The silence that enters the room after Caelum's departure, slinking in as the door slams and the echo fades, is thick and prickling. It settles over the tavern, pressing and prodding at everyone until they're all shifting in their seats and fidgeting with their hands.

The silence makes the argument that produced it that much louder. The Herald's revelation and the captain's diatribe echo in their ears and no one quite knows how to respond to it yet.

Everyone stares at each other. They watch and listen. They hold a breath and wait for the storm to pass. Unwilling to step out and risk being greeted with another clap of thunder and a hair-grazing flash of lightning striking the ground before them, they wait for someone else to make the move.

Isaac presses his feet flat against the floor and bites at the inside of his cheek to quell the urge to jump up and follow the retreating captain. He knows he needs to wait, he knows that the man needs to be alone with his inner beasts, to let them rage and tire before they'll tolerate another presence. Going after Caelum now would be like trying to tame a drake bare-handed. So he waits. He lets the minutes tick by and ignores the grip of concern that insists on hoisting him out of his chair and throwing him out the door.

"What an arrogant, sodding bastard!"

Their Herald is the first to shake free, cutting through the tightness of the room with her usual brand of defiance. "He walks around all puffed up like he has any right to judge everyone when all he is is a bloody prick with a half-decent title."

Her words swipe at the silence around them, shattering it like fine glass and all at once the rest of the table shakes loose, though still careful of the shards around them. Her mage friend relaxes his shoulders, subtly straightening his back and sitting taller, as if he'd been seated like that the entire evening. But he sits a little too straight, the casual comfort with the Herald that was on display earlier is quietly absent.

"Herald, enough. Please." The strength in the Commander's voice holds steady, even as his body leans forward against the table. She doesn't notice — maybe doesn't care — and huffs through his objection, face growing redder with each word as breath is sacrificed for a rush of angry words.

"No, not enough—and I told you too many times already, my name is Nyla. Nyla. I don't know why I have to keep sayin' it—I'm sick of it and I'm sick of that bastard lookin' down his nose at everyone like he's the new Most Holy or somethin'."

Isaac's teeth release the raw chunk of cheek he'd been gnawing at and clamp shut. He's always been the calm one, the one to keep a cool head and mollify his volatile friend. But when said friend isn't there to defend himself Isaac's temper is more than willing to fill in on his behalf. As Nyla rants about Caelum's bastard ways he's nearly ready to be the next one Cullen has to throw out.

To his surprise, Cullen faces Nyla with a glare so searing it makes the glare he'd given his brother seem like a nice, Spring breeze in comparison.

"Enough, Nyla. That is enough. You are not innocent in this either, but now is not the time to discuss it, nor the place. This will not be discussed by any of you with anyone beyond these walls. Am I understood?"

Instead of answering, the Herald exhales hotly through her nose, finally releasing the breath blocked by her rage, curbing the remaining barrage of insults and curses that want to spill along with it. Without another word, she tosses back the last of her drink before slamming her glass down and shoving away from the table. Dorian moves with her, sliding his own chair beside hers and standing with a level of poise that seems so performed and unnecessary that Isaac has to physically hold back the scoff that threatens to escape his mouth.

The three men still seated watch them leave. Varric twists back around in his chair, picks up his mug and gets comfortable again, earning himself a look of his own from the Commander. The intensity isn't there but the message is clear enough as the dwarf gets to his feet with a smirk. He stands at the edge of the table, drinking leisurely before his arm raises in a mock surrender that shifts into a shrug as Cullen deepens his frown.

"Don't look at me like that, Curly. You don't have to worry. I'm a pillar of discretion."

With those parting words and a pensive look from Cullen that keeps Isaac in his seat, the two former Templars are left at the table.

When the door silences the last of the receding footsteps the Commander braces his elbows on the table and slouches forward, scrubbing his hands over his face. Isaac looks around the room, at the empty chairs, the melting candles, the slow dancing flames: everything around and away from the commander across from him. His eyes sweep the entire area twice and Cullen still doesn't speak.

His thumb begins tapping against his empty mug as the minutes stretch on, then he's drumming his fingers along the edge, softly clearing his throat and bouncing his knee but the waiting continues.

The silence thins out with the group, the rough thickness that chafes the air seeps out and leaves the room in a state of tired stillness that reminds Isaac of those first nervous nights in the barracks packed with other young Templar recruits, drained and nervous with so much to say and so much to ask but not yet sure of who wants to listen.

