligning it with his scar. By all that was real, she ached to kiss him, to tousle his far too long tresses, and... Lana shifted in her seat, aware of the a blush burning not only her cheeks but up through her inner core as well. She was uncertain what to do with either of them, her body always fighting her every move. Releasing him, she leaned back, savoring the massage as Cullen switched to her other leg.

Silence fell between them while Cullen's hands broke apart her pain and rebuilt it into something almost livable, at least for a few hours. With the sting fading into the background, exhaustion roared back to life, tempting her into its grips. Lana crinkled up her nose, damning the yawn rising up her throat back to its grave. She felt amber eyes watching her struggle, but he didn't say anything, only kept up his work. As his hands climbed higher above her knees to dig and knead into her thighs, the dormant fire burned through her. If he felt the same rising desire, he did his damnedest to hide it, his face neutral to the point of being unreadable. Lana bit back an accidental moan when his flexing fingers spread over the tops of her thighs.

"Did you mean it?" Cullen stopped, his work done. He laid her legs out over his lap and smoothed out the blanket, wrapping her in as much warmth as he could find.

"No, I won't steal the divan. I'm not certain how I'd get it down those winding stairs without breaking something."

He chuckled once at her thinking he was truly afraid she'd steal from the Divine. His hand flexed overtop her legs, and he lifted one, almost as if he wanted to reach out and hold her hand, before he dug into the back of his neck. "I meant after I, we pulled you out of the hold upon you in the Fade and you..."

Screwing his eyes up tight, Cullen swallowed deep, the discomfort in him drawing Lana closer. She struggled to sit up higher, her legs pulling away from his lap. The move caused him to look over at her, but the sudden sadness at her departure vanished as she snuggled her head against him. With a grateful sigh from the bottom of his heart, Cullen pulled his arm around her, enveloping her into his half embrace.

After kissing the top of her head, he started again, "When you said you wanted to be with me, in the future, did you...I understand, stress, and you'd only just revived. It's understandable that you weren't thinking clearly and made a brash-"

Lana knotted her hands around the back of his neck and guided him to her for a kiss. His guarded lips took a moment to soften, as if they were tied up in the same knots twisting his tongue. But as she curled the back of her fingers against his cheek, and he pressed his hand to the small of her back pulling her tighter to him, Cullen melted at her touch. With the tip of her nose sliding against his, she whispered, "I meant every word I said. I love you."

"I love you too," he responded back and then a bright smile lifted his lips. He wore the same every time she'd tell him the truth in her heart, a surprise that it was real, that she loved him. "My concern is only in, we, we're in Val Royeaux."

"What now?" Lana caught on to what he was dancing around. "Everyone worries about ending the blight..."

"Stopping the would-be darkspawn god," he said, both of his hands locking around her back.

"But it's the aftermath when the real work begins," she sighed, remembering Amaranthine and the toll it took upon her. "It doesn't take much to knock over a city, but rebuilding one..."

"Even after years, it's never the same," Cullen sighed as he buried his face into her scraped hair.

"No, it isn't," her eyes darted away. She forgot that he spent years in Kirkwall after the chantry explosion, same as she did in Amaranthine. Both of them separated by a sea, struggling to put back together what was taken in an instant. "Cullen, the future, I..."

"We never had much time together," he said, a rueful smile falling in place.

"Having second thoughts about trudging across thedas to find me?" she smirked, trying to be playful about the truth. People wanted to act like love was enough, somehow it would sustain and blanket over any problems, but she'd already lived through that falsehood once before. Love took work and sometimes vice versa.

"Never," he pressed his forehead to hers, the full luminosity of his amber eyes beaming into hers. "I...I've never felt like this before and Maker, I don't want to ruin it by rushing things, or not rushing things, or anything else I could..." His eyes slipped closed and he whispered, "This is all new to me."

"So," Lana ran her fingers over his cheeks, "we take time, get to know each other. I don't think there are any darkspawn about to knock down the door at this moment." She turned and lifted a hand to her ear, "Nope, I'm not hearing any. No, grand clerics screaming about a dragon swooping in out of the sky."

Laughing at her flapping her hand to mimic a dragon, Cullen asked, "What do we do?"

