A/N: A little tale of two OC's I had rattling around in my head, if you like them, shoot me a review and I will do a larger story later.

Faith and Desire

Chapter 1: The Blind Sister

It was a quiet night in the tiny village.

The trees were all but silent, the last of the villagers had returned to their homes. The only sound one might pick out was the howling of a distant dog, that and the slight creaking of the three hanged men swinging in the small square. The moon was full its light making the scene almost as light as day.

A hunter's moon.

Those men, they had been only the first to die, with luck only one more death would be called upon tonight, a death that would finally free the people here of a great evil.

Death was not uncommon here, but this was the first time that anyone of official note had faced such a fate. The three men, once Templars of the chantry had been executed for both dereliction of their duties and giving aid to an evil that had haunted this place for far too long.

Dee sat by the small fire in her room, enjoying the warmth on her face. She reached next to her feeling around for her water goblet. Despite the lateness of the hour, she could still hear voices down below, town folk no doubt, debating what they had seen, what Reaper had done to the three Templars yesterday.

Did the people approve, she could not say. If she had asked they would have responded in the positive, whether they truly believed it or not.

Reaper had that effect on people, but that is why he had her at his side.

Sister Daelle, or Dee as she was commonly known, had always had a gift for knowing just what to say. Had she not been blinded at fourteen she might have risen to a life far above that of a chantry sister. Yet, she tried not to be bitter about what happened. The Maker had a plan she believed.

Her blindness was part of that plan.

As for her, people usually responded with politeness, and sometimes a bit of pity. The former was expected, the latter she did not enjoy.

Most people she had met in her travels with Reaper thought that blindness meant helpless, that was simply not so. It took her a bit to learn where everything was, but once she did, provided no one started moving things around, she could function as well as any other girl who had chosen to give her life to the chantry.

She had always been smart, since losing her sight; she had had to become smarter.

She had first been taken to the chantry at a young age, the daughter of an Orlesian merchant and a Ferelden soldier. Her life would likely have been something entirely different if not for the accident that had taken her eyes. Her mother had been very successful, having taken over her father's business in her early twenties, and having grown it into one of the most successful trading houses in the empire.

Then had come the darkspawn, and the Siege of Denerim, Dee's mother had not survived those sad events, and her daughter had been left alone, blinded and lost.

…Until the chantry had found her, and put her on another path…

…Until Andraste had found her, she and the woman she would come to know as Sister Nightingale

After that, she had found a new purpose.

She did not have her sight, but that did not mean that she was nothing. She had learned the healing arts despite not having the use of her eyes. Her bag of healing supplies labeled just so, that when she needed something it was always in hands reach. How many times had she patched Reaper up in the last year? She had also trained with her staff, what she used for a walking stick. Twirling blocks and strikes directed at the sound of any would-be attacker. How many times had she managed to fend for herself with only her staff for protection?

Many times, yet even Reaper did not see that. He worried about her, and even though she was flattered by his concern, that did not mean she wished to spend her life as a damsel in distress.

Blindness was only a problem if she let it become one, so far, she had not.

She sighed and sat back in her chair the fire was dying, she could feel how much its warmth had faded in the last few hours, she could have poked at it, or added more wood, but she did not.

What did it matter if she felt cold? Reaper was facing something far worse at that moment. What did her discomfort compare to that…?

…In the larger scheme of things, not much really.

She worried, but tried not to focus on that. The young man she knew only as Reaper was quite skilled, if anyone could survive what he faced right now, it would be him.

There was a knock at her door, startling her, but quickly she regained her composure. She turned towards the sound but did not bother rising.

"Yes," she called out.

"It is Janos, Sister, the innkeep," she heard through the door, "Is everything alright in there? Can I get you something?"

She smiled slightly.

She should have known who it was from the heavy footfalls in the hall, had he entered; she would have recognized his scent as well. She tried to picture the way the man must look in her head. Reaper had described him of course. Dark red hair, peppered with gray, that and a large handle bar mustache that was so heavily oiled that the man must never go near a candle, lest he burst into flames.

The thought made her chuckle.

A kind man, she thought to herself, a rare thing in such troubled times.

"I'm fine Serah," she called back, "And thank you, may the blessings of the Maker and his bride be upon you."

She listened as the man retreated. Briefly she remembered another encounter she and Reaper had been through together, one not as amicable as this one had been. They had been staying at an inn, like this one and one night she had realized that several men were gathering outside their room.

She had mentioned that to Reaper, who had told her to stay back, and that he would handle…whatever it was that was about to happen. What had happened next had been a flurry of violence, angry howls and the sound of clashing steel, followed by wounded moans, and the quickly cut off cries of the dying. The thugs that had broken in that night had been agents of a knight captain that Sister Leliana had wanted them to investigate. The man had thought his poorly trained mercenaries would be a match for a knight of the chantry, one who had been blessed by the holy fires that had shielded the Sacred Ashes of Andraste.

That night Reaper had taught them the error. Later that morning, he had seen those men's leader, their quarry hanged for his crimes.

Another death, she thought, another step on the road to purifying the chantry.

Slow work perhaps, but necessary.

Both the Divine and Sister Leliana had come to the conclusion that the Templar order was not what it once was. Greed had taken root, and from its branches had grown cruelty and unchecked ambition within the ranks.

The Divine believed it possible to correct that, through both political machinations, and skilled agents willing to do what needed to be done.

"You will be hunting monsters," Sister Leliana had told them, "both otherworldly, and the human kind. Her Perfection will deal with those in the Grand Cathedral; your task will be cleansing those that think they slip beneath the notice of the priests and Seekers."

They had both swore to see that mission done, and now here they were almost two years later. He was a warrior of terrible skill and power, and she the healer at his side.