Finally, after what Isaac estimates to be several lifetimes, Cullen's hand drops from his face and hits the table with a thump. He looks at Isaac with a slight tilt of his head, as if he's resisting the urge to lay it down and sleep right there, and in that instant he looks so similar to Caelum that Isaac's discomfort is forgotten and his heart can't help but lurch with the need to throw an arm around his shoulders and help him stand against whatever weight is bearing down on him.

"Lieutenant… what am I doing wrong?" Cullen speaks at a normal volume but the words are so somber they feel like a whisper. "I have been blind to much in my life. I have my regrets... but the hatred from my brother is one that I could have never prepared for."

A quiet, humorless chuckle escapes Isaac. As fierce as Caelum's temper is, hatred is not something that comes to him easily; the few people that have earned his hatred are dead. Isaac gets comfortable in his chair and reaches over to claim his friend's abandoned drink before setting a fixed stare on the Commander.

"He doesn't hate you. I know what hatred looks like on Caelum and I can assure you, he does not hate you. He's just angry and… uncertain, I guess you could say."

"Uncertain of what?"

Cullen looks up at him sharply, his face more open than Isaac has ever seen—than he ever thought he would see, if he's being honest—and there is so much hope and longing held in those eyes, in spite of everything, like flies stuck in honey. Isaac sighs and sips at the remainder of his drink, settling in for a long and undoubtedly draining conversation.

"Okay… you asked me what you're doing wrong. Here it is. There's no balance between you two. You're either so strictly captain and commander that it doesn't even seem like you two know each other's first names, or… you treat each other like brothers—and I mean the brothers that you remember being, y'know… kid brothers. You talk down to him and he rebels against it and soon the whole captain and commander thing is thrown away completely and you two are bickering like boys."

Isaac leans back in his chair and slumps against the rest. His ankle crosses over his knee and he runs a hand over his face and through his hair, suddenly exhausted. Caelum always comments on his limitless energy, but this day has been too much even for him. It's been one thing after another and the pressure is beginning to build behind his eyes. It feels long ago now, but it was only just this morning that they marched back, on foot, all the way from the Hinterlands. He thinks he's entitled to a nap or four.

It doesn't appear that Cullen agrees. He's still leaning over the table, using it to keep himself upright and looking like he could sleep circles around Isaac, but his gaze is keen and alert, keeping the brunette pinned to his seat until the solution to his plight is laid on the table between the empty mugs, harsh words, and fractured bonds.

With a sigh and a heavy blink that does nothing to knock back the fatigue, Isaac tries again.

"Cal takes his position seriously, okay? That's obvious. And sometimes you say things that are such big brother things... in his eyes it seems like you're… I don't know, treating him like he's still a child or not giving him the respect that you'd give any other captain. Y'know? It's like there's two versions of him and you treat him differently based on which version you want. You're all business sometimes but when you're trying to get closer you become all… little, baby brother with him. He'd be open to having some warmth between you two, but he wants the respect to be there too. You see?"

A moment of silence passes between them. Isaac's words hang in the air. They seem so simple, so easy to put into action, but nothing about Caelum has ever been easy. While the answer appears uncomplicated, they both know that woven between those lines are snares, pits, and trips laid by the man's temper and insecurities.

"Is that what he told you?" Cullen's voice is weary, cautious like he doesn't want to know the answer but needs to anyway. Isaac shrugs and almost leaves it there, but the blonde's crestfallen expression drags the words out of him with little resistance.

"No. He usually doesn't have to tell me anything; I know him. He's worked hard to become the man he is today — too hard sometimes — he puts everything into this, he's proud of it and he's damn good at it. He can be your brother and a captain, a soldier, a leader..."

"I do see him that way. I never—it was never my intent to belittle him. He was so young when I left—we both were. I admit that it is still a struggle sometimes… It has been difficult to accept that the Caelum from my memories is now a man that I hardly know… more difficult than I imagined."

Isaac isn't sure if its indignation or desperation that colors Cullen's declaration. Maybe it's a little of both, but he doesn't bother trying to figure it out. Night is moving forward, Haven slumbers on, and a man that is more his brother than blood could ever tell is facing the monsters of his mind alone; he has no more time for the elder Rutherford.

