Title: Cookies

Rating: G - what is this fluff I keep writing? Sappy. So sappy!

Characters: Adaar/Blackwall

Summary: Shortly after arriving at Skyhold, but pre-relationship. Aella wants to make cookies and Blackwall wants to help.

Blackwall didn't know what he expected to find when the scent of baking sweets lured him from the horse stalls to the kitchen in the middle of the night, but it definitely was not Inquisitor Aella sobbing over a plate of cookies. His first thought was to slip back out the door as silently as he'd entered, but when her breath hitched and a fresh sob broke through he couldn't just walk away. "My lady," he spoke softly, not wanting to alarm her.

Aella looked up at him, sniffed and then looked back down at the plate before her. Her white hair was an unruly mess, falling down her back and over her shoulders, tangled around one of her horns. She wore a loose shirt and tight trousers that hugged her curves. Her feet were even bare.

He was dreaming, he had to be. Never had he seen Aella, the Inquisitor, in such a state. Even after bringing a mountain down on herself. Blackwall thought she'd never looked more beautiful.

"They aren't right," she said, her voice cracking. "I know the recipe, but I can't-" shaking her head she looked up at him, he saw the smudges of flour and he wasn't sure what else on her cheeks, even her nose. "I can't get it right." It was only then that he realized there were far more cookies in the small kitchen than on the plate in front of her. Letting out a quiet grunt of frustration, Aella grabbed the plate and flung it off the table, cookies and ceramic scattered around her.

Aella reached up, rubbed her hands over her face and sighed. "I'm sorry if I woke you." She glanced at him, looking suddenly embarrassed, before looking back at the mess on the floor around her.

"You didn't wake me," Blackwall finally spoke, crossing quickly to stand in front of her, bits of broken plate and cookies crunching beneath his feet. Without giving her a chance to react, he gripped her waist and lifted her so she was sitting on the table, her bare feet out of harm's way. "Let me just clean this up." He started to turn away, caught her movement out of the corner of his eye.

"No, don't. It's my mess-"

He spun on her, gripped her hips and forced her back a few inches on the table. "Stay."

Color rose on her cheeks. "I'm not some dog for you to command."

"No, I imagine a dog would have more sense than to try to walk through broken glass with bare feet."

Aella paused, he felt her lift her leg, her inner thigh brushing against the outside of his leg. Blackwall suddenly wanted to drag her closer, feel her legs around his waist as he-

"I forgot," she said, voice quiet as she stared past him to one bare foot. He glanced down, she wiggled her toes and he was caught off guard by the pale pink polish on her nails. "Really, I should be the one to clean it up. I made the mess."

"Just allow me to do this, my lady." He realized he was still gripping her hips and he had to force himself to release her. He stepped away, found a broom and began sweeping. For long moments the only sound the filled the room was the shushing sound of the broom on the stone floor, and the crackle of flames in the hearth.

"Blackwall?"

"Yes, my lady?"

When she didn't reply he turned to look at her, saw the tears roll down her cheeks. "Sorry," she said and quickly wiped them away. "Nevermind."

He finished sweeping and disposed of the evidence of Aella's outburst. "Tell me about the cookies," he said walking back to stand in front of her. Immediately she parted her legs, allowing him to lean into the table in front of her. He dropped his hands onto the table, bracketing her thighs.

"My mom," she said, reaching a hand out to press her palm against his chest, over his heart. "She always made these cookies, she thought me how. Papa loved them." Her breath hitched and she curled her hand into a fist. "It's been so long though. I know the recipe. I know it. But it's not right. I kept trying and-" she broke off, dropped her hand from his chest and looked away.

Blackwall caught her cheek, turned her face back to his. "Why are the cookies so important?"

Aella's brow furrowed as she looked up at him. She was embarrassed. For so long she had fought so hard to be strong, and a force to be reckoned with. But now she was sitting in front of the man she wanted in her bed, looking like a disaster and crying over cookies. Yet still, he looked at her as if she were something amazing.

"Whenever my mom was upset, angry, stressed, sad..." like when Aella's magic had started to grow out of control. "She baked. All sorts of things, but these cookies, somehow they always made everything better." She scoffed quietly. "Childish." Aella shook her head. "What did I know? I just knew my mom was making sweets and would let me help sometimes." Drawing in a deep breath she resigned herself to going up to her quarters to stare at all the things she was being called upon to take care of.

"Then we'll bake," Blackwall said. "Or rather, you'll bake. I'll be your assistant."

Aella blinked at him. "What?"

"If baking helps, we'll bake." He tugged her off the edge of the table, stayed there for handful of heartbeats, bodies pressed close, then stepped back. "What first?"

It took Aella several moments to catch up. "Flour, two cups go here," she said, gesturing to one of the smaller bowls. Then she picked up the bigger one, dropped in the butter and sugar while Blackwall meticulously measured the flour. "Now the ground up nuts," she pointed to one jar, "another two cups in with the flour." She guided him through making one batch, then another. On the third, Blackwall picked up a cookie, held it to her lips and without thinking she took a bite, then she watched as he popped the rest of the cookie into his own mouth.

