She marks him from the first time she sees him. It’s a good choice, she has to admit. He’s average. Average height, average build, average intelligence. His looks are nondescript. He’s worked himself into a position that is neither bottom of the ladder, nor anywhere near the top.

It’s good, but slightly messy.

She has to wonder if Lorcan is getting desperate. At least the dwarves and Carta allies he’d sent previously were actually dangerous. Not to say this mercenary isn’t, but he’s not subtle. She notices him at most of their outposts, at Skyhold, and she can certainly hear him tracking them as they travel. That he hasn’t made a move intrigues her, so she says nothing, pretends not to notice him, and continues on.

It takes him weeks to work up the nerve. She wonders if it’s her reputation or something her father said that holds him back. In the end, it doesn’t matter.

The night is warmer than normal as she strolls across the ramparts. It’s not often she can roam Skyhold with so few people about, and she takes full advantage of it. She enjoys wandering without all the accoutrements of Inquisitor. The simple tunic and trousers are freeing, letting her feel the breeze on the unruined patches of her back.

A noise from the damaged section of wall brings her fingers to a hidden blade. Her eyes dart toward Cullen’s tower, light flickering in the windows.

Part of her thinks she should be surprised when it’s the man she’s been watching. He scrambles up the rubble, lunging for her with an Inquisition-issued blade. That little detail angers her more than it should. A throwing knife looses from her hand, sinking into his wrist. His shout echoes across the courtyard as he drops his weapon.

She hears the tower door open as she leaps, locking fingers in his hair and sweeping a leg around the back of one of his knees. A snarl curls her lips as she bends him over the edge of the wall, head pulled back and throat bared to the dagger she holds against it. His feet scrabble against the walkway, back braced off kilter on a battlement.

“Sidni!” comes Cullen’s voice as he rushes to her, sword drawn.

She ignores him in favor of stooping to meet her would-be assassin’s eye. They’re wide and wild, darting all over in hopes of finding an escape.

“That wasn’t very imaginative. You think I didn’t notice you? After all this time? This is your plan?”

A gurgling noise is her response.

“Inquisitor!”

Cullen takes a step back when she rounds on him, hold tightening on her captive. The sternness in his face doesn’t falter as he awaits her explanation.

She sighs, jaw clenching. “This man was sent by Lorcan Cadash to capture, not kill”—she gives the man a pointed look—“me, and return me to the Carta.”

There’s a tense pause and then, “Allow me to take him, Inquisitor. We’ll place him in the dungeons.”

Her grip tightens on her blade, muscles poised to strike and end it all. As they stare at one another, she watches this stranger’s resolve harden. If they simply lock him up, he will try again. She presses against his neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Inquisitor!”

Two heartbeats seem to slow, drown out all else …

She shoves away, turning from both of them. Her face settles into a mask. The dagger she slides back into its sheath, fingers twitching. She listens to Cullen pulling the man up and holding him.

“I’ll see him locked up personally and we’ll—”

She forgot about her throwing knife. Blood droplets splatter across her face as she turns and side steps to avoid him, but not quickly enough. Pain blooms in her right shoulder, warmth spreading across it as her own blood soaks into the tunic.

The sound of Cullen wrestling the attacker to the ground finally draws the guards. She stands to the side, pulling the knife free and ripping her sleeve to staunch the wound. She seethes quietly as he directs the soldiers to take the man away. She’d slightly underestimated the situation and now …

“Are you alright?” Cullen asks, reaching for her once they’ve all gone.

She ducks under his arm, holding onto the gash. “I had it under control.”

“You couldn’t—”

“Yes, I could have!”

“This isn’t how—”

“It’s how I do it! You should’ve let me kill him and be done with it.”

As she storms away, she catches a glimpse of his downturned face and feels guilt settle in her gut.