#pre-blight

[ask-blighty-talbot]

[hawkeish]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

In which Hawke and Anders let themselves into a building they really shouldn’t be letting themselves into. And swear. A lot.

“The plan? Simple, Anders. Get in! Steal the fucking thing! Get out! It’ll be fine. It’ll—” something between a burp and hiccup— “be fiiiiiiiine.”

How many times had Marian exclaimed this, far too loudly? Seven, by his last count. Or maybe five. Or eight? Anders wasn’t sure, really. Everything was fucked. He was fucked.

Maker, he was so, so fucked. And he was also shirtless, covered in weird dog paint and dangling between a dangerously thin branch and a Chantry window-ledge. If this was what got him made Tranquil, he wasn’t sure whether he’d be proud or disgusted. But then he’d also be Tranquil, so he probably wouldn’t give a single, solitary shit.

The Maker would give a shit, though. The Maker always gave a shit.

Buckle up, folks: it’s a long one. Want to read the whole thing from the start? Check it out here

[apocryphacomics]

Anathema’s Chapter 2 sketch is done!!!

It took so long, but it’s amazing to reach this milestone for the second time! To see that which was a very ambitious idea taking shape! 

Turning this sketch into the finished thing will be no slower, so it will be a few months until it’s ready for release, still - I’m really happy for this chapter to have form and shape!

- John

Chapter 1 - In the Presence of My Enemies

What is Anathema?

John Cousland would become the Warden Commander of Ferelden. Junia Cadash, the Grand Mistress of the Inquisition. Yet, before the Inquisition, before the Blight, they met for the first time. And that meeting scarred them for the rest of their lives. Anathema follows Junia's memories, from her tragic romance with the Hero of Ferelden, her years as companion to the Champion of Kirkwall, and finally, her chance to wield the iron fist of faith.

[breachy-breeches-creation]

Little things

If one ever ask what are Milerias' opinions regarding life in the Kinloch Hold: She was told that she was just a toddler when she was brought to the Circle.

That doesn't mean she likes it. Not one bit.

Even though it is the life she has ever known. Under the constant watchful gazes from the ever-vigilant Templars, there are moments where she finds it particularly suffocating.

Like a bird, it is her nature to want to be free. She wants to soar into the open sky but never taught how. Her wings aren't clipped but what use is it when one can only rattle in a confined cage.

-

There are rumours of mages that successfully escaped from their Circle and become apostates, but it seems more possible to occur when one is already out on the field and "decided" beforehand or in that instance not to return, so to speak. 

It doesn't really help either she was chosen by First Enchanter Irving to become his own apprentice when she is old enough. Not that she cannot handle the training. There are occasional hiccups sure, but in most cases, she aced it with ease. What's troublesome are the attentions she is getting from her peers whether it be envy or awe, and at times fear. It becomes more difficult to keep to herself when many in the Kinloch Hold would either recognized her or known her by name.

If one ever thought Milerias has surrendered herself to the Circle life. Well, she doesn't.

She used to pester the guards all the time with questions in regards to the outside world and why she isn't permitted to leave the Tower. Eventually, she does resign, due to the same old answers she receives each time.

Still, in her defiance and frustration, every so often she would go up the heavy metal door of the main entrance and kick it couple times with her foot despite knowing no avail.

Other times she plays pranks using her mischievous little mind, stirring up ridiculous mayhem for the entire Tower to no one's benefit just to get some reactions from this all too stuffy atmosphere. Irving might scold her and give appropriate punishment, yet the twinkle in the old man's eyes might suggest otherwise.

She is also very aware of this escape "offender" of an individual named Anders. Some might have thought once would be enough. But no, this man makes attempts one after another, never learn to quit. The shit-eating grin that the mage makes since the Templars & Chantry cannot make him, a Harrowed Mage, a Tranquil because it is against their own laws. She admires that.