"You're both adults, you can figure it out. Just go easy with it. I know I don't need to tell you this, but that brother of yours, man he's got a nasty temper on him, I know he's not the easiest person to connect with. Just take it slow. But, speaking of that temper, I better head off before he does something rash; best friend responsibilities and all that."

Isaac drags himself out of his seat and to his feet, making a show of dramatically stretching out his back and groaning in satisfaction when it pops.

"It's been a pleasure, kinda… well, not my worst night, at least. Rest well, Commander. I'll see you in the morning."

Cullen nods listlessly, eyes still fixed on Isaac's now empty chair, deep in thought, and the lieutenant nearly claps a hand on his shoulder, something that would be so natural for him with Caelum. He stops himself as soon as the impulse hits and instead brings his hand down to knock lightly against the table until Cullen's attention is pulled back to him.

"... and… I'll talk to him. Let me see if I can thaw him out a little for you."

The smile he gets in return keeps him warm as he steps out the door and into the night air to follow the frigid draft that'll surely lead him to his best friend.

Isaac kicks at the door frame to Caelum's cabin with the side of his boot and stomps and swipes them across the stone walkway, knocking the snow free and making just the right amount of noise. He waits before knocking, holding his breath and leaning into the door to listen.

It's silent inside. He exhales, grimaces, and raps his knuckles against the wood three times before grabbing the handle, pushing the door open, and slipping in, blocking the cold with his body as much as he's able.

"Cally. How you doin' in here, mate?"

He receives no answer but his eyes easily find Caelum's golden hair highlighted in the darkness by the dying firelight. The blonde sits on the floor facing the far wall, back braced against the bed, the room, and the world beyond it.

Isaac presses the door shut behind him but a chill slips by and settles in his chest when he sees the wood marred with cracks and red smears of blood. He holds back a sigh, lets it sit heavy in his throat as he approaches his friend with steps laboriously light and carrying their usual bounce.

"Hey, you didn't finish your drink. I paid for that, you ungrateful bastard." He layers an expertly molded laugh over his voice and rounds the bed, finally getting a good look at his wayward friend. The state of his hair would be a great source of amusement and ribbing in any other situation, with the curls fully fluffed and reaching out in all directions, almost like they tried to escape the path of his riotous hands, but the blood across his knuckles stops the humor in its tracks and the emptiness of his eyes freezes it solid.

Isaac lowers himself onto the floor and folds his arms across his knees, letting his shoulder brush against the other man's.

"Come on, Cal. You know I'll stay here all night."

"I'm leaving."

"You're wha—"

"He sent me away!" Caelum's passion tears through him like a gale through a swinging door, anyone too close risks being smacked in the face, but Isaac has long since learned where to stand. Within the green of his eyes, Isaac can see the flurry of anger and frustration, and the slightest flecks of fear and disappointment.

"He sided with her. Silenced me for speaking against her bandits—I didn't come here to work with bandits, Isaac! I didn't—I didn't lead our men here for that. I didn't accept the damn position for that. I thought we'd be helping people."

"Okay, wait, just wait. We are not working with bandits. I don't know what Trevelyan was planning with that, or if she was planning anything at all, or what's going to happen now…I don't know, but we aren't here to do anything but defend and protect people and that's exactly what we have been doing."

Isaac doesn't react as Caelum springs to his feet, falling into a pattern of pacing and stopping every few moments when a word is snarled from a particularly deep part of his gut. The captain is a man of action, he's always dealt with his problems with swinging fists and swords and the welcomed distraction of pain. Now, the muscles in his arm twitch and quiver with the desire to lash out, knuckles clenched tight, white, and bloodless beneath the red that already coats the torn skin.

"Innocent people! We're supposed to be protecting innocent people, Zac, but who has the Inquisition really been protecting? You heard them—the Seeker and that damn, bloody dwarf—they didn't see any bandits in the Hinterlands, they didn't see bodies, they didn't see the wreckage. Maker, she's been coordinating with them this entire time, keeping us out of their way… that's why she led us to a different path in the Hinterlands. All she has to do is say her mark feels a tingle this way or that way and we all follow like submissive dogs."

Isaac stretches his legs out in front of him, cutting off the path of Caelum's pacing and holds his hands out even though he knows the gesture calms his friend about as much as a cup a water calms a burning bush.

