Answer for an Arrow

Hello fellow Dragon Age lovers (and if you don't love Dragon Age, then welcome, too). This is my first Dragon Age fanfic, so don't be too harsh on me! :D I fell in love with the Cullen/FemQuis romance and decided to do a behind the scenes scene for you. Reviews are highly welcome. This is a one-shot, so you don't need to follow this.

The Inquisitor is a Dalish female, but besides that, I have made a conscious effort to make sure to keep the Inquisitor's description mild to keep to many reader's ideas of their own Inquisitor. She is a ranger, a previous hunter of her clan, and loves her stealth. Obviously, she chose a romance with Cullen.

All elven is translated at the bottom; note that I have taken liberties with the language, as not much of it is known.

Bioware owns the characters, the main plot, and the awesomeness that is Dragon Age Inquisition. I only own the drabble.

Since arriving at Skyhold, Cullen hadn't had much time to watch the training of his troops unfold. It seemed as if he always had report after report, and when he wasn't doing reports, he was in the War Room preparing to receive more reports. His life had been taken over by the monotonous task of reading, rereading, and generally making sure his troops were well-maintained. He did his own training, often at night when his dreams-turned-nightmares woke him up, and kept himself physically fit if only because of his sleeplessness. Keeping his body working kept his mind working, for the second he stopped thinking of one thing, his mind wandered to thoughts of the Inquisitor.

Ever since the two had spoken about their as-of-yet unestablished relationship, and even longer before their chat on the battlements, the man could barely keep his mind off of the Inquisitor. He had thought of her ever since they'd first met in the War Room back on Haven, try as he might to think of something else. Very recently, she had come to him to talk about their relationship, and he'd almost botched it up. He still wondered if what he'd said to her and how he'd kissed her had pushed her away. Though she'd come back the next day to question if he really wanted her, her questions had been sarcastic and left his mind reeling. Had she played it up like she'd wanted such a kiss from him? Or had she really disliked what he had done? His mind liked to wander toward the worst outcomes on their next meeting. What was worse was the fact that, as of yet, there had been no 'next meeting.'

So Cullen kept his mind off of her by training. When he trained, he forced his mind on the here and now, and he had the double pleasure of keeping himself fit. In his mind, a fit leader was better leading troops than one who sat around and did little.

But keeping himself fit meant nothing when he didn't even know, firsthand, if his own troops were up to his par. It was not as if he didn't trust the captain he'd put in charge of training; rather, Cullen was very much hands on in his approach to teaching, and the longer he went without watching his troops, the more he felt as if he were failing them. Nevertheless, the first thing he did upon waking, weak and shaky from another lyrium-deprived night, was climb down his ladder and sit at his desk to work on reports. He told himself that he would finish the reports first and then head down to the training grounds. Before he knew it, however, midday had come and he'd not moved from his spot while the pile of paperwork had grown.

"Ser?" A hapless messenger caught him massaging his temples, and he looked up with more annoyance in his glare than the messenger warranted. The other man cleared his throat nervously and set yet another report on top of the ones already on his desk. "Ser, it's just an update on the status of Dennet and his horses. N-nothing too important."

'Good, it really isn't important,' Cullen agreed silently with a curt nod to the messenger, who quickly left. He leaned back in his chair, once again massaging his temples. How could Josephine and Leliana stand doing this?

That was when he made his decision. He pushed himself out of his chair, made his way through the room Solas had taken as his own, and briefly glanced at the elf as he painted another mural on the walls as he stalked past. Solas stopped just long enough to give him a curt nod but offered no other welcome, and Cullen said nothing back. Varric also looked up as he stormed through the main hall, the tip of his quill stopping just above the parchment he wrote on. The smile the dwarf gave him as he passed was enough to elicit a pained sigh.

"Who's going to die this time?" Varric asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he flipped the quill in Cullen's direction.

Cullen didn't answer, only whisked out of the hall and continued down the stairwell. Though there was a small training ground inside the walls—one which he noted Cassandra and Iron Bull were both using at this moment in time—the larger ground where troops trained was just outside the walls, across the bridge, and down a small decline. Row upon row of training dummies stood taking damage from sword and shield. He paused just on the ridge and took in the sight of his men training. The familiar thrill of adrenaline began to course its way through his veins and he realized just how much he had missed helping troops train. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and felt the tension in his belly begin to melt away. If there was one thing that could always clear his mind, it was watching his troops train and helping through their training.

