"I love you," he murmured.
Pink stained her cheeks as she turned her head away and pretended to be unaffected. "You hardly know me," she chided him, busying herself with smoothing her skirts down over her crossed legs.
"I know you well enough to know you are the loveliest thing I have ever seen, and I'd be a fool to let you walk away from me. Please, Evelyn, give me a chance to show you how I feel."
"Hmm..." She drew the syllable out, pleased that he was so desperate for her affection. "I suppose I could give you a chance."
"Excellent." The smile he flashed her was boyish in its delight, lighting up his face with a beauty that was breath-taking.
He was, she thought, the most attractive man she'd ever seen. Gold curls tumbled across his forehead, artfully styled to full advantage, framing a face that would make the Maker weep. She would be lying if she said she hadn't dreamt of him naked underneath her, that beautiful body bare for her approval.
He was perfect. The whole evening was perfect; they were sat in the gardens, hidden away from the world, as the sun set, gilding the greenery with vibrant reds and golds. The stone bench was small enough that their thighs pressed together, and even though the layers of skirt and his uniform, she imagined she could feel the heat of his body. Varric would love it, she decided, as the scene had been stolen straight from a fairytale.
Her eyebrows raised in surprise as he slid from the bench next to her, turning with liquid grace to arrange himself on one knee. "I hope this isn't too presumptuous," he told her, nervously, "but I had this made for you."
This turned out to be an elaborately wrapped box, and she pulled the ribbons undone with unfeigned delight, hands exploring the lush velvet paper as she unwrapped the gift.
"Oh!" Opening the box revealed a locket, the silver wrought in delicate impressions of twisting vines, precious stones used in place of flowers. She stroked a finger across the polished surface and sought the clasp, though opening it revealed only empty glass. "It's beautiful. Really. I can't thank you enough."
He smiled again, and she was unable to tear her eyes away as he rose to fasten it around her neck. "I thought we could have a portrait done to put inside it," he breathed against her neck as he hovered there for a moment, pressing a chaste kiss to her bared shoulder.
Caught in the romance, it was easy to forget herself and be swept away by the fantasy. Here, she was not the Inquisitor, just a young woman enjoying the attentions of a potential paramour.
"Inquisitor." Not that, it seemed, she could escape the title for long. She tried not to scowl as the Commander rounded the hedge, fixing her companion with a thin-lipped stare of disapproval as he stepped away from her. "A report just arrived for you."
"Ah, I'm sorry." Despite the Commander glaring daggers at him, Gabriel shot the templar a smile as he extended a hand to Evelyn to help her up. "I am keeping you from your duty. Please, go."
She let herself be pulled to her feet, attempting to not let her irritation leak through. "I hope we can continue this at another time," she told her would-be lover.
"I would be delighted." He bowed and kissed her arm, and nodded respectfully at Cullen. Given how obvious the Commander has made his dislike of the Duke, she is impressed at Gabriel's continued politeness.
The Commander shadowed her as she made her way back across the grounds of the castle, and she chafed at his constant, silent presence. He doesn't stop until she does, and continues to stand watching her as she peels away the wax sealing the missive.
"Want to read it to me, as well?" All softness from earlier has evaporated and she spits the words at him, too irritated to waste time with being civil. Out of sight of others, she doesn't see the point in hiding the mutual dislike that hangs heavy between them.
"It is my duty to make sure you are safe, Inquisitor. That duty does not stop just because you want to make cow eyes at the Duke."
She rolled her eyes and ignored him, scanning through the scribbled lines of text instead. It is nothing more than an update on Skyhold's current situation, and she realises she has interrupted her evening for something that could easily have waited until the morning. She balled the paper in her fist as she realised the Commander likely knew that too, and had interrupted her regardless.
"We are protected by a castle, built on the most defensible ground in Wycome, surrounded by Duke Gabriel's men. How much safer can I be?"
"I don't trust him. Like it or not, you are vital to the Inquisition, and I will not let you risk yourself for some silly romance."
"Let me?" Incredulity threaded through her voice as she turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't recall needing your permission to do anything. Last I checked I was still the Inquisitor, and you my humble adviser."
"Indeed." He ground his teeth together and tried to stare her down, but she had faced far worse than him. "Fine. Let him buy you with trinkets and pretty words. I shall do my duty anyway, Maker preserve me."
"I appreciate your permission," she shot at his back as he turned on his heel and left, leaving her blessedly alone. Once she was sure he was gone, she smoothed out the crumpled paper in her hand, and read through it again. With Corypheus defeated, she found herself away from Skyhold more often than not, but she always looked forward to returning. Even though the majority of her companions had moved on to other things, it was still home. Far more than the Circle had ever been, and the hazy memories she had of her family were not strong enough for her to feel any particular pull to her birthplace.