She shrugged, "I..." Rolling her tongue through her cheek, she struggled to sit up higher in his arms. Draping her elbows beside his neck she smiled, "have no blighted idea." So she kissed him, the taste of his lips pushing her past the weighty questions that trailed her every move. Since she was nineteen people placed the weight of nations upon her shoulders, and that pressure only broke to have her thrown into a never ending struggle to survive. For the first time in half her life, she felt she could stop and really breathe.

Snuggling to his chest, Lana ran her fingers down his tunic, the filth of the road flicking up from her nails. His clothes needed a good washing, as did hers. All of which she wore amounted to a few purchased over shirts and the still borrowed tunics and trousers from the men who rescued her. "What's your favorite color?" she asked.

"What do you...?" Cullen started as if she yanked him from his own waking dream by her question. Locking his hands around her back he took a deep breath, Lana rising against his chest, before slipping his eyes closed. "It's green."

"Really? I'd have guessed red or...maybe a golden yellow, because," she gestured at his outfit that was of a drab autumn motif. "I mean, even your armor at Skyhold was all golds, and crimsons and..."

He chuckled at that, the muscles across his chest flexing in response below her cheek. "I, well, suppose I wore the templar armor for so long the colors seemed natural to me."

"And crimson hides the blood stains better," Lana said pragmatically. She had more than a few robes with the same look, all deep reds and tans so she'd appear presentable around nobles while covered in the smears of her work.

"Too true," Cullen curled his arms around her, as if he wanted to engulf her inside his chest. After pecking a kiss against her forehead, he sighed, "I haven't worn anything green since I was a boy."

"There's time now," she sighed. From the warmth spilling off of his soothing body, Lana's eyelids decided to anchor themselves shut. But she wasn't tired, no. There was no reason to sleep, not for a few hours. Not at all.

"I...had not thought of that," he tipped his head back against the cushion of the divan, only the susurrus of breath whispering between them. "What of you? What's your favorite color?"

"Mmm, hm?" Lana tried to lift up higher, but her shoulders could barely command her arms, both of them lead against Cullen.

"Do you need to sleep?" he shifted, "I can take you to the bedroom...and whatever imposing decor awaits inside."

"Nope," Lana shook her head against his chest. She raised it a bit to convince him she was wide awake, but her eyelids were in no mood to lift. "I'm not tired at all. Only lost in the warmth of you, here," she paused once, a prick of tears billowing behind those closed lids, "with me."

Cullen sighed, clearly not convinced of her claims to not be exhausted, but he didn't pick her up and cart her to the bedroom. Instead, he shifted her in his lap so he had a better grip on her. "Well, if you're not tired, then what's your favorite color?"

"You're going to find this funny," Lana said, the strain in her voice lifting as it lilted into a soft laugh, "but it's blue. More an aqua teal, like the sparkling northern seas than the deep indigo of the Wardens, but..."

"Blue," he smiled, his chin resting comfortably in the thickest tuft of her damaged hair. "I can see that."

"Oh?"

"You were often in sapphire colored robes while in the circle."

"Right," she chewed through the fog wrapping around her brain, more of her body trying to convince it to sleep. "The tower. We'd rarely get much say in our robes, but I found if I helped out in the stockroom with the pair of mages who did most of the enchanting and sewing I could make a few suggestions."

Cullen laughed, "Sneaky, but prudent."

"And you," she tried to will her fingers to reach up and touch him, to do anything but rest limply against his sides, but exhaustion took the power from her. "You never wore anything green in the tower."

"No, I did not," he chuckled again, his fingers rubbing circles against her back. She didn't want to sleep, to face the fade and what could be lurking there for her, waiting to pounce and...and maybe not let her wake up. But wrapped up safe in Cullen's arms, with the temerity of the chantry's luxury surrounding them, slumber glided across her skin like water from a standing pool. Cullen seemed to sense the change as her head grew too heavy to lift. His gentle circling paused and his fingers locked behind her back, holding her tight to him in the event she fell asleep.

Lana heard a soft rushing on the edge of hearing, like surf pounding against the sand. "That's a shame," she mumbled her last words, before sleep snatched her back to the place she struggled for two years to leave.