The man carefully made his way down the well-trodden but muddy path to the grounds and walked through the columns of men and women. One of his lower lieutenants acknowledged his arrival with a curt nod before yelling at a recruit to actually use the shield. Cullen yelled out another order to the same recruit when he fumbled the sword. The lieutenant looked at him with surprise and Cullen shrugged. "You can't remember one thing and forget another. The sword and shield are friends, not foes. Keep an eye on recruits like him; they might be better suited for two handed weapons instead."

He moved on, helping a few other recruits and full-fledged soldiers until he came to a curiously empty set of dummies. He was about to ask a nearby combatant why these dummies weren't being used when an arrow whistled past his face and embedded itself into the 'face' of one of them. Cullen knew better than to be surprised; he rested his hands on the pommel of his sword as he caught sight of her.

Inquisitor Lavellan was a tall, wiry woman. Her form was perfect for sneaking stealthily through places and he had to admit that she'd snuck up on him more than he would have liked. She stood on the small rise, clothing disheveled, bow in hand, eyes glaring at the dummy like it were a living, breathing being. She leased another arrow and, without waiting for the first to find its mark, smoothly notched another arrow, aimed the shot, and let the third one fly. The last arrow hit the mark with a sickening thunk.

Cullen had always wondered at how archers could end the lives of others from so far away. He was the one to rush in, attack with sword, block with shield, and relish the feel of his blade biting his enemy's flesh while blocking an attack that would otherwise rend his flesh. He had tried the bow a few times in the past but had never been good at it; his body yearned for up close encounters, the flare of adrenaline, and the feeling of physical triumph. As he watched the Inquisitor, he realized his body yearned now for up close encounters of another kind. He carefully stowed away that information, but told himself he would open that thought again later, when the time called for it.

Lavellan had stopped and was staring at him, a funny look splaying across her features. This look was one he knew well, the 'why are you here, I didn't want you here' look that had him instantly raising his guard. He was in the middle of turning around when she coughed and gave voice to her expression, "Why are you here?"

Cullen stopped mid-turn and glanced up at her. Though the way the sun haloed her hair made her breathtakingly beautiful, he couldn't shake the look that pierced him. "Lady Lavellan." He nodded a small bow and continued, "I decided it was high time to assess my troops' training."

"And you stopped here to stare at me why?" Her voice was subtly condescending as her eyes bored into his. He had the distinct impression that whatever had happened, it had something to do with him, though what had happened he had no idea.

"To be honest, My Lady, I had no idea you were here. I… simply happened upon you." Cullen chose his words carefully.

His words seemed to placate her and the glare softened. She even forced a small smile, "You do look slightly out of place, Commander."

He could hear the smooth switch between tones in her voice and was relieved to hear the sarcasm peek through. For his part, he feigned innocence, though the awkward rub to the back of his neck was unconscious. "I—What?"

The elf looked up to where his room was and shrugged. "I suppose I could say something along the lines of 'you're here instead of up there.'"

Cullen arched an eyebrow at her, but she smiled mysteriously and dragged some arrows from her quiver. Cullen swore inwardly, something he did a lot when around her, simply because of how she did things, how she said things, how she made him feel. She was different from most women he'd met and he didn't know how to counter it. The way he felt around her was much the same as he had felt with the mage he'd fallen in love with, but this time it was stranger, stronger, something he didn't think he'd be able to shake easily. Something he didn't want to shake easily.

"But I won't." Lavellan continued, though she already had. "So instead I guess I'll say something else. How about you look weird without a messenger following you around like a sick puppy?"

He swung his head around almost haphazardly and was actually surprised to see that no one had followed him through the throngs of training troops. In fact, no one even seemed to be paying attention to the duo, though they easily made up half of the Inquisitions leading team. A small smile crossed his lips; it wasn't often that he could simply be alone with his thoughts, and it was even rarer that he was any semblance of alone with her. "Weird?" He asked and then, shaking his head, he laughed ruefully, "Yes, I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right." Her grin was wry as she began to play with the fletching of the arrow in her hand. Her face grew neutral, but she looked at him earnestly. "Anyway, since you're here, why don't you accompany me in shooting?"

"Ah, I would advise against that, Inquisitor." Cullen shifted his stance awkwardly and just managed not to massage his neck like he had before.