"This… yeah, alright. This is a fucked up turn of events, I know, but now Cullen knows and he'll tell the others and I'm sure they're gonna do whatever they need to do to unfuck it. We have to trust them."

Caelum halts and faces Isaac full on. A phantom shiver slinks down the lieutenant's spine, his body wanting to react to the icy shards being pointed at him despite his mind knowing that he's not at risk of being pierced.

"Cullen took her side."

"That wasn—"

"You were there! He ordered me out! I was right, you know I was right, Isaac. You saw the bodies, you heard the militia, you saw the pain in those refugees; a great deal of their suffering was caused by bandits and I'm supposed to look the other way? Cullen stands beside the sacred Herald—follows her even if it's alongside her murdering, rapist brethren."

The room falls into silence. Caelum turns away, bracing his hands on his dresser while Isaac stares at his back, a dozen comforts climbing up his throat only to die on his tongue. Caelum speaks with his head bowed, the words muffled as they reach Isaac only after bouncing off the desk and tumbling across the floor.

"It takes me back. It's always been like this. It's always been so easy for him to shoo me away. Anytime I tried to have a voice of my own he'd just dismiss me, stand up and put his boot in my face and make me look like a fool. I knew it wouldn't be different, I knew it as soon as the Seeker spoke his name."

Before Isaac has a chance to figure out what to say to that, the dresser is pulled open and clothes are being snatched out and tossed onto the bed, nearly piling onto Isaac as he rushes to his feet and over to stand beside Caelum and look him in the face.

"What are you doing?"

"I told you. I'm leaving."

"You can't just leave, Cally. Where would we go?"

"The Hinterlands. Redcliff. We can join up with the militia. I can teach them proper combat. We can help them wipe the bandits out."

"We can't join the militia—would you stop!"

Isaac grabs hold of his elbow and gives it a sharp tug, pulling him away from his mindless packing and forcing him to meet his stare. Isaac looks him straight in the eye, making sure every word is cutting straight through Caelum.

"We are not joining the militia. They're pledged to the Inquisition anyways, you're the one that won them over for the Inquisition, remember? And what would you tell our soldiers? They look up to you, y'know? You can't just up and leave and join a new troop. People will talk, they'll start digging, they'll find out things they shouldn't know."

"And why shouldn't they know?"

"C'mon, man," Isaac runs a hand through his hair, letting it smack loudly against his thigh in exasperation, "you know how this will look. You know people can't find out about this. The Inquisition will be ruined."

"So, we'll just keep aiding a corrupt Herald? Masking the truth, letting people rally around her and throw themselves into her service, all while the bandits that are robbing and raping and killing them are the ones that are benefiting from it; they're the ones this Inquisition is serving, not the people."

"You know that isn't the whole story—"

"It's enough of it—"

"People need that faith—"

"And that makes it worth it?"

They're standing nearly nose to nose, voices raised and cutting, trying to dominate the other. Caelum backs away first, putting space between them; not in submission, Isaac knows, but in restraint. The brunette welcomes the relief, accepting the lungful of air that seems to return as the room takes shape again around him.

The relief is hollow though, the look of betrayal in Caelum's eyes steals the breath straight out of his lungs and sours the air around him.

"Keeping criminals working beneath us is worth it as long as it maintains our image and keeps the victims ignorant? Well, I won't be a part of it. I'll go to Honnleath. You and Cullen and the Herald can all sit around together waving smoke into people's eyes, have at it and see how far you get. I'm not staying for it. I don't need anyone. I've always been better on my own and that isn't going to change today."

Caelum turns back to his dresser, pulling out clothes methodically and giving Isaac a cold shoulder that makes his teeth chatter. The frost around the man bites at Isaac's composure, and his immunity only goes so far: soon his warm, chocolate eyes are hardening and freezing over.

"You've always been better on your own… I can't believe you have the balls to say that to me. I've stood beside you through everything, Caelum. There's never been a single time that I didn't have your back, but now when I say something you don't like you're ready to screw off and flick me away like I'm just some random clod? Okay, fine then. Don't let me keep you. You go right ahead and runoff, join the militia, go to Honnleath, join a damn singing caravan if you want. If it's that easy for you to turn your back to me then go ahead, allow me to get out of your way."