She sighed and wiped a hand across her forehead. While she didn't want to admit it, the Commander was probably right; this was not the time to be indulging her silly desires. Orlais and Fereldren were still at each other's throats, poised on the brink of war, and she had come to the Free Marches seeking allies, not bedmates.
Then again, she considered, taking the Duke of Wycome as a lover would cement him as an ally. Vivianne had certainly seemed to approve, though the mage had only visited for an afternoon.
They were due to journey on to Starkhaven in a handful of days. She would let the romance play out a little more, then regretfully take her leave with promises they would keep in contact. It was a shame, as she would have enjoyed getting to know Gabriel more.
She smiled as she rubbed her thumb against the locket. What harm could be done in a few days? He deserved some appreciation for such a lovely gift.
"That was divine."
Evelyn curled into the furs, struggling to keep her eyes open. The compliment made her lips quirk into a self-satisfied smile.
"You weren't so bad yourself," she countered, teasing a finger along the sharply defined muscle of his chest. The sex had been everything she'd expected; soft and sensual, he'd focused on her pleasure, until she'd finally come with his name on her lips. A gentleman in the bedroom as well as out.
Not wanting to risk a pregnancy, he'd pulled out and finished on her belly. Sticky as it was, she was too content to leave the bed to find something to clean up with. Gabriel chuckled and rolled towards her, cupping a hand across her jaw before he bent his head to kiss her.
"I mean it," he murmered. "I doubt there's anyone like you in all of Thedas."
"Flatterer." She tilted her head so she could kiss him again. "I wish I could delay our trip to Starkhaven longer."
"If I had my way, you would never leave at all." Ignoring her mewling protest, Gabriel slipped out from under the covers and padded along to the desk on the side. She watched, curious, as he decanted a bottle of wine into two glasses.
"A little something to celebrate. I promise you've never had wine like it."
She wriggled up in bed to accept the glass, raising it so the crystal clinked against his. "To tonight, then, since we can't have tomorrow."
While perhaps not the best she'd tasted, the wine was smooth and fruity, and easy to drink. Eager to sleep, she finished the glass quickly, and flashed Gabriel a smirk as he laughed and followed suit.
It didn't take long to realise something wasn't right. She'd gone from warm to freezing, goosebumps racing across her exposed flesh, and she shivered as waves of nausea battled through her. "Something's wrong," she managed, weakly, as Gabriel came to stand beside the bed.
"Didn't like the wine?" He stroked her cheek again. "I suppose magebane isn't to everyone's tastes. Clumsy, Inquisitor."
Stupid, stupid, stupid. She gasped as her stomach cramped, clutching at it in a desperate attempt to stop the pain. It was enough to make tears well in her eyes, though she battled them back. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
"Bastard," she managed instead, snapping the word at him through clenched teeth. "Why?"
He shrugged. "Nothing personal. There was a lot of money involved, and a better alliance for Wycome than you could offer." He drew a sword from the side of the bed, and looked down at her regretfully. "I wasn't lying, you know. I really did enjoy myself. It's a shame things didn't work out differently."
She tenses, but there's little she can do as he slides the tip of the sword along her breasts, drawing a fine line of blood. Despite knowing it will be futile, she attempts to draw on her magic, and the resulting kickback nearly makes her throw up.
Without her magic, she is helpless, even without the crippling pain. It's almost amusing to think of how she's survived so much, against such impossible odds, only to die in such a mundane way.
The crackle of green light, mostly hidden by the blankets, surprises her. It seems she is not entirely cut off from power. In desperation she stretched her hand out towards him, but he just laughed at her.
"You're cut off from your magic, sweetheart. Waving your hands at me isn't going to do anything." The tip of his sword has come to rest just below her heart, angled up. At least her death will be quick. "I'd better get on with this before your guard dog has a chance to interrupt again."
She closed her eyes in acceptance, only to open them again in wide-eyed amazement as light rips out from her hand. It tears a new split in the air, centred on Gabriel, and she tries not to listen to the screams as it rips him apart. It's a struggle, but she manages to stop the flow of power before the rift stabilises, and it winks out of existence with a loud pop.
What's left of Gabriel is in a pile on the floor, and she has been spattered with his blood. Parts of him appears to have evaporated along with the rift, but she is in too much pain to examine it too closely. Enough, for now, that she has survived.
Frantic voices can be heard at the door, and someone rattles it firmly, though the heavy bolt prevents it from opening. Please don't be the Commander, she prays, as her world fades to black.
When she wakes up, she finds herself back in her own quarters. Someone, probably the girl asleep on a chair by her side, has cleaned her up and dressed her in plain bedclothes. Light filters through the window, softened by gauze curtains, and everything is oddly serene.