"Why's that, Commander?" Lavellan wondered, her gaze still upon him, and he found himself looked anywhere but her. From the corner of his eyes, he watched her walk away and climb back up the rise. "You've never shot a bow?"

"Of course!" Cullen answered too quickly. He chuckled and added a little slower, "Whether or not I hit what I was aiming at was a different matter."

She didn't press, though he could see a small smile pierce her lips for a fraction of a second. Instead, she took a few steps back and, lightning-quick, shot an arrow through a dummy before drawing again and shooting a second dummy in the face. Cullen shook his head in wonderment, knowing that if the dummy had been him, he would have been dead. This was why he trusted fully in his archers, and why he trusted fully in her. He wondered if, were she ever to get mad at him, she'd threaten him with her arrows, shooting close but not at him to get his attention, keep him focused. His gut twisted inwardly at that thought.

He was also painfully aware of what he might look like next to her when it came to shooting the bow. She could probably shoot a moving target a hundred yards away with her eyes closed after leaping out of the way of a rampaging warrior and still kill the one she was aiming at. He, while standing still, couldn't hit a target five feet in front of him, and that was without her mirthful gaze upon him as he shot.

But Cullen was not without his own special abilities. Where she had speed and bowmanship, he was at home wielding a sword and a shield. She had admitted to him that raising the Inquisition's sword and holding it for only as long as she had during her inauguration, her muscles had felt weak afterward. He wasn't sure how different using muscles to wield a bow and using muscles to wield a sword were, but he suspected any training she might need would only happen after weeks of preparation. It wouldn't hurt to teach her some basics, but it wasn't needed, since she was capable enough with a dagger when anyone got too close.

"How about I teach you?" She asked, having come to the conclusion while his mind once again wandered.

"I much prefer a sword in my hand, Lady Inquisitor." Cullen responded. "I leave the ranged fighting to you."

She made a disgusted sound. "Alright, fine."

He rubbed his neck and shifted his feet as she carefully, with slower movements than was needed, notched another arrow. She looked angry again, which had him wondering why she had been angry at him in the first place. He decided now was better than never to ask. "Why were you angry that I found you here, My Lady?"

Her face grew grim as she gazed down at him. "No. I… I can't tell you."

"Alright." He said, nodding almost too formally.

She grimaced at him, as if she'd actually wanted him to press. Why would he press when he knew she didn't want him to press? Unless this was really girl talk for 'I want you to ask me questions so I can answer them,' in which case, Cullen was not good at girl talk, nor was he good at following through with gestures that were anything less than in your face. He didn't deal in the subtleties of shadows like she. Cullen admitted that this was how he felt more often than not when it came to the Inquisitor and his fellow female advisors. They had some unspoken code that could be understood with only the shake of a hand, the glint of an eye, or even the intake of a breath. This was not Cullen, Commander of the Inquisition's forces. But perhaps Cullen could learn to meld.

Just as she began to turn back to the dummies, the sour look still plastered on her face, he waved his hand. She turned the sour look on him, but he offered her a pleasant, warm smile, one he knew might garner some sort of reaction from her. As was prophesied, Lavellan lowered her bow as the glower softened into an inquisitive look.

"I have… changed my mind, Inquisitor." Cullen began less than solidly. He wasn't good with shadows and girl talk and sorcery, but he was good with chess. Sometimes speech was a different form of chess. "It seems we both want something from one another. How about an answer for an arrow?"

The Inquisitor's eyebrows raised and her eyes widened in surprise but her voice was defensive when she said, "An answer? It feels like I'm getting the short end of the stick."

"Trust me, when it comes to me shooting a bow, you won't be." Cullen tried to assuage her and was rewarded with a scoff of disbelief. To mollify the quickly turning situation, he added somewhat hastily, "If you want, you can only answer when I actually hit a dummy."

The defensiveness faded and she regarded him with cool detachment for a second, one hand on her cocked hips, before shrugging. "Okay, I suppose that's a deal."

"But you'll answer any question I ask." Cullen pointed out calmly. He tried to make his voice as suggestive as possible and was rewarded a nod of approval, but her face was grim.

He tried his best to look meek as he climbed the rise, a ploy that showed just how much he didn't want to shoot any arrows, and he didn't have to act to look nervous. Her closeness always enacted a change in his chemistry, and this time was no different, no matter what information she withheld from him. The look she gave him gave nothing away immediately, but the wisp of a smile revealed her enjoyment of his antics. She hid it gracefully as he feigned being hurt by her laughter.