The six or so steps to cross the room feel like acres, the wood floors like loose, sinking sand beneath his boots, the doorknob attached to a sack of bricks that connects straight to his heart. He's never turned away from Caelum before, his entire being rebels against it, but he keeps his fingers wrapped around the knob, twists it a fraction at a time and prays that his friend doesn't let him pull it open and walk out the door.

"W—wait, Isaac, wait… I'm sorry… I'm sorry."

The string is cut, the weight drops and Isaac's heart lifts and pure solace spreads out in his chest. He turns around to see Caelum fold onto the floor and puts his head in his hands, fingers lacing into blonde curls and it's such a stark mirror image of his time with Cullen that his mind momentarily stumbles over it, thinking it could almost be a trick of the fade.

Unlike his experience with Cullen though, this image slices through him entirely. Caelum's pain reaches out to him, and this is the anger that tears Isaac up, the tormenting anger that roots itself so deeply inside of Caelum and shoots through him so intensely that he's left burned and blistered long before anyone else can even feel its heat.

Isaac sits next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and they start again.

"You drive me mad, y'know? You really make me want to strangle you sometimes."

"I know. I'm sorry. You know I… I wouldn't know where to go without you, I couldn't imagine it… I'm sorry."

"I know. Of course, you couldn't. Something would piss you off within the first ten minutes, probably a bird or something petty like that, you'd be stomping around, probably scare a bunch of children, their father would confront you and you'd end up arrested and in a dungeon somewhere and I'd be the one that has to show up and plead for your freedom. Don't put that kind of pressure on me, Cally."

Caelum doesn't laugh, Isaac doesn't expect him to, but tension breaks and the blonde loosens enough to let his shoulders drop and Isaac rest an elbow over it and lean into him, speaking the words over his shoulder with the hope that they fall into Caelum's heart.

"I need you here. I don't know if I'd be able to hang onto my faith or my sanity in this place if you weren't here."

"I don't even know what I'm doing here anymore, Zac. I thought I was doing something good. I felt good, proud, but now… I don't know… I feel dirty. I feel shameful. If… if this is what it seems then I can't stay. And the way Cullen tossed me when I spoke out, I just… I don't know. I thought I could trust him…"

The shake in his voice rattles straight through Isaac. Part of him wishes to stand Caelum up and help him pack, strap on their armor and whisk him away from this place, away from Cullen and fears and insecurities, to a place where Caelum can be free from the everything that comes along and shoves him down. But there is no place where those things don't exist, Caelum carries them with him, so Isaac stands beside him and holds him up when he's collapsing beneath the weight of it all.

"Well… we'll just have to wait and see then. I'm as ignorant as you are right now. I don't know if there's more going on or if there's been some major bandit conspiracy happening right under our noses, but I do know that Cullen had his reasons for stepping in tonight and I know they didn't have anything to do with protecting the damn bandits. He sent her away, too, right after you left, he sent us all away, actually, but with Nyla… he looked ready to snap her neck."

Caelum doesn't say anything to that, but Isaac seeing the final flakes of ice melt behind his eyes.

"So let's hear him out. If they can't give an explanation or an acceptable solution then they can all watch our toned asses walk right out those gates. We'll go to Honnleath and see your family and we can even make our way to Starkhaven and you can meet my family and we can fish out of the Minanter River and eat some of the best food in the world."

The doubts are still there. Caelum still has a thousand yard stare that's boring into the wall and seeing things that Isaac knows will keep him awake tonight, but he nods, the motion slowly dragging his gaze back to the present, and he looks back at his friend with eyes rimmed red from emotion and exhaustion.

"Yeah. Alright, I'll hear them out. But I mean it, Isaac, if they even begin to lean the wrong way, I'm walking."

"Fair enough. Save the worrying for tomorrow though, alright? Try to get some sleep. Do you want me to stay with you? Rub your head and keep the bad thoughts away?"

With that, the green in his eyes finally glimmers in a way that Isaac is satisfied with, even as he rolls them and shoves an elbow into his ribs.

"Get out, Isaac."

The new day that Haven wakes to is much the same as the one before it and the one before that. Children rise with the sun, bursting from their cabins with energy reinvigorated and packed too tightly in their slight frames, merchants uncrate their wares, dogs roam the town with their noses to the ground, the young pups zig-zagging between the crows, cats, and galavanting kids while the old hounds find a place by the morning fires among the other adults. There's chatter and laughter among the yawns and half-hearted scolds and whines.

