[A/N: Written for spicyshimmy]

"A" Is For...

She'd been in the Gallows for only six months the first time it happened. Her Harrowing was gone and past, her schedule settled, and day to day life had become an almost comfortable routine. Well- comfortable only if you could ignore the lack of sunshine, the oppressiveness of the very architecture, and the fear that lived in even the youngest of the apprentices she helped teach.

In six months she'd learned which templars she could speak to, which she had to be careful about, and which she was better off avoiding altogether. She had written twelve letters home, and had received four in turn - which meant only four had been sent at all. She had looked for Garrett out the few windows she could casually sit by, and she had even seen him twice in the courtyard far below, unmistakable with the mabari trailing at his heels and, once, Anders' blonde hair and feathered pauldrons, never quite entirely obscured.

After six months she'd become more thankful of her father's training than ever before, as she impressed her instructors just enough to have their attention and support, but not so much that the templars noticed or her peers became jealous. She walked a fine line, and she walked it well. Even she was surprised, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked just the same as she always had - except that with the stress of always running gone, she almost looked happy.

Funny, that - happy, in the endless, shadowed mazes of the Gallows.

Six months in, she found the first package waiting for her. It was a nondescript little thing, easily missed, and she would have walked right by it on her way out of morning classes had the movement of many bodies, mostly at waist height, not made a small bell attached to the twine of it jingle faintly.

With a glance to any waiting templars, she went to where the package was, in a little alcove. Bethany, it said on the outside in a familiar script that she couldn't quite place to a name. She swallowed, then dropped a book to give her an excuse to scoop it up into her arms.

She looked at it that night in the cell of a room she had been given when she became an enchanter. It was wrapped in plain, dingy fabric, but the address- she knew those letters. They weren't Garrett's, or mother's; not Anders', not Varric's, and she had never actually seen more than a glimpse of Isabela's handwriting before Garrett had snatched the manuscript away, but Bethany knew it wasn't hers. Merrill likely would have added more flourishes or maybe a rambling note, and Fenris- she wasn't sure, but it didn't seem likely. She wracked her brain, finger tap-tapping on her lip.

Finally, she gave up and untied the small bundle, keeping the tiny bell in one hand.

Inside was a stack of notes and a few candies from Hightown that she loved. The letters were all from Garrett, dated weeks or months apart, and she realized as she read over the first one and saw great red ink slashes over parts of it (inflaming parts, she was sure, all about how lovely it would have been to see her free again) that these had been sent to her and turned away by the templars.

But this had gotten through, left for her, and whoever had sent it was not Garrett or mother and had known her favorite sweets. She sucked on one thoughtfully as she read Garrett's letters, all the while wondering in the back of her mind just who had sent it all.

The second time was three months later. She was on her way back to her room after a thoroughly awkward meal. One of the other newly Harrowed mages had been gazing at her across the table for days, and had finally made 'his move,' as she supposed it was. And oh, it had been a move. It had been a move that had ended with dinner in his face and lap and half the room in laughter, templars ordering everybody to be silent and her cheeks burning as if on fire.

Yes, she was glad that meal was over, and gladder still to slip into her room and close the door. Even the sound of the templar's key in the lock, sealing her in, was more comforting than it should have been.

And then she saw the bundle sitting on her pillow, tied even with a pretty bow, with the same familiar handwriting that she couldn't place -

Bethany.

She approached with a giddy feeling mixed with ample parts trepidation. She glanced to the door as if it would be transparent, and then to the window - where her guest must have come in. But the window was closed tight. It had opened in the summer months, a few inches to help the heat, but since then it had been sealed.

And yet- there was the package.

She pulled the bow free and laid it out on her bed, with another wary glance to the door. When she heard no sounds, she looked down. More letters, this time fewer but by different hands, and a manuscript by Isabela titled Getting Down In Darktown. There were a few sweets as well, changed with the season. And beneath it all was another small bundle.