Were he with any other person, Cullen would not have thought of doing what he did next. But as this was Lavellan, and as Lavellan was hiding something she wanted let out, Cullen decided to do something he would not normally do. Though he was conscious of the troops at his back, Cullen had seen what had happened when Varric joked with Lavellan; he was not good at it, but he was learning to become 'less stuck up' as the dwarf put it. He decided to make a fool out of himself, which he fully intended to do with the hope that he would win a smile. When he reached her side, she offered the bow to him. He accepted it as if it were a snake rather than a carved wooden log and tried to make his stance as goofy as possible, facing fully toward the dummies and twisting the top half of his body only enough to be able to shoot. He pulled the string back without notching the arrow and heard a strained groan from behind him. The groan ended in a laugh, and he glanced over at her, a smile on his lips.

"This is how you shoot an arrow, right?" He asked, dropping the bow and waving the arrow around.

"Not even close. Take off your armor, ser." She answered, a wry grin spreading across her face. It was a welcome change to the look she'd held just a few moments earlier and meant that his ploy had worked, somehow. "It is going to hinder your movements."

At this point in the match, Cullen didn't even feel like arguing, though he did check surreptitiously if any of his troops were watching. The lack of arguing didn't stop the fact that his face grew hot under her gaze when he unclasped the armor and set it on an unused dummy behind them. He slipped off the glove of his non-dominant hand, placed it on the dummy, and turned back to her, catching the look she gave him—one of wonderment and surprise—and a small smile played across his lips. She was very literally drinking him in, wanting him just as much as he wanted her, and he felt the familiar rush of heat again. He laughed gently and rubbed the back of his neck and she looked away, a blush spreading across her face. He wondered how she would look at him if he had taken off his undershirt, too, and perhaps his trousers and small cloth—no, he couldn't think of that right now.

"So it does come off, Commander." She said to soften the awkward moment. "I thought you were born with it on."

He didn't have a quick enough quip to answer her, so instead he turned back to the dummies and raised the bow again… if only to hide his increased blushing. This time he chose a more correct stance with his body facing perpendicular to the dummies. Cullen drew back the bowstring but felt his arm shake. The muscles meant for swinging a sword were, in fact, different from those used to wield a bow. His shot was far from the dummy, which elicited a chuckle from his companion. At least with a sword, he might hit something, not feel the pulsing embarrassment of an arrow that flew feet from its target.

"Well, at least your stance was a bit better this time." Lavellan said from behind him.

He flinched when she touched his arm, but her grip was strong and sure as she moved it into a position she liked better. He noticed she was professional rather that intimate in her touch as she made sure he felt where she held his arm before moving to the side to inspect his stance. He turned his own head to watch her as she inspected him. He loved watching her scrutinize him. She didn't catch him looking, only returned to his back. From behind him, she snaked her hand around his stomach, pressing professionally against his abs.

"Tighten your abdomen." She ordered, but her voice was softer than when she commanded others. "When you have lined up your shot, you'll want to exhale before you shoot."

Cullen realized he had learned far more with Lavellan in the span of a few minutes than he had ever learned with any other teachers. The strange rush of satisfaction was wonderful. But he could not dwell on the feeling because when he felt her warmth leave him, the feeling was gone. He found he missed her touch, and he turned to look at her. She held her hands on her hips and when he attempted to lower his stance, her gaze hardened.

"All that teaching gone to waste. I should have known." She offset the hardness of her glare with the mocking sarcasm of her words.

Cullen's blush returned as he quickly raised his arm again. He took training seriously, and should a recruit do the same thing he was doing, he would yell at him or her until it was understood that lollygagging was not allowed. He had deserved the berate she gave him. He refocused on the dummies and regulated his breathing, then, as he let out a breath, he loosed the arrow he'd notched. It landed in the dummy's lower breast with a satisfying thunk!

"I should say that doesn't count, since I gave you all of the pointers." She mused when he turned to her, a smug look on his face. "But fair is fair. You hit the target. What's your burning question?"

The elation of actually hitting the target slowly simmered away, and Cullen's stomach dropped with the bow he held in his hand. The look on her face told him she expected the question he was going to ask, which almost stopped him from asking it. He realized he could let sleeping dogs lie, as it were. He could quell the burning curiosity he felt was eating away at him from the inside out. What had he done wrong to make her snap at him earlier? Maker's breath, now that he thought about it, he knew he didn't want to know.