Ever since his second attempt, she's been paying attention to his movement, carefully slipping messages of encouragement or seemly small insignificant trinkets that he might of use. She giggles with glee when she receives responses with cat drawings.

They never spoke directly.

Apparently, couple days ago the infamous mage manages to bypass the Templars by swimming across Lake Calenhad during the weekly training exercise for the apprentices. The Templars weren't able to chase after him since they wear heavy armour. It is his fourth attempt.

Some might wonder how long he would last this time. Others are even making bets. Partially she secretly wishes to never hear from him again, in hopes that the mage has finally retain his freedom.

-

She finds other snippets of amusements in this what seems an eternal place. 

Being a mage isn't always about casting spells. One must understand the theories and functions behinds it before she or he can any of that. Which means reading.

Lots and lots of reading.

Paragraphs after paragraphs, pages after pages. Knowledge pouring into her head as she organizes them into her understanding.

She loves it.

It wasn't always academic learning however of course. There are few entertaining fictions hiding amongst the vast collection of books - if one knows where to search for.

Milerias enjoys the feeling of the timeless trance as words weave into sight, scent and sound. Challenging her imaginations and bringing her into an entirely different world than her own. At times, forgetting that she's in the Tower.  

Currently, she has a copy of "The Viper's Nest" by known author Varric Tethras, hidden under her mattress.

She also comes to appreciate the smell of musty old tomes and the yellowing of the parchment. Fingers trace delicately on the crooked spine that never really seems to straighten into line.  The item itself seems to have more story to recount than the words and diagrams it records.

Other times she finds herself chuckling at the some of the dramatic annotations she discovers on those pages.

-

Milerias isn't the strongest girl. She's rather petite compared even of her own kind. Her small stature doesn't stop her reaching for books from higher shelves, however.

She just simply climbs it. (Might or not knock over other things in the process)

Sometimes it is because she can't bring the ladders over since it is too heavy and there is no one else around who is unoccupied. Others times she does deliberately simply because she is too stubborn to ask for aid.

It has its advantages - such as hiding in a quiet corner that anyone yet to notice (sometimes she just hides in the space on top of the bookshelves) or squeeze through cracks that others might not able to fit through. Most importantly, much, MUCH less likely to get smacked against the frames of the door, windows or other things. As hilarious as it is to witness when it happens to her clumsy good friend Jowan, it still looks painful.

Accidents stills happen now and again when one's limbs are only that long.

Like this very moment.

Milerias slips off from the ladder while she was trying to reach for that particular tome regarding Force magic she's been searching for ages, and crash landed right top of a Templar (the irony).

Curly blond. Chiseled face. Peeked eyes of soft sepia. Outlined by long, full eyelashes, and above are his arched eyebrows. 

Quite handsome actually - if she has anything to say about beauty standards.

She isn't sure whether he happens to be there or he saw her and run to catch her from her fall.

Regardless, by the time she snaps out of daze from the initial shock, the young man has been fretting over her for a while, concerning her safety and mental state.

He only stops when he suddenly realised his hands are on her shoulder and retreat them immediately. The young man stumbles over his words as he tries to apologize if he is being inappropriate and/or making her uncomfortable. Eyes darting to all direction but her, as blushes creep from his cheeks and quickly spread across to his ears.

The next moment, he just says he would take his leave to get a healer for her.... and he runs off.

“Funny man” she thought to herself, nice guy though if not a little eager. Perhaps she should say 'thank you' next time she sees him. It is courtesy.

-

Just little things here and there.

Little things that make life in the Circle a bit more bearable.

[royal-babey]

Lily

I wrote angst and it hurts like hell and oh god I cried whilst writing it.

Featuring my OC’s Nico and Dima Mahariel, and their father Revas Mahariel.

TW’s for blood, death, slavery, and just a shitton of angst.

-

In the forests of Antiva, walked three Dalish Elves.