They feel safe there, formed friendships and families there, built a community to grieve with and heal with there. Caelum watches them as he moves through town, chantry bound. Despite the trauma in their eyes and the torn Veil of green hovering over their shoulders, the people smile at each other, gossip and flirt, and spoon breakfast pottage with steady hands.

Last night, the truth and the consequences, none of it matters to them because it doesn't exist to them. The anxiety that rocked Caelum out of bed, penned a quavery, rambling letter to Mia, and has him marching across Haven with a galloping heart and cold sweat on his skin is completely unknown to them.

They need that faith.

He remembers Isaac's words. As he looks around he understands them. Because hasn't that been his own philosophy? Isn't that the relationship between the sheep and the sheepdog? It is in his mind, or it was. The sheep — fragile in mind, body, and spirit, he'd once thought — need to be protected. They need their bubbles of safety, security, and comfort. It's how they survive. The sheepdog keeps the wolves away, but it doesn't go back and tell the sheep how close they came.

But what if the wolves sit among the dogs? With the gates left open and the freedom to come and go as they please?

Andraste, guide me. Please. Caelum prays and shivers, tucking his chin deep into his collar and shifting his shoulders, trying to free the cotton that clings to his sweaty back.

He's just barely put his foot on the first step to ascend the short stairs to the chantry courtyard when his name is called out behind him. He turns to see Scout Jim, Cullen's faithful messenger, approaching him with his usual hurried stride.

"Captain! Captain Caelum, ser, Commander Cullen requests your presence at his cabin. At your earliest convenience, he said."

Caelum only nods at the man, looking straight through him as a fresh rush of anxiety pumps through his body, smothers his tongue and smacks his pulse into another mad dash. Jim nods back, hesitates for a moment when the captain fails to dismiss him, before giving another awkward, low nod of respect and skirting around him with a mumbled, "good day."

Turning back the way he came, Caelum makes his way to Cullen's cabin on pure muscle memory while his mind fumbles through a haze of worries and what ifs.

Why his private cabin? It's an official reprimand for last night, it has to be. Or a non-official reprimand, he plans on giving me a dressing down like in the old days… or it's a dismissal. They don't want me causing a fuss about what they might be up to. They figured it'd be best to do it through Cullen.

Said man pulls the door open on the first knock like he'd been standing there waiting right behind it. Like Caelum, Cullen is only in his under armor, a padded gambeson with the Inquisition insignia embroidered on the chest. They make eye contact for only a second before shifting their gazes elsewhere.

"Cal—Captain. Caelum, Good morning. Come in. Please."

Cullen ushers him inside, offering him a seat before rounding the desk and sitting across from him. He doesn't address Caelum again for a long time, instead busying himself with straightening a perfectly stacked pile of papers, adjusting his neatly aligned row of quills, and swiping a hand across the top of his pristinely polished desk.

Caelum's nerves twist around each other, knotting and tightening around his chest, threatening to close in on his throat until he forces a cough into his hand, unwilling and unable to wait for Cullen to finish his imaginary tidying up. He digs his nails into his knees and steadies himself before forcing his dried tongue to lead the way out of this situation.

"I want to apologize—for last night, I mean. I understand that I spoke out of turn. I don't regret anything I said, I meant every word of it…and I still mean it, but it wasn't the right place and… perhaps not the right way. I know my temper is something that still… needs some work… so I'm sorry."

Frustration stacks onto the anxiety. He's no good at apologies. He's no good at speaking with people, in general, and he immediately wants to kick himself. I should have rehearsed with Isaac.

He isn't sure if it sounded enough like a proper apology and he considers trying again, even though it'll make him look like a bumbling, idiot child, but he looks up to see surprise pass freely over Cullen's eyes and he watches Cullen's mouth begin to shape several words that never make a sound, the letters forming and ready to roll out, only to be cut off by a flat press of his lips each time.

It's only been a moment, but to Caelum, already feeling like a chastised little boy, he half expects the snow outside to be melted by the time he leaves this room.

When Cullen speaks, at last, it's done quietly, cautiously, but his authority takes over and begins leading the conversation with a confidence that Caelum envies.

