"And I do believe this game is mine once more," Cullen murmured, lips pursed to suppress a cocky smirk as he leaned back in his seat.

Inquisitor Lavellan cocked her head, mouth opening then closing in surprise. Her dark obsidian eyes seemed to bore a hole into the infernal board, scrutinizing it like it was an enemy sellsword. A twitch of her wrist had the muscles in Cullen's throat tensing beneath his flesh, unable to help the reflexes of being around a very capable mage.

That wasn't to say he didn't trust her. On the contrary, she was one of the few people he could honestly and openly express a fondness for. She was strong, independent. A bit rambunctious and overzealous at times, but always considerate. And she never used her magic in front of anyone unless an emergency deemed it acceptable. A product of being surrounded by Templars, perhaps, but still kindly.

But she was still a mage. And the way she was seething at the game board propped between them was something even he couldn't deny might lead to its inevitable combustion.

He cleared his throat noisily. "Inquis-" He was stopped by her eyes, bright and edgy and searing. They took his breath away, briefly, before he found his tongue once more. "Azariah," he corrected, mouth suddenly too dry. "If you'd like, we could try once more."

She cocked her head, frown morphing fast into something more akin to a smirk, lips upturning and inviting in the best of her teases. "Oh? I'm afraid I still won't win. Perhaps I'll stick to strategies strictly on the battlefield, yes?"

Cullen smiled lightly, though in his chest his heart erupted. She had that sort of effect, always. "That would probably be best, yes."

Dark, coal eyelashes dipped down, obscuring his sight of her eyes only momentarily. When next she looked at him, there was something new in her gaze. Something he hadn't seen before. Something probing, searching. Something that took the breath from his lungs once more, but for a new reason. A slightly painful experience.

But just as her full lips had parted and he could have sworn he'd witnessed her tongue darting out at the corner, a raven landed between them. His eyes ripped from her down to the fluttering, cawing, scrambling bird, who flapped its wings in an attempt to keep propped up along the table's edge. Standing out vividly against the bold black feathers and feet sat a hastily tied piece of parchment, tan and neatly folded.

Azariah's hands were out in a heartbeat, soothing the creature, voice a murmur as her thin brows drew down and her fingers ran across the bird's back. She was gentle but purposeful, offering a sense of peace that the animal seemed to accept after another caw and shake of its wings.

He admired that, too, though it wasn't something he could really say was all her alone. That connection to nature, to every living thing. Solas had once mentioned it being a trait associated with the majority of the Dalish, what with their way of life. They were not as fearful a people as most believed them to be.

Still, watching her now was amazing regardless.

He'd heard about her trips up to the rookery simply to feed the raven's there from Leliana. He'd overheard stories about her getting halla and druffalo alike to come right up and let her treat them if injured from those she'd take on missions, such as Blackwall and Dorian. He himself had witnessed her in the stable, brushing down a horse, humming to a dracolisk.

By the time he'd zoned back in from his thoughts, she was quietly reading the now unfolded parchment and absently grazing her fingertips across the bird's back, along the dip between its wings. Its beady, black eyes trained on him, head cocking, but it didn't make a sound.

"What is it?" he finally asked, when he noticed that her eyes had stopped moving even though they remained where they were.

As if snapped from a trance she blinked. Her fingers ceased their movement and she looked up, smiling lightly. "Just Leliana. Apparently after her talk with Hawke, we're expected to head out to the Western Approach. Accompanied, of course, by a few scouts. Apparently the Venatori camping out there are only rivaled by the hyenas and varghausts."

Cullen grimaced, noticeably, and Azariah couldn't help laughing quietly. "I know, sounds awfully dreadful. But if it gets us closer to Corypheus, I'm up for a little big game hunting."

The commander threw his own chuckle into the mix, leaning forward and accidentally causing the raven to flutter, drawing his eyes. "Just so long as we don't get another dreaded report from a sulking Bull informing us you've ran head on into another dragon and taken it down single handedly." There was a crookedness to his lips, but something in his voice spoke general concern. No matter how strong, how hard headed the Inquisitor was, she was just a woman.

And he hated seeing her hurt.