Keeper of Clan Mahariel, Revas Mahariel, accompanied his young twin sons into the wild woodlands to show them the foundations of survival. This was something the family did often, at least twice a week if possible, and it was valuable time together for them. Revas’s Keeper duties often kept him busy, and sometimes unable to spend time with his sons at all.

He had a son walking on either side of him, both clutching his significantly larger hands tightly. Dmitri Mahariel chatted away happily to his Father, rambling on about anything that caught his interest or something exciting that had happened to him earlier that week. His younger brother, Nikolai Mahariel, was quite happy to walk in silence, allowing his brother to do the talking for the both of them.

Revas couldn’t be happier. Of course if his ex-wife could be here, that would make things even better. Revas regularly mourned the fact that the twins would not grow up without a motherly influence in their lives, but they seemed to be doing just fine.

‘’-and then and then!!! Nini made a scary face and said ‘You pee the bed Daerian.’ Daerian went running crying back to his Mamae and I got my stick sword back!!!’’

Revas was snapped out of his thoughts as Dima’s excitable voice raised in pitch as he told his Father his story, and there was a very indignant ‘Dima!’ from Nico as Revas let out a chuckle in amusement. He then looked down to his left to see a very sheepish Nico kicking a small rock across the grassy forest floor.

‘’Is that true, da’fen?’’

Nico just shrugged as a response, then muttered ‘’He was being mean…’’

Revas couldn’t argue with that.

Every now and then, the elder Elf would stop beside a bush, either with oddly coloured berries or flowers, and attempt to tell the twins the properties of them. It was important they knew these things in case of emergencies. They were useful after all.

The twins genuinely did try their best to pay attention, but it was a struggle. And by the time they were an hour and a bit into their fathers lessons, they had all but given up on trying to listen.

Revas could see this, and figured he should give the twins something to enjoy instead. He sat them down on the abnormally gigantic roots of an ancient oak tree, that spiralled and gnarled in on itself both above and below the ground, and shielded them from the hot sun with its tall branches and large leaves. After he had gotten their attention, he held up a clenched fist, and smiled.

‘’Watch this, boys.’’

The boys watched in wonder as their Father’s fist glowed green, and gasped quietly when he opened it to reveal two stark white flowers where there had been nothing before. The twins recognised them to be lilies, and Dima bounced on the spot excitedly where as Nico was still staring, though he did have a small smile on his lips.

Revas reached forward, braiding the lilies into the boys long black hair one by one. They reached up to gently feel them at the same time, before lunging forward to hug their Father.

‘’That was so cool, Baban!!!’’

‘’Thank you, Baban…’’

Revas just grinned and hugged his boys back, laughing quietly to himself at their reactions. He loved making them smile.

And with a lily, he hoped to pass on their mother’s love. For that was her name, after all…

They were a happy family despite everything. A close knit and loving family.

Though like Revas had described to the twins once before, when a beloved Clan Halla passed away, the Creators often liked to pick the most beautiful things from this earth that they belovedly created.

Revas could not help the twitching of his pointed ears as he picked up on an abnormal sound coming from the east. They were outside of Clan hunting territory, so no one should be here…

That’s when he heard it. The sound of men laughing uproariously. They were no voices the Keeper recognised, and he froze to the spot, arms tensing around his children.

Humans. Human hunters had come to these woods.

Revas knew how much danger they were in instantly, and leapt to his feet. He easily picked up the twins, one in each arm, and took off running deeper into the forest. He knew these woods well, expertly avoiding upturned routes or particularly sharp rocks, taking almost completely hidden turns, getting past the more dangerous wildlife without getting so much as a second glance.

Nico and Dima were terrified, but knew to be quiet when their Father seemed to sense danger. They had not heard the humans, therefore having no idea what was wrong.

The Shemlen had heard Revas taking off though, footfalls much too heavy in his panic to get his children to safety to attempt stealth. They assumed he was a deer, having been spooked by their loudness. Revas could hear the beating of the horses hooves getting closer, and realised even if he were to make it back to the Clan in time, he would surely doom them.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

Sliding to a stop in front of a particularly large bush, he kneeled down, and placed his children behind it. He signaled for them to be quiet, and they agreed without question, nodding their heads to show they understood.