Reaper was one of the Divine's best agents, and Dee was his partner. He was not afraid to use violence when necessary, but that was not all he was, he was more than a simple sword.

Dee knew that to be true.

Reaper was hard man, no one doubted that, but at the same time, he never failed to try and make her smile. He was strong, but he was also a man of great faith. He loved both Andraste and the Maker, and was pleased to be doing their work. He also had a softer side she had come to know, a gentle side. They had been traveling together now for almost two years, and in that time, they had become as close as man and woman could be…

The thought gave her pause, that and several other thoughts that she would never give voice to.

The sister frowned.

Well…maybe not that close, she thought to herself.

They were friends yes, partners as well, but beyond that, nothing more could they become. Reaper served as hand to the Left hand of the Divine, and Dee had sworn herself to the chantry, taken her vows, and pledged herself to a life service and chastity.

She would ride with him, tend his wounds, and give him counsel and prayer when asked, beyond that…nothing more could happen between them, and she was fine with that.

Yet in the back of her mind a small voice spoke up, the one that had resisted the chantry and every promise she had made to it. She had done her best to keep that voice silent and in check, but sometimes there was nothing she could do to silence it.

At that moment it had only one word to say to her.

Liar.

The thought made her frown deepen.

It was not an easy path that she walked.

Early on in their partnership, Reaper had let her "see" who he was. She ran her hands over his face, getting a sense of his features. It was a handsome face, she thought. She had only just begun to recognize handsomeness in boys when her sight had been taken, but she still remembered what it was. As she tended his wounds over the last year, she had gotten to know his body as well, arms of hard muscle, a flat stomach, and strong powerful legs. He guided her hands over his injuries or some other helpful sister or servant of the chantry had, and in doing so she came to know much of her travelling companion, her brave knight.

More than once…she had felt…stirring when they had been alone together, when they were alone, when she could hear his breathing at night. Thoughts turned to…darker wants and desires.

In those moments….she begged holy Andraste for strength.

Temptation was not an easy burden to bear.

She was not unattractive, she knew that from listening to those men around her, they did not think she heard their lude comments, but she had. She had been pretty as a girl; she remembered that from the reflection she had seen long ago. Pale skinned with blonde hair, her blue eyes had been left cloudy from her injury, yet still were commented on by the men they passed.

Reaper had noticed that, she thought, at least she thought he had. Some nights when they were alone when she was tending this cut or that she had felt his gentle hands on her arm or shoulder, felt him shudder beneath her touch, heard his breathing quicken, ever so slightly, and heard the slight huskiness in his voice.

Even now those memories made her mouth go dry.

She shook her head; such memories brought unwanted warmth to her body, in places she did not like to think about...

She took a shuddering breath, and did her better to center her mind, asking again for strength to the resist temptation.

Sometimes she wondered why it had been her that had been given this assignment. Reaper was a valuable chantry asset; surely someone better could have been chosen then her.

It was not her skills as a healer that was for certain, there were several sisters both in Denerim and in Haven who could do the job just as well as she, better being that they had use of all of their senses. Yet, Sister Leliana, her mentor had suggested that she was best for this post…

Perhaps the Left Hand of the Divine saw something in her that Dee did not or perhaps…just perhaps…

The Nightingale had other motivations.

Dee had heard the rumors about Sister Leliana, stories about her being an Orlesian bard in her youth, a bard who had not only been skilled at manipulation, but had excelled at it.

Dee found herself thinking about what she knew about Reaper, where he had come from, or rather, what she had heard.

Reaper, not his real name of course, had been a Templar assigned to the protection of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Three years ago a group of rogue Templars had struck at the temple, attempting to either seize or destroy the holy relic.

Reaper had stood in the chamber where the ashes were kept, he had held off the foe, and, in the end, pushed the mastermind of the attack into the holy flames that were the final test to those that sought the ashes.

The attacker had died, his body turned to ash by the intensity of the flames. Reaper…had not; he had been cleansed, saved, and then…sent back. A few days after the battle the flames had died down, and he was found by the acolytes who tended the temple. His armor and weapons burned away, along with any true memory of his past. He knew his name, his skills, and that he had been a Templar, beyond that…nothing.

Sister Leliana had been there during that attack, she had taken purified knight back to Val Royeaux with her, only to return him a few months later. It was then that Dee and Reaper's mission had begun. She still remembered how shy he had seemed, so intimidated.

In many ways they had been alike both had lost everything they had ever known because of a battle that was beyond them, a battle that had left them empty, broken.

A pair of lost souls.

Was that why Sister Leliana had chosen her? Reaper may have been a Templar trained, but the flames had taken away any memory of his past duties. All he had was his faith and his skills. He served Andraste and the Maker first and foremost, and had been rewarded for that service with abilities beyond that of a normal Templar or Seeker.

Surely Leliana recognized the need to control such asset. Had the Nightingale hoped that Dee and Reaper would become more than friends? Had she hoped that feelings would develop between the pair? That they would give into lust and that she would bind the boy to chantry?

It was hard to say. The Nightingale kept her own counsel, she could have…

Agitated voices below shook her from her musings, the few townsfolk that had remained in the tavern below, suddenly roused by something.

She rose and went to the door opening it; she cocked her head listening hoping to hear good news.

Is it done Ser Knight?

Is the monster dead?

Praise Andraste that you have returned.

Dee smiled. She could hear footfalls approaching the stairs, familiar footfalls.

Reaper had returned.

She turned and made her way to the small table where bag of supplies waited

Reaper was coming up the stairs.

He likely had need of her skills.

Her hands ran over the bag, and found the clasp; she undid it, hearing the reassuring tinkling sound of the bottles of ointments, salves, and poultices.

Good sounds, reassuring sounds.

Reaper had done his job and returned to her.

Now it was time to do hers, and Maker willing…

…she would succeed.