"...thank you. And... it's important to me that you understand that I was not disagreeing with you when I gave those orders. I could not allow a fight to break out in the middle of the tavern between our Herald and our captain. And the cause if it… Haven is not large enough to hold many secrets and the people cannot hear of such things. My decision was not personal—it was not about you, Caelum, or what you felt. It was about our positions and the way those positions demand we conduct ourselves."

Caelum nods, hands clasped tight in his lap and eyes burning with the effort to keep them on Cullen and not slide down to his feet like they want to. Even as the rest of him is bound in a stiff grip of self-control, his mouth isn't quite ready to yield, and he asks the question that's been sizzling over his mind since last night.

"Have you guys known?"

He gets an answer in the form of Cullen's brows dropping and furrowing between his eyes, and his mouth crumpling into a frown, writing his offense plainly over his face.

"Of course not. I spoke to Cassandra first thing this morning, she was not… accepting… of the news. The Herald had us all deceived, but she is the one with the Mark. We need her cooperation. We can't just lock her in a dungeon, no matter how much I may wish to."

"I understand that. I understand the need to keep her on our side but… if that means continuing to aid bandits or even ignoring them, then I can't stay. I'm sorry Cullen, I just can't. I couldn't stomach it."

Cullen nods and something light and tender sparks in his eyes.

"I know. I would never ask that of you regardless. I know much time has passed between us, but I certainly remember how strong your convictions are."

There's a subtle splotch of humor in Cullen's tone and a chained down part of Caelum bristles and snarls in response, wanting to jump up and pound his fist on the desk and shout. Is it mockery? Is it a man indulging a boy with a toy sword? Another half of him pulls him back, whispering that Cullen's amusement could just as well be rooted in fondness, rather than condescension.

"Myself and the other advisors will meet with the Herald this afternoon. I cannot yet say what will happen, but as captain, you will be one of the first to know."

Caelum only nods, feeling listless and out of depth in a way that he can't explain. He wants to get back to his routine, get to the training yard and run drills and improve forms and do what he knows he's good at—for however long he'll still be doing it. He waits to be dismissed, but Cullen clears his throat and slides a piece of parchment in front of him, that nervous energy returning.

"Cap—Caelum? There is one more thing if you have time. It is more of a personal matter…"

Caelum waits. Cullen sighs, eyes dropping for a moment before raising up to meet his brother's with an openness that could suck Caelum in if the younger man isn't careful. The fireplace crackles to his left, but when Cullen looks at him with eyes that carry a swirl a pale flames, Caelum swears that's where the warmth is coming from. It's the same stare their father had, the stare that got him through his coldest days when he was a boy and the ice in his heart threatened to shatter it to pieces.

"I need to write home. There are Inquisition matters as well, yes, the horses. But it is also just… It has been far too long. I haven't a clue how to start it, they must be so angry… and hurt. I am too ashamed to admit to how many letters I attempted to start and threw in the fire. The right words just continue to escape me, and I understand that you write to them often… I thought — was hoping that…"

The chair creaks a little, it's old, like everything in Haven, but the background noise is welcome as Caelum shifts in his seat. There's the crackle of the fire again, and the muffled sound of the mid-morning bustle of Haven, vendors shouting, dogs barking, and children laughing. The noise penetrates the walls and brings with it a familiar homesickness.

There's a tug on his lips as he imagines Rosie's squeal of excitement when she sees Cullen's familiar handwriting, he can picture the way her eyes will light up, the way Mia will wrinkle the edges of the letter up in her grip as she reads aloud, eyes rolling but shining with blissful tears, the way Bran will tower over both of them, reading along over her shoulder and keeping a steadying hand on each of their sister's backs.

Caelum swallows. It's for the family. He'll do anything for his family.

"Well… the best way to start off is admitting that you've been a tit for taking so long, save Mia the time of having to tell you herself…"

Cullen huffs, a relieved laugh trickling out, quiet and bashful.

Then they smile at each other for the first time in seventeen years.

Author's note**

Please allow me to apologize for the long wait. I ended up going on a hiatus that I wasn't fully expecting and I'm so sorry for not being able to give readers a heads up. I want to thank everyone that's still here sticking with this story. I'm back now and updates will be coming regularly again! I also want to give a special thanks to Fifi! Your consistent comments kept me so motivated. Thank you to everyone that left a comment. I means the world to me :D