Revas knew that what he was about to do...May not turn out how he hoped.

So he hugged them both tightly, and whilst pulling away, slipped his necklace off over his head. It was made of shedded Halla antler, with intricate Elven symbols and words carved into it. He handed it to Dima, his lips trembling despite his trying to keep everything under control. He gripped Dima’s shoulders tightly, tight enough to make him wince involuntarily, and spoke in a panicked but hushed tone to his son, who had, as well as his brother, barely seen their tenth summer.

‘’I need you to promise me, Dima...Promise that no matter what, you will protect your brother. You will protect the clan. You will grow strong, and always protect those you love. Do you understand? Be strong.’’

Dima didn’t hesitate in answering, whispering a very determined ‘’Of course I promise Baban.’’ But also; ‘’What’s wrong though? You’re coming back, right?’’

Revas let out a shuddered breath, and gave his sons the best smile he could muster.

‘’Ar lath ma, ma len. I love you both so much...Be strong.’’

Before they could even question, Revas was taking off running into the clearing not far from them. Where the twins could see what was going on...Revas forced himself to stand his ground despite his fear as the humans approached, pulling his staff from his back and gripping it tightly as they pulled their horses to a stop and dismounted.

One human, with pale skin and a bald head, paired with a horribly patchy beard, was the first to approach Revas. Behind him were two more humans, dressed head to toe in armour. Revas couldn’t see their faces, though he could feel their stares.

He forced himself to greet the men in perfect trade with a smile, as wary as it may look, and a short bow.

‘’Greetings, outsiders.’’

He didn’t even get a greeting back, instead, the man in front of him just snarled, looking him up and down.

‘’Lookie here, boys. A knife ear, right here. Looks like we may not need to look for their damned camp so hard after all.’’

Revas tensed, knowing instantly who these men must be. Slavers, probably for the black market in the main city of Antiva. He reached back with his free hand to scratch nervously at his ear lobe, needing something to do as he answer, even if he wasn’t exactly asked a question.

‘’I-I beg your pardon? You can’t-’’

Revas was cut off by a sharp sword pointing directly at his neck, causing him to go stock still, too afraid to even breathe.

The man growled, pressing the blade against Revas’s neck. Enough to draw blood, for the moment, and make the Elf hiss slightly in pain.

‘’Shut your mouth, knife ear. Now listen closely. We know it isn’t just you here. We saw a stuffed toy on the ground. And you were quite happy to run just a moment ago...Who are you protecting? Your knife eared kid? Kids? Oh, the Crows would pay a pretty sum for some young Elves to train up.’’

Revas felt sick to his stomach. He wasn’t about to negotiate with some slavers, just so they could go hunt some other people.

So that left him one choice.

Carefully, he took a step back, and twirled his staff in hand.

‘’I’m not telling you anything, Shemlen!’’

He inhaled, ready to shout a spell, one powerful enough to knock them down and give him

time to run with the boys-

When instead it turned into a breathless gasp of pain, and he looked down to see a sword running right through his gut.

From behind the bush, there was a whimper, the leaves rustling as Nico attempts to get up to run to his Father. He’s stopped by Dima however, who yanks him down by the back of his shirt, and straddles him to keep him from trying again. Nico tries to yell for Revas, but Dima covers his younger brothers mouth and despite the tears forming in his own eyes as Nico writhes and struggles, whispers harshly for him to quit it.

Nico doesn’t see what Dima sees. Doesn’t see as the men kick Revas down onto his back. Doesn’t witness them sneering and taunting Revas as he bleeds out, amethyst eyes formerly shining with life beginning to go dull as he stares up at the sky. His lips barely moving as he words a silent prayer to Falon’din to guide his soul to the Beyond, the Creator who’s Vallaslin he has proudly worn since seventeen years of age.

