There's the question of the mages, of course. There's the necessity of patrolling the Emprise and the highlands, and finding the best ways to remove red lyrium from the land. There are still rifts for Lavellan to close, and a balance to strike: enough forward camps that Lavellan has the resources she needs, without taking away supplies, manpower, and gold from other places that need it more.

It got complicated for Cullen -- needlessly so, he thinks. Something was wrong, for a while. Felt like he was wandering in a fog, unable to see his own thoughts. Felt mildly feverish. Nothing worth complaining about. No reason to stop working. Rylen's people stepped up, all across Orlais; Briony and Sidonie planned between them at Skyhold, suggesting modifications to the usual supply routes, keeping strict track of who wanted to muster out and go home, and what they were due. In a few weeks (after more regular and better sleep) the fog withdrew, some, and Cullen sent Briony on furlough.

(Permission to tag along? Sidonie asked with a straight face, staring at the wall, and Cullen proves himself capable of catching a clue, and wishes them a good time in Jader.)

The business isn't very pressing -- more supply chain matters, things to be discussed and renegotiated. Those take up two meetings of a few hours each. The rest of the time... well. It's Cullen's turn for furlough, or what passes for it. Josephine had insisted. He receives a briefing each day at noon; that gives him and Alistair time for a nice lie-in, and a little training to stay in shape (and work off the cheese and pastries), and allows him to spend the afternoon slipping into a lecture hall or two, and searching for copies of a few engineering treatises that pique his interest.

One such lands on the table next to Alistair, with a slate on top. Cullen sits in front of them, immediately after resting a warm hand on Alistair's shoulder in greeting.