She was struck by the intimacy of it all. As they had made the cookies, they had touched, casual, nothing sexual. Her guiding his hand to stir the batter, him wiping a dusting of flour from her cheek. But it felt far more intimate than anything she had ever shared with any man before. "Well?" he asked.

Aella couldn't help but smile a little. "You're going gray before your time," she reached up a brushed some flour from his beard, felt him lean slightly into her touch before pulling back.

"Are the cookies right?" he asked and she smiled sadly and shook her head.

"No," she sighed, looked at the piles and piles of cookies and winced. "But I imagine the soldiers will be thrilled."

"We could try again," he suggested, but Aella shook her head.

"I imagine the kitchen staff is standing at the door waiting for us to be gone. I'm surprised the cook hasn't kicked as out already." They tidied up their mess and Aella headed for the door that would take her the back way to her quarters where she hoped she'd avoid running into anyone.

"We could try again tonight." Aella stopped turned to face Blackwall and after a moment of hesitation, she nodded.

"Yes. Thank you, Blackwall."

"My lady," he inclined his head.

Hours later, Aella was supposed to be listening to her advisers, but she only caught about one out of twenty words they said. All she could think about were the cookies. And Blackwall. She felt the blush creep up her cheeks as she thought about how he'd found her sobbing over a plate of cookies. Her mind drifted to her mother baking. How sometimes her father would come in, stand behind his wife and dip his finger into the honey jar- Aella jerked. Honey. Not sugar, and cinnamon.

Turning she bolted from the room, ignoring the calls of 'Inquisitor.' She ran through the main hall, out the front door and nearly fell off the stone rise in her haste to get down the stairs. Running across the courtyard as fast as her legs would carry her, she found Blackwall standing over a worktable, carving a wooden rocking horse. But it wasn't a horse, it took a moment for her to realize it was a griffin.

"My lady," he turned to her, concern written across his face.

"Honey!" she exclaimed. Blackwall opened his mouth, snapped it shut. "The cookies. It's honey and cinnamon. That is what I was missing!" A brilliant grin broke across her face. "I have to go see if the cook has any." She dashed in, hugged him tightly before turning and running back out of the barn.

That night, Blackwall made his way to the kitchen, expecting to find Aella happily making her cookies, but she wasn't there. The fire in the hearth had been turned down low and all was quiet. He reached up and scratched his beard.

"We don't have what she needed." Following the sound of the voice, he found one of the servants sitting on the floor by the hearth, knitting. "The honey and the cinnamon." She shook her head sadly. "We don't have any. Don't know where to get any either. Maybe in Orlais?"

Early the next morning, Aella was gone, having taken Dorian, The Iron Bull and Varric with her to the Hinterlands. Blackwall was frustrated by being left behind, by not being there to watch her back, though he knew the trio wouldn't let anything happen to her, but it gave him time, he hoped to help make one thing better for her.

They were gone for weeks, finalizing the last steps needed to get the Horse Master Dennet to send horses and hopefully join them at Skyhold. It was late in the evening when they finally returned, and they were all a little tired, a little dirty, but no worse for wear. Aella had retired to her quarters almost immediately after touching base with her advisers.

He waited until all had gone quiet, then he took the tray laden with bread, cheese, wine, and most importantly, cookies. He knew the recipe would be wrong, she hadn't told him how much honey or cinnamon was needed. But the kitchen staff had been willing tasters and tried batch after batch until he found something he was happy with.

Silent as he could, Blackwall made his way up the stairs to her quarters. A glow from the fireplace filled the room and he had expected to find her asleep. Had planned to just leave the tray on her desk, or bedside table and leave. But instead she stood out on her balcony, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, white hair glinting in the moonlight. Before he had time to consider any options, Aella turned and spotted him.

"Blackwall," she smiled faintly. "What are-" she drew in a breath, her head canted to the side. "Cinnamon." she stared at the tray in his hands, then quickly walked into the room. "That's cinnamon and honey," she picked up one of the cookies, stared at it, then at him and he saw her eyes go liquid. "How?"

Throat suddenly tight, he coughed, then cleared his throat before trying to speak. "Lelliana, did me a favor. I know they aren't right," he said as she broke the cookie in half and took a bite. "I didn't know how much. Wasn't sure I remembered all the other things right, either. But-"

Aella shook her head. "They are perfect," she said on a breath. "They aren't my mom's cookies. But oh, Blackwall. They are perfect. Thank you. You have no idea," she held the cookie up to his lips, obediently he took a bite, then watched her stick the rest in her mouth. She chewed and smiled. "Thank you, so much."

"There's more, the honey and the cinnamon. A lot more, we can make them the way they are supposed to be made. You can show me."

Aella took the tray from him and set it on the rug in front of the fire, then tugged on his hand. "It'll keep. These are perfect for now. Right now, I want you to come sit with me, tell me what went on around here while I was away. Please?"

"Of course, my lady."

"Aella," she corrected sinking onto the plush rug. Blackwall sat down beside her, watched her reach for another cookie and take a bite.

"Aella," he said softly and knew he'd never have the strength to stay away from her.