He doesn’t see as Revas’s throat is slit easily by a spear tossed to the man who had also stabbed him, then thrust through the Keepers exposed chest.

Eventually, the humans get sick of mutilating the now dead Elf’s form. The murderer declaring Revas must have left the twins at the great oak tree and had instead tried to lure them away and distract them.

They mount their horses, and ride off. As soon as their horses beating hooves can no longer be heard, Dima and Nico get up, running over to their father’s unmoving form. He couldn’t be dead. Surely he was just badly injured, would still be breathing.

But there’s blood. Too much blood for any mortal man to surely survive. His dark skin is now an ashen colour, and his eyes are glazed over and lifeless. His expression is slack, and his chest…

It certainly isn’t moving.

Dima stands staring, completely frozen. He can’t tear his eyes off of their Fathers, their Babans, corpse. Nico however, collapses to his knees.

And he screams. A scream so heart wrenching it scares off any animals in the immediate vicinity. A scream filled with such unimaginable grief and fear and anger that it doesn’t sound human at all.

Dima can only drop down beside him, tears rolling silently down his cheeks as he reaches for Revas’s hand. Earlier it was warm, warm as Dima clung to it, warm as he pulled his Father behind him and swung and laughed and...Warm as Dima thought about how much he trusted that warmth to always be there...But now it was cold, and Dima could feel the remnants of Revas’s body heat slowly fading away.

‘’Papa…’’

He could barely mutter it. Beside him, Nico had begun to sob, clothing beginning to turn red with their Father’s blood soaking into it. He rested his head on Revas’s chest, hair mostly obscuring his face from his elder twins view.

And from his hair fell the lily Revas had left in it just twenty minutes ago. It landed in the puddle of blood just beside Revas’s body, and Dima could have sworn he heard his Father whispering the word- No. The name, Lily, in the small breeze that blew past them all.

Dima could only pull Nico to him, trying to find some comfort in his brothers still warm body despite the chilling aura that had settled in the area.

They only had each other now, meaning Dima was determined more than ever before now to keep his promise to their Father.

He would protect Nico with his life.

[commander-sarahs-art]

I had the sudden urge to draw my warden today, but I only ever draw her as the queen or in her armor, i’ve never drawn her before the blight, So heres Myra the day of the castle attack, with special quest Jaune, her mabari. 

[daqueen15writes]

Of Chess and Knicker Weasels: Chapter Two

Fandom: Dragon Age, pre-blight setting Rating: Teen Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x Arya Amell  Summary:  Pacing the Circle Tower in the dead of night, Cullen did not expect to stumble across a flustered Arya Amell attempting to practice her chess skills. Notes: So I actually managed to write a new chapter for this, as well as making a few edits to Chapter One (although nothing major). Huzzah!I think I have a few more short chapters in me for this, but we shall see.Hope you enjoy :)

AO3 and previous chapter: Here

Arya waited for the last of her fellow apprentices to blow out their candles and begin snoring softly, before silently dressing and and creeping out of her dormitory. Her entire body felt tight with apprehension as she tiptoed her way through the corridors and down the stairs, making her way back towards the library. The previous night, she had she had been worried about getting caught out of bed out of hours as she followed the familiar route; now an entirely different fear gripped at her chest.

She had skirted around the topic of meeting with Cullen again, terrified of scaring him off and ruining what was quite possibly the best evening of her life. Cullen had seemed reluctant to discuss anything further meetings himself, casting her hopes into further doubt.

Before she knew it, Arya reached the heavy wooden doors to the library. She took a deep breath, before tentatively reaching out to turn the door knob.

Suddenly, she pulled her hand back in panic. Instead, she leaned forward and rested her head against the door with a small thud. Closing her eyes, she attempted to clear her racing thoughts, and shake away the doubt gnawing at her chest.