She set aside the notes and candies and pulled the bundle open. Her fingers trembled a little, and she felt like a little girl on Feast Day again, fresh from Carver's prank to see her mother's treat. And inside… oh.

Inside was a beautiful scarf in autumn colors the likes she hadn't seen since arriving in Kirkwall. It was even made of silk, and she ran her fingers over it wonderingly. The scarf she had worn all the way from Lothering sat in the small chest in the corner that stood beside her old staff, bits of a life she was no longer allowed. This would have to go just beside it, but for the moment, she wrapped it around her throat, fingers tracing over the folds and settling it gently.

It felt lovely, and she was sure it looked the same.

The muslin that had protected it lay open on her bed, and with a halted breath she realized there was writing on the inside. She pulled it into her hands and stretched it taut, and read,

Bethany,

A little bit of sunshine from friends and family. Careful where you keep it all. I hear the templars like to take it for themselves.

A.

It was the same handwriting as on the outside of the package, and Bethany bit her lip trying to place it. A. A, but not Anders, because she knew Anders' handwriting and this was not it. A, but not Arianni - there was no reason for the Dalish woman to write, even if she would know a thing or two about templars. A, but… well, certainly not the Arishok, though the image made her laugh. Oh yes, the Arishok in Hightown, picking through silks…

A, but who was A?

It wasn't until she was curled in bed, scarf still around her throat and sweets perfuming her breath as she read through the toe-curling first chapter of Getting Down in Darktown, about a dashing warrior and a dashing apostate and an interloping spirit that was just this close to being too familiar to be enjoyable that she placed it.

A, for Athenril.

The third time, when she came home to her small room and her small window that shouldn't have been possible to breech, a narrow hand clasped over her mouth and a familiar but long-unheard voice at her ear said, "Don't scream, it's only me."

It's only me. In the year spent in Athenril's service she'd heard that several times, whenever Garrett had bristled at being intruded on. Athenril had come by Gamlen's house in the early grey hours of the morning at times, and it had worn on mother's nerves - on hers, too. But this time, those three words made her relax and nearly laugh.

It had been so long since she had seen anybody, been alone with anybody, that was not a templar or a mage.

Mother had visited a few times, but they had never been left without at least one guard. Garrett had not been let in at all. And neither had come to the gates in the past month. So as Athenril let go of her and let her hand drop from her mouth, Bethany turned and threw her arms around the other woman.

"You have no idea," she said, cheek pressed to Athenril's narrow shoulder, "what it is to see you."

"I didn't think you'd miss me so much," Athenril said, laughing quietly and then patting her back, once, twice, in awkward non-rhythm. "I just thought I might stay this time, in case you have a message for me to bring back?"

"I- oh, yes. Yes, I can give you a message," Bethany said, releasing her and running a hand through her hair, sniffling and fighting the blush that must have made her look like a pathetic little child. "Garrett sent you?"

"He employed me," Athenril said, with another small laugh, as she shooed Bethany towards her bed and the waiting fabric bundle. "He got damn lucky. I don't think I've heard of another Fereldan doing that well, not this soon out."

"Lucky," Bethany repeated, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and pulling the package into her lap. She toyed with the knot, then huffed. "Somehow, I doubt he sees it that way."

"No. He doesn't." The mattress dipped as Athenril joined her, almost close enough that their knees touched. "He asked if I could break you out of here, you know. If I was that good at smuggling."

Bethany shook her head, then tugged the knot open. "I turned myself in. He knows that. It's better if I'm here," she said, carefully pulling free every letter and setting them aside. There were sweets inside, like before, along with skewers of candied fruits. "Are these from you?"

"Mmhmm. They're the kind you like, right? It's been a while. Hard to remember everything, especially when your brother was so determined to keep you out of the thick of things. Can't say I blame him, though."