Said woman rolled her eyes, pushing back from the table. "I'm afraid that's a promise I can't make, Commander." The quirk to her brow was humorous, however. Telling him she also didn't plan on being a high dragon's snack anytime soon. "But, I can promise you you'll see me again."

"I don't doubt that," he offered, watching her stretch, eyes darting down and catching how the material to her tunic rose just enough to offer the faintest flash of tanned stomach. There was that dryness to his mouth again. "I just can't help worrying in what fashion."

Thin brows pulled down teasingly. Azariah made a show of leaning down, palms flat against the table, beside the forgotten board. The raven cawed, shrieked, took flight. But he could care less as her face grew closer, charcoal eyelashes fluttering and obsidian eyes dancing.

He could smell the sweetness of crushed berries, see the way they gave her lips a nice pink tone. He could smell something spicy mixing with the lather she used for her hair, keeping it a shiny, vivid blonde that teetered dangerously close to winter white. He could feel the warmth of her breath as it ghosted over his cheek, his lips.

His own eyelids fluttered, tipping his head enough so their lips brushed. He felt her grin, felt her lips move. Her words were a throaty whisper against his mouth. "Preferably in my chambers, yes? Without this dreadful fur," she teased, gripping a handful and tugging lightly for emphasis, "and this armor," and her hand trailed down, pressing firmly to his chest plate.

He let out a sound that was half laugh half whimper, leaning up and in to fully capture her lips with his own. They were just as firm and full as they appeared, but giving and soft. They melded against his own, offering, delicate. And they tasted so sweet it had his head spinning.

When they parted he very nearly growled, hands twitching and gripping the chair to keep from threading his fingers into her hair. From pressing her into the nearest wall and forgetting that they were out in the open so long as she let him, so long as they were together, so long as she just kissed him like that again.
But her tinkering laugh had his eyes narrowly opening, and he watched as she backed away, fingers trailing along his chest until they couldn't, standing straight again and grinning down at him like a bubbly child.

Biting her lower lip briefly, she crossed her arms loosely over her chest. "Well, I guess I have to have a word with Varric, he'll definitely want to go. And Blackwall, since he's a Warden, too. Do you think Viv would wanna come, or should I take Dorian? Or Solas. We haven't spoken in a while. Ever since I started taking Sera out on runs, he's stayed here. Can't deal with the arguing, he says."

She was speaking to herself, he knew, and it was too cute. She had that habit, he'd noticed. When she couldn't decide on something, she spoke aloud, whether it be about the layout of a battle or what to have for lunch. It was just another one of those things he couldn't help but adore.

Leaning forward, letting his elbows rest against the table top, he smiled up at her. "I'd say Dorian for this one. He's been oddly fascinated by this whole situation. Vivienne seemed preoccupied last I spoke with her." And, truth be told, he wasn't completely sure of Solas. Even after all this time, something about the elven apostate threw him through a loop. And it had nothing to do with his strange obsession over all things Fade related.

Azariah nodded in understanding. "Okay, sounds good. I'll also have Iron Bull take the Chargers through with Harding. Maybe clear the path a little more securely. Last thing we need is a pack of rabid varghausts raiding one of our camps."

"Mm. When will you take leave?"

Obsidian met crystal blue. "By midday in three days' time. There are still a few things here to attend to. And Josie is very insistent I learn each and every relatively mentioned Orlesian dance before the Ball coming up. I'm very highly suspecting I'll have no sleep for at least the next night just to make sure I receive as much advise as is possible."

Cullen chuckled lowly, pulled at his collar. "My door is always opened, Azariah. If ever you find yourself overwhelmed, you're welcome."

A glint ignited in her eyes. She smirked more fiercely. "Oh? And here I was hoping to be overwhelmed by you."

He laughed, but it was a choking laugh that couldn't hide the way his cheeks burned or the way his hand came up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. That all too familiar, all too revealing trait that told of his embarrassment. "Y-yes, well... Perhaps."

A/N: Don't ask, hah. Tbh, I'm just experimenting at this point with different pairings and one-shot type stories. Those of you that like this, tell me what you're thinking. I'm considering this maybe becoming like a request thing? Idk I've written for a lot of pairings, some common, others not.

If you wanna see if I can do a pairing justice, comment what pairing that should be! Thanks for giving this a shot guys. -LL