Get it together Amell, what’s the worst that could happen?

Straightening herself, she reached up to comb her fingers through her unruly hair trying to tame it, to no avail. One more deep breath, and Arya slowly pushed the door open, slipping through and tentatively making her way through the bookshelves towards the light of the fireplace.

She’s not coming, Cullen silently cursed, what was I thinking?

He sat crossed legged before the fireplace, the chess set in front of him. Much like how he had found Arya the night before. A smile briefly tugged at his lips at the memory, before his doubt consumed him again.

The previous night had been wonderful. For the first time, he had Arya’s company all to himself, completely free of the usual worries of judgemental stares from his fellow Templars, or fearful glances from the other mages. He hadn’t wanted to spoil things by asking if they would meet again, especially as Arya hadn’t seemed to want to bring it up herself. If it was going to be a onetime occurrence he was going to make the most of it, Maker be damned. As he lay in bed afterwards, grinning like an idiot and feeling lighter than he had in months, he had told himself that he was content with this.

But now, sat alone in the quite of the library faced with the very real possibility that she wasn’t coming, he knew he had been lying to himself. He had hoped with every fibre in his being that she had enjoyed herself and would want to meet again. Even if she had just wanted to practice enough to finally beat Jowan at chess, that would be enough for him. But now, doubt clawed at his chest. He was a Templar, and she was a mage. Why would she want to spend more time with one of her jailors?

Maker, he was a fool. Sighing, he flicked over his king in defeat, and stood. With one last glance at the chess board, he turned to leave, rounding the corner of the bookshelf and immediately walked straight in to Arya.

She yelped as she nearly fell backwards. Instinctively Cullen’s hands shot out to steady her, as Arya’s own hands reached out to grip at the nearest object to right herself, which just so happened to be his shirt. They stared at each other in shock.

She’s here. She’s actually here.

They stood frozen like that for what felt like hours, hearts racing, his amber eyes gazing into her icy blue. He’d never noticed the faint freckles scattered over the top of her nose, and he longed to reach out and trace them with his fingertips, committing the location of each one to memory. Cullen was captivated by the warmth of her body against his and her faint smell of vanilla; he never wanted to let go. Her hands softened against his chest and he felt sure she’d be able to feel the hammering of his heart.  

Suddenly, he came back to himself. He was overstepping his bounds, he knew it. Quickly, but reluctantly, he released her and stepped away. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and tried to avoid her gaze. His head was desperately scrabbling for words to apologise and excuse himself, when she interrupted his thought process with a small cough.

“Shall we?”

He looked up. Her face was flushed, but she was beaming up at him, gesturing towards the board. He felt his heart stop.

“I…yes, of c-course.”

Always.

[daqueen15writes]

Of Chess and Knicker Weasels: Chapter One

Fandom: Dragon Age, Pre-Blight setting Rating: Teen Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x Arya Amell  Summary:  Pacing the Circle Tower in the dead of night, Cullen did not expect to stumble across a flustered Arya Amell attempting to practice her chess skills. Notes: Reblogging the updated chapter one of my first fanfic, originally posted on my Dragon Age Blog @daqueen15 . Enjoy :) Read on AO3 here

A frustrated shriek cut through the silence of the library, snapping Cullen out of his daydream.

Unable to sleep, Cullen had been enjoying the peace and quiet of the sleeping tower on a late-night stroll. It had made a nice change from the usual chatter and explosions from the mage's lessons or experiments, and it felt rather freeing to not be weighed down by his armour as he paced the corridors. He had found himself in the library; it was one of his favourite places to patrol, for reasons he swore had nothing to do with a certain mage who always seemed to be in there. 

But the spell of peace and quiet had been broken; Cullen was clearly not alone. His Templar instincts kicked in, as he slowly crept towards the source of the noise, ducking behind a bookcase. He mentally cursed at his decision not to wear his armour. Even if he’d just brought his sword…

"Andraste's knicker weasels!" The voice shrieked again, before a small thud.

