A.N. - I guess Inquisition did manage to stir all the plot bunnies. This is just an exercise, basically, and can be read by itself or as an extension of Denerim and Rainesfere/ Redcliffe and Amaranthine where the story of Tasha Tabris is described. Might add a couple more chapters simply because I did feel sorry Bioware didn't include the Warden properly.

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"This was good, Bull. Thank you." The Inquisitor didn't seem a harsh woman. There was something that spoke of a warrior in the making underneath her skin but everything else was soft and gentle like a newborn lamb. Half the time, the Qunari expected her to start muffling them against the cold or make sure they had their soup at night. The Iron Bull had to confess himself impressed that once pushed into a battleground the noblewoman appeared to handle herself just fine.

Nobles in the North were fed more iron than he thought to begin with.

Once the human made her way out, Bull moved from his chair to sit on the other side of the chess board, waiting until the brown-haired woman acknowledged him. She had surprised him too, so easily playing the hateful city-elf to the bone, so easily keeping her words little and her origin so downplayed that it could have applied to any city from Denerim to Par Vollen. Skinner indeed.

"Well, Grey? What do you think?"

The elf didn't raise her head from the game, teeth gnawing absently on a nail as she considered the moves. Her eyes spared him no attention either, dark, blue and very focused. "I think Grey is incredibly on the nose as a nickname," she commented, callused fingers moving a piece after some hesitation. The heavy Orlesian accent she had been using until that moment faded into a much more natural Ferelden, tinged with faint traces of Denerim. "Better than Skinner though. You made me sound like a madwoman."

"You made yourself sound like one." He had half-expected her to unsheathe a dagger and proceed to exemplify once the Inquisitor pressed for her story. "Paid to kill shems?"

His large hand reached for a pawn, moving it silently.

"Shems, darkspawn, I get confused sometimes. Lack of proper education, you see." What Bull saw was her hand moving once more, gripping a tower forward as if she was not paying attention.

For a long moment neither spoke. It had been the woman's idea, this subterfuge. Coming out of nowhere with gold in her pockets and a wish to see the Keep from the inside. It had taken Bull quite a good amount of time to join the small clues in order to discern her identity and even more to trust she wouldn't interfere in any way he found to be prejudicial to his Inquisitor.

And he kind of liked her, the elf who could pass unnoticed in one moment and turn into a murderer out of legend the second she caught whiff of a touch of taint on the wind. And had a sense of humor, dry and so cynical that he half expected one of their Revered Mothers to jump from the shadows and slap her upside the head. It was a good thing. He was done with people not allowing themselves to relax for even a moment. Guess she had had enough of that during the Blight.

Bull almost missed the way she smiled as she picked up the conversation. "Why would you want my opinion, Bull?" The elf asked lightly. "You are her man, life and heart. Like Sten was to me."

His brow furrowed deeply. "You mean the Arishok."

"I know exactly what I mean." Her tone didn't bother to change even as her hands wavered over the board. "The Arishok is not my man. Sten is. Sten was the one in Denerim and Redcliffe, in Haven and Orzammar. He is the one I know and the one I would walk through fire to defend. The Arishok is to me what the Commander is to him."

If she needed to go to Antiva, would she walk to the Tevinter and back first? "You are very good at reflecting the questions, Grey," he commented blandly. "What's up with that?"

For the first time, her calm demeanor was broken. There was honest surprise in what little he could read of her expression at that comment, as if she hadn't noticed what she was doing until that exact moment. Her mouth even opened, a neat little circle which was quickly replaced with a self-deprecating grin.

"I'm sorry." And she actually seemed to mean it. "When you spend as much time as I bothering with nobles, you forget some people honestly want replies instead of playing games." Her hands entwined, fingers tightened and tense. It reminded him oddly that the woman wasn't surrounded by her own people but by those who, merely a month before, had seen the Wardens at their very worst. And she seemed tired. Tired and alone. "You chose well. She might have no idea what she's doing and why she's doing it half the time, but she's trying incredibly hard not to let it stop what needs to be done. Sometimes that's what you need. Someone who stumbles through things and keeps going on because it's the right thing to do."

"You approve?"

The Warden shrugged, tugging another piece forward. Somehow, somewhere during the game, his pieces had begun leaving their battleground, silently, absently, almost without his notice. "It's not my task to approve. But I like her, for whatever that's worth."

Another play, both games pushed forward.

"So why did you come here?" He persisted.

"You ask too much, Ben-Hassrath." Another moment of break, velvet sliding to reveal a trace of steel underneath, all hidden underneath a polite smile and her apparent frailness faded like fog in the early morning. "What's up with that?"

Bull grinned widely at the woman. "I am a spy, Grey." What else did she expect? "Though I'm not sure how you know that."

That little smile, that slight twitch of amusement and the small movement across the board. This time, he could see his Tamassran in danger. "I pay attention."

And so did he. Their conversation faded into the soft voice of the ministrel and the notes of the instrument. Between the beginning of their conversation and that moment, the rest of his company had found their own places to be; their silence and unwillingness to interfere in what they deemed to be the boss's problem was a credit to the men he was guiding. He'd dare say the setting was comfortable. He loved commotion and a good battle like any other warrior but sometimes, he longed for the calmness of his home. Where one warrior could go back and sit down, allow the Qun to flow heavily through his body, feel the tamassrans hands resting on his arms in silent approval – like mothers because that was what they were – look everywhere and see known features and not the pale skins of humans and elves.

And who knew what the Warden was thinking? Her eyes didn't move from the board, cautious fingers prodding pieces here and there when necessary. Every now and then, he would grasp the hint of a frown, the pressed lips of disapproval, the thin lines of worry. Watching her carefully as he was, Bull couldn't help but notice that she wasn't that old, physically wise. Young for an elf, that was a certainty. But it was the thoughts behind that youthful skin, the traces of worry which kept slipping through which aged her five, ten, fifteen years.

"I needed to know." Bull didn't expect her to speak. She didn't even seem to be speaking to him, all of her attention on the small carved pieces as if they contained her whole world in their grasp. One of them rested in her palm, a small pawn, analyzed from side to side revealing no answers in its stony surface. "I came here because I needed to hear from everyone's lips how much we did wrong. I needed to know this woman was right. I needed to know we can't expect people not to blame us when we make decisions which end in death and sacrifice of others." The piece almost crumbled as her hand closed around it, strong and unyielding. "I needed to know so I won't ever do it myself."

"And what will you do now that you know, Grey?"

"Clean up the house. Good thing you already burn it down. Makes things easier." Bull would have believed if her tone didn't carry that undertone. Guilt, horror, sadness, everything warred underneath her words. "I leave for six months and the Wardens go insane," she whispered. "As if I hadn't left people in charge. As if they hadn't enough to do rather than listening to power hungry monsters. As if they can't recognize empty promises after this long. I was so sure things would be calm for a while."

A small sound told Bull the pawn was nothing more than crumbled pieces.

"I meant personally."

But the Warden's patience seemed to have evaporated, like a soldier who had heard the calling for battle. She rose from her chair, sweeping her long hair back underneath a dark hood and moved a final piece, neatly finishing up the game. No muss, no fuss.

"Drop by Leliana or she will smack me with her quiver when she finds out I was here and planned on leaving without telling her," she informed simply, firmly locking him away from her thoughts. "Thank you for this, Bull. It felt comfortable."

The elf paused before leaving, looking over her shoulder at the setting with something which was that close, just a hair width away from gratitude.

"Sten would have won."