But the question slipped from his mouth anyway; the way he rubbed his neck and the way he spoke screamed at how uncomfortable he was at asking. "Why didn't you want to see me here?"

She looked away from him and wrapped her arms around herself with a long sigh. "This is all too real."

Cullen blinked as confusion clouded his mind. "What?"

When Lavellan looked back at him, her eyes shone with emotion. "This place, the anchor, Corypheus. At one time I could pretend it was all a dream, that I would wake up from it and none of it would be real. I wouldn't be this super-important being with the weight of however much of the world on my shoulders; I would just be a hunter of my clan living without another thought of the outside world. The closer we get to finding and stopping Corypheus, the more real this becomes, and it freaks me out."

"How does this have anything to do with me?" Cullen asked, lowering his voice even as it tilted upward with his obvious confusion. He thought he knew what she was getting at, but asked either way. The two had already shared their feelings with each other, but if there was anything more confusing than Lavellan, it was how she really felt about him; in fact, she still flirted with Solas and the Bull often enough. Just the thought of her romantic relationships with others created a nervous knot in his stomach.

"Sethelgar!" She exclaimed, though this time her voice was neither mocking nor condescending. In fact, when she next spoke, it sounded almost pleading. "You have everything to do with this. You keep me grounded; I've got the world's anchor on my hand, but you're my anchor."

She sighed, placed her hand on her head, and massaged a temple. "When we spoke and you said… well, I still couldn't believe it."

Cullen's gaze softened as she bit her lip. "Could not believe…?"

"You and I." She said sheepishly, much unlike the Inquisitor he knew.

The commander let out a low, surprised laugh as he shook his head. "Neither could I. It is strange."

Perhaps the man simply had no idea how to talk to women, because the moment he spoke his words, the Inquisitor grew defensive again. What had he said? "What is strange?"

Cullen tilted his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Maker's breath; I suppose that came out wrong."

This conversation was the strangest thing he had ever partaken in, and it made him wary of anything he wanted to say. Her moods swung so quickly that he didn't understand where her emotion was coming from half the time. He had already seen her slide smoothly from standoffish to happy to confused to angry back to happy and then standoffish. He watched her as her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. His palms started to sweat and he consciously wiped the palm of his hand that wasn't covered by a glove, having shifted her bow from that hand to the other. If she caught the movement, her eyes did not stray from his. He gathered a breath and then let it out, closing his eyes, as he ran his ungloved hand down his face.

"I did not mean to say that in a harsh light, Inquisitor." He started. "Rather, I only chose that word because I never thought you would love a man such as I. The relationship is not something I would have originally seen happening… at all, really. I am not making myself sound any better, am I?"

"Strange is not the word I would have used." She glowered, hands on her hips, but her face was less harsh, as if she could somewhat understand the reasoning, however futile, he gave.

Cullen stood ramrod straight, an apology already on his lips, when he clamped his mouth shut. She raised an eyebrow in question and crossed her arms. Instead of apologizing, however, the commander turned his eyes toward the dummies again. He eyed the dummy, plucked an arrow out of the ground where she'd stuck a few, and aimed. The arrow, once let fly, missed its mark by miles, and his mouth pulled taut. The second he knew the arrow wouldn't hit, he took another arrow and aimed again. He ignored an exasperated sigh from the Inquisitor and aimed again, this time remembering what Lavellan had taught him. The arrow rammed right into the dummy's lower segment; had the dummy been a human, the arrow would have gone straight between its legs, but as it was a dummy, he guessed it counted.

"Lady Inquisitor," He said, lowering the weapon, feeling a little surprised that he'd hit at all and, if he might succumb to the notion, a little prideful at hitting a second time. "Would you forgive me my mistake in word choice?"

She fairly giggled; she placed a hand girlishly over her mouth and her eyes suddenly twinkled. "Answer for an arrow, huh?"

The conversation had already taken so many turns that he wasn't sure how genuine her sudden happiness was, but as he lowered the bow again, the twinkling in her eyes did not decrease in intensity. She took the bow from him and, with grace befitting a goddess, shot the arrow with only a sidelong look as to where she was aiming. Of course, Cullen mused, the arrow hit true. She had scarcely let the first arrow fly when a second followed suit, and he certainly wasn't surprised to see it hit only centimeters from the first.