Bethany held out a stick of fruit to her, and Athenril took it. Bethany hummed thoughtfully as she took up a treat of her own and pulled her legs up onto the bed. "Could you have done it?" she asked after a moment's thought. "Kept me safe? The templars didn't know me when I turned myself in, but they were getting too close. I know he had Varric take care of things, but…"

"Varric? If he couldn't do it, I'm not sure I could have." Athenril leaned back against the wall, arms behind her bed and the skewer between her teeth as she chewed a berry. "Then again, I wouldn't have gone and disappeared for a month and a half trying to get rich quick. So maybe. I would have tried."

Bethany looked down, hiding a solemn little smile. "Thank you."

That year, she and Athenril hadn't been close. Aveline hadn't wanted either her or Garrett to associate with the smuggler more than was strictly necessary, and Garrett had set himself up as go-between. But there were times she remembered with more than a little fondness. Funalis, when Athenril had dropped the idea of them all painting up to slip into the Hightown crowds for a little pilfering and trafficking of goods, that had ended in dancing and one of the first flashes of happiness that year. The day that Bethany had learned how to tie eight different kinds of knots, with Athenril sitting nearby and telling stories as she instructed. A quiet moment while Garrett argued with a contact and Athenril and Bethany stood side-by-side watching.

The time when Athenril had walked straight to a templar who was watching Bethany with the look that said I know you- and had charmed him and paid him into forgetting her.

Still, that Athenril had come here for her, and was sitting here with her, even with her brother's coin in her pocket-

"Thank you, for coming here at all," she said.

Athenril smiled. "It's not an unpleasant job," she said, taking a bite out of the next fruit on the stick. "And I've been wondering how you've been holding up. I know you and your brother never liked the work, but you were good help."

"Are you saying that you miss me?" Bethany asked, nibbling at her sweet and trying not to smile too broadly.

"Maybe." The elf finished off the skewer and tucked it back into her bun. "I can't stay for too long, though, unless I want to hide in your wardrobe through another shift change. I just wanted to see that you were okay."

"My brother insisted?"

"Yes, but also for me." She leaned in and touched Bethany's chin lightly, tilting her face up so she could catch her gaze. Bethany blushed again. "Are you okay?"

Bethany took a deep breath. Like in the Gallows was not as wholly unpleasant as she'd imagined, but that did not make it nice. She may have settled the templars' attentions with her Harrowing and her studies, but that didn't mean she didn't hear stories, didn't see things she would rather have not seen. Despite it all, she preferred it to hiding on the streets of Kirkwall.

She had made her decision, and that was the greatest comfort of all.

But... "I am lonely," she confessed trying to look down. Athenril stopped her, and Bethany looked to her to see a small, soft smile. "... Will you come to see me again?"

"If you like." The words seemed to come easily enough, and Bethany tried not to feel guilty for asking her. The way she smiled- "I think I'd like to. It won't be every time, but sometimes... Well, smuggling sunshine is a bit of a challenge, and the Coterie can't move in on that.

"I'd like that," Bethany said, and for once she didn't worry about somebody else's safety. Athenril could handle herself. Athenril would be fine.

Athenril would be here again.

She finally let go of Bethany's chin, then pursed her lips in thought. Bethany watched with a smile that couldn't quite go away, a lightness that she hadn't felt in some time. And then Athenril leaned in and kissed Bethany's cheek, and she thought she might melt into the very bed beneath her, eyes closing and breath coming out in a soft sigh.

Athenril chuckled. "I'll see you again, then. If you want letters to go home, have them ready to give to me, hm? And remember to eat your sweets."

"Would never forget to."

"And next time, wear the scarf?"

She felt her cheeks flush scarlet, hotter now than even before, and she nodded with a fluttering in her belly.

Another laugh, and Bethany kept her eyes closed as the smuggler retreated, as she heard what had to be the window - or perhaps a passage? A secret one? - open. She'd keep that mystery a little longer.

She had already solved the most important one.

A is for Athenril.