As if the night before – she hoped she hadn't lost more time than that – hadn't been more than a nightmare.
Well. It was better than she'd feared. She was alive, and nobody had thrown her into the jail. There were no obvious guards in the room, though they could be posted outside the door, and they'd let her have one of her own people in the room with her.
Carefully, not wanting to wake the sleeping girl, she slipped out from under the covers. The movement makes her head spin, but otherwise she doesn't feel too bad. Hesitantly, she reached for her magic, fighting against the terrifying emptiness. A tiny flame flickered into existence in her palm, lasting barely a few heartbeats, but it is enough to eyes slide closed in blessed relief. Weak, but still there.
With careful, measured movements, she pulled her travelling armour from the trunk at the end of her bed. This is not the time for the fine gowns she'd brought to discuss politics; unsure of whether they will want her head or not, she will dress for war. It was comforting to be back in the worn leathers, and she buckled her vambraces with grim determination.
What is one Free Marches city compared to a dragon?
She cursed her own stupidity when she realised there were no lyrium potions amongst her belongings. That will have to wait until later. Instead, she straps twin daggers to her hips, feeling too vulnerable to leave the room with no weapons. She has no great skill with them, but they will at least give her the illusion of being armed. Her hair, she is sure, looks dreadful, so she plaits it with combat efficiency.
Putting on a mask of bravado, she flung the door open, relieved to find it hadn't been locked. She recognises the two templars on her door, which is another good sign, and some of the tension drained from her as they snapped to attention and saluted her.
"Your Worship. The Commander is waiting for you next door."
Of course he was. Part of her wanted to rebel, to just walk past the door and face the situation on her own, but it frustrates her to know that she'd be acting a child to do so. She doesn't know how long she was out, or what has happened in the meantime, and she would be foolish to eschew his wisdom to pander to her personal feelings. Whatever she might think of him, she couldn't deny his genius for military strategy.
She swallows her pride and enters the next room. Unsurprisingly, the Commander has converted the parlour to a base of operations. Paper covers most of the free surface space, some knocked aside to nestle between lace cushions, and two messengers are stood, ready for orders, on either side of him. He is in the middle of penning some new response, though he puts the quill down as he hears her enter.
"Inquisitor." As always, his face was impassive, making it even more difficult for her to get a reading on the situation.
"Commander. Since I didn't wake up in chains, can I hope they aren't calling for my head?"
"Most of the nobility has sided with the Inquisition. After we found Duke Gabriel's remains, and you passed out next to them, we searched his quarters. We found correspondence from Par Vollen."
Ah. That explained who had paid for the assassination, and whose favour Gabriel had sought.
"They'll be installing a new Duke within days, then," she said, with forced joviality. This was the second Duke dead within a year, and the Inquisition had been involved both times. She doubted anyone would welcome them back.
"Indeed." He frowned and looked down at the table. "The official story is that he was a Ben-Hassrath assassin. He tried to kill you during the night, and you fought him off in self-defence."
Close enough, though she doubted it would stop people from gossiping. Their romance had hardly been the most subtle of affairs, brief as it had been, and it wouldn't be long before the entire city knew that Duke Gabriel had been found dead in his private quarters.
"I am disappointed with your recklessness, but at least you are alive and unharmed. The healer believes you will be fully recovered within the day. I suggest we do not delay our continuation to Starkhaven any longer. We should leave at dawn."
It was difficult to stand and listen to him tell her I told you so, but she nodded with forced serenity. "I agree. So long as Prince Vael is still willing to receive us, we should depart as soon as possible." Better to be out of here, and let more talented diplomatic hands deal with any problems from a distance.
He plucked a missive from the desk and passed it to her. "The messages we received earlier suggest he still favours the visit. By all accounts, they were not on the best terms."
Willing to meet, perhaps, but she doubted anyone would be quite so quick to seek out her bed. The image of Gabriel, ripped apart by a nascent rift, comes to her mind unbidden, and she has to repress a flinch. She can still feel his hot blood on her arms, and doubts she'll feel clean until she finds a hot bath.
For now, she has too much to do. The Commander's words are reassuring, but they do not fill in any of the details, and she has no desire to remain here and extend the discussion. She has letters of her own to write, and likely plenty to read, and she wants to get a feel of the city's mood for herself.
The Commander is occupied again with his correspondence, so she doesn't feel guilty about letting her eyes wander over his face, lingering on the scar cutting across his lip. She wonders if she would hate him quite so much if he hadn't made it so clear how little he approved of her so soon after meeting her. It had nipped her fledgling infatuation in the bud, and she has never forgiven him for it.
He is the perfect templar, and she is just another broken mage.
"That will be all for now," she told him, dismissing him, taking petty pleasure in being able to lord her rank over him. "Let me know if anything changes."