"Garas tu ma emma'atishan, emma lath?" Lavellan said, her voice suddenly captivating Cullen as she spoke. He loved listening to her speak in her native language; the lilt of her voice was amazing and he wished she spoke like this in common, but common was much clunkier than her native language.

He knew she was asking a question, but he had no idea what the question was, so he shifted his feet awkwardly. Should he say no and risk her wrath, again? He could not ask a question, for if she had taken the bow for her own questioning, he would have to land yet another arrow, and Cullen didn't know how much luck he really had. So instead of risking anything more, Cullen simply nodded.

The smile he was rewarded with was radiant and he wondered what he had agreed to. She set down her bow and beckoned him forward, away from the dummies; he glanced around to his troops but few were paying attention to the man and his Inquisitor. Fewer still seemed to even notice when she kept walking out of their line of sight. He was self-conscious, but when she stopped to make sure he was behind him, he hurried to catch up.

The copse of trees was in a partial valley; the way the slopes of the mountain curved allowed for grass to grow beneath the trees. It was a surreal place. Birdsong filled the air, and Cullen watched, amused, as several deer jumped away from their hiding places as Lavellan approached. Underneath the trees, everything was different, and the battle of Corypheus felt as if it were hundreds of miles away. He could not contain his awe as he walked along beside the elf.

She twined her fingers into his gloveless hand like it was natural and led him toward a particularly beautiful tree, which she leaned against and watched him. She had a wry smile on her lips. Lavellan had not released his hand, and he stood less than a foot from her. Her closeness was intoxicating and he felt his body reacting to her closeness. Her scent enveloped him; she smelled of the moss hanging from trees and the gentle honeysuckle flowers she loved so much, and he drank in her scent with a pleasure.

She pulled him closer, the devilish smile on her lips drawing him in even without her physically needing him to. Her voice was husky when she asked: "Emma ma nuvenin. Answer for an arrow, Commander? I've got one question left."

Their faces were so close together it was hard not to simply lean forward and kiss her, but he respected what he had started. He chuckled and attempted to pull away, give her space to ask her question, though he was burning with desire. Though her grip on him was iron-hard, and she did not allow him to move an inch, he nonetheless played it out as if they were a few feet away from each other. "Alright, Inquisitor. Ask away."

"Would you have me if you could?" She asked.

She was no longer standoffish toward him; indeed, she was open, inviting, hoping. Cullen trailed a hand down her face and leaned forward. His lips brushed hers and she responded in kind, her hands instantly pushing their way through his hair. Their kiss was demanding, and he pushed his body against hers, pinning her against the tree as he removed his mouth from hers and trailed light kisses down her jaw and throat. She shuddered with pleasure and he moved his kisses from throat to clavicle, and a moan escaped her.

The moan quickly turned to a shriek as an august ram bleated and charged away from the opposite side of the tree, a hiding place that wasn't so hidden. Cullen jumped away, cheeks inflamed, hands jumping to his sword before realizing he was in no danger. The Inquisitor had similarly reached for her dagger, though neither had fully taken their blade from their respective sheathes. Lavellan's wild eyes softened and she started laughing. Cullen found he could not join in, despite the absurdity of the situation. After a few good chuckles, she wiped her eyes and said in the most sarcastic voice she could manage: "Well, excuse me."

She turned back to Cullen, her face a mixture of displeasure and leftover shock. Cullen took the initiative this time; "I have no arrow, but one last question."

He stepped forward and cupped her face in one hand. His voice was gentle and he hoped alluring. She was already reaching before he asked his question and he considered his question asked. She answered in full when their lips met for a second time.

So the long-winded conversation had started in confusion, but it had ended in perfection. Cullen would have it no other way.

* Sethelgar is a word I have made up from the two elven words 'seth,' meaning thin or tenuous, and 'elgar,' meaning spirit, to create a slang word that is roughly the Dalish equivalent of 'idiot.' This is generally meant as 'wow your spirit/soul is being stupidly hard to deal with right now.'

* Garas means come

* Tu means to make or to cause

* Ma means you

* Emma means I am, me, or my

* Atishan means 'a/the peaceful place;' combines atisha, peaceful, with –an, place.

* Very loosely, 'Garas tu ma emma'atishan?' means 'Will you come with me to my peaceful place?'

* 'Emma lath' means 'my love'

* Nuvenin means want or need

* 'Emma ma nuvenin' loosely means 'I want you'