At that, Cullen couldn’t stop himself.

"Andraste's what?" Cullen exclaimed, ducking around the bookshelf. He blushed immediately at the sight before him.

Arya Amell sat alone, cross legged on the rug in front of the fireplace. An old book lay open in her lap and a chess set in front of her. She was glaring at a discarded chess piece he suspected she had just thrown at the bookcase opposite her. Her dark bushy hair was wilder than usual, haphazardly tucked behind her ears.

Maker's breath, she was beautiful.

At the sound of his voice she looked up in horror and immediately flushed a shade of red to rival his own.

"Ser Cullen! I'm so sorry, I didn't think anyone else would still be up and I-"

"N-no, I'm sorry for interrupting- no one else is up, I…uh… couldn't sleep and…Maker's breath, what are you d-doing?"

"I'm…um…I'm practicing." She replied sheepishly, nervously tugging at her hair and nodding towards the chest set in front of her.

Cullen stared at her in stunned silence as she babbled on, trying to avoid his gaze.

"Jowan keeps wiping the floor with me, and so I thought if I practiced really hard, without him noticing…maybe I could surprise him and wipe that infuriating smirk off of his stupid face and then maybe-"

Cullen chuckled, and Arya looked up in surprise.

"And what does that have to d-do with Andraste's…what was it?"

"Knicker weasels." She flushed harder, if that were possible.

"Right," he chucked again, "What has chess got to d-do with those?"

"Well…It turns out practicing on my own is harder than I'd thought. I'd found a book on chess techniques, and thought that would help, but Brother Francis is proving to be a patronising arse and is overall highly unhelpful." She glared at the offending book, slamming it shut and tossing it aside.

Cullen’s eyes widened in surprise; he had never seen her treat a book like that. She usually handled them as priceless treasures. He had caught her on more than one occasion chastising the younger apprentices for such treatment. This one must be bad.

"I could help you practice?" the offer was out of his mouth before he could think about it properly, and he inwardly cringed, anticipating an immediate rejection.

"You know how to play?" she asked, surprised. Cullen nodded and Arya stared back at him thoughtfully. There was still so much she didn't know about her Templar. Maker's breath, the Templar. Their stolen glances and blushes did not make Cullen hers.

And yet she couldn't stop staring at him as if he were hers. In the quiet of the sleeping tower, she had him all to herself for a change. And Andraste's knicker weasels she'd never seen him without his armour before; the loose tunic was showing off broad shoulders and muscular arms that were normally hidden in plate…

Cullen's face fell as he turned to leave. Arya panicked; she'd forgotten to answer his question.

Maker please don’t let me have ruined this.

"N-no wait! Please… if…if you wouldn't mind. That would be..." Wonderful. Amazing. "…helpful."

She cringed at her inability to speak coherently around him, convinced that he would change his mind, stalk away and report her to Greagoir for being out of bed so late.

And yet Cullen's face lit up, and she swore she felt her heart stop. She watched as he came towards her, crouching to pick up her discarded Queen, before settling down across the board from her. He reached across with the piece, and as she stretched back to take it from him their hands brushed. In her surprise, she fumbled and dropped it. Flushing again (Maker's breath, she felt like she was on fire), she focused on setting up her pieces, determined not to look at him.

"So…" Arya started, steadying her voice and trying to distract herself from the ridiculous urge to throw herself across the chess board and kiss him. "Where did you learn to play?"

"Oh…w-well as a child I played with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won. Which was all the time," he smiled, "My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won…"

Cullen looked at the chess board, smiling fondly, lost in the memory. Arya gazed back at him in wonder; this was the most he'd ever spoken to her without stammering. She grinned. Progress.

Cullen looked up suddenly, as if he'd briefly forgotten she was there.

"So…er… I know exactly the kind of problem you're facing," He grinned awkwardly. And adorably. She had to stop herself from swooning. Maker help her…