Note:

Cassandra, ever the romantic, spies my Inquisitor, Anwen Trevelyan, making tea for Commander Cullen and concludes that they are adorable. I love the idea of Cassandra and Cullen being bros and I think that when she sees how well Cullen and the Inquisitor are getting along, she would totally ship it.

Cassandra marched through the cobbled streets of Haven, strides long, pace swift, intent on her destination. She'd just left Josephine's office where an irate Bann had been attempting to upbraid the Ambassador about a mysterious caravan that had passed through his land while somehow avoiding inspection. He had been convinced that the Inquisition was responsible and angered at the prospect that the Inquisition was attempting to bypass his trade levies. Josephine had of course placated the man easily enough but Cassandra now felt her own rage rising at the prospect that someone's dodgy dealings had threatened the Inquisition's reputation.

She had a sneaking suspicion she knew exactly who was responsible and she now sought him out with implacable determination. Bloody dwarf. He owed her an explanation; and Josephine an apology.

But when she turned the corner and found Varric at his usual spot by the campfire, she was surprised to find that he had company. A number of the Inquisition's soldiers and one or two of Leliana's scouts formed a close-knit circle around the fire-pit, perched on upturned crates and a variety of makeshift seats.

It was altogether a very lively affair, with bodies huddled together for warmth and voices pitched loud to carry over each other's laughter and the crackle of the fire. Out of his armour for a change, Cassandra almost didn't spot Commander Cullen sitting at the centre of the hubbub with Anwen beside him on a low bench. She was relieved to see him so at ease, some of the tension released from his shoulders and genuine mirth upon his face.

Several former Templars had followed Cullen when he left Kirkwall to join the Inquisition. Now they regaled the rest of the group with stories of their home: arguments with con-men in the Lowtown markets, ill-advised encounters with women of ill-repute in the Hanged Man, and increasingly outlandish bets, one of which resulted in an unfortunate member of the group finding himself trapped on the window ledge outside Knight-Commander Meredith's office in nothing but his Templar skirt.

The laughter was uproarious and unrelenting. Even Varric, ever the storyteller, seemed, for once, content to just listen and let the stories wash over him.

The only person who remained separate from the raucous discourse, Cassandra noted, was Anwen, who sat, serene and distant, with her nose in a book. She bent forward, elbows resting on her knees, so that the flickering flames painted each page with light, allowing her to read even as the sun dipped low over the Frostbacks. Occasionally her eyes would flicker to the pot of tea resting next to the fire, as if glaring at it might encourage it to brew faster.

After a time, Anwen put down her book, balancing it precariously on one knee, and leant over to the teapot, an expectant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. With quick, efficient movements she lifted the teapot, peered inside to judge its colour, took a deep inhale just for the pleasure of it, and poured the dark bronze liquid into several mugs that had been patiently waiting in a line beside her seat.

As she handed a cup to a scout sitting beside her, her elbow accidentally brushed against the book on her knee and it slipped off its precarious perch. Cullen caught it before it hit the icy ground and returned it to her knee before she'd even realised its absence. He gave the book a gentle pat before lifting his hand, as if commanding the book not to stray again.

The next cup was passed to Cullen and he took it with thanks, cupping both hands around it so that they could steal some warmth from the boiling liquid. He was just lifting the mug to his lips when Anwen stopped him with a tentative hand on his forearm, clandestinely slipped a dollop of honey into his tea while no one was looking, then gave him a crooked, conspiratorial smile. Without a word she returned to her own cup of tea, ladling in an astonishing amount of honey before settling herself once more on the bench.

With her book in one hand and her tea in the other, Anwen was too preoccupied with her two favourite passed-times to see the way Cullen looked at her. The way his eyes softened. The way he smiled as he sipped his tea made exactly the way he liked it but would never admit.

But Cassandra saw what the Inquisitor missed and the hopeless romantic usually buried inside her managed to bubble to the surface long enough to pull a smile to her lips.

"Can I help you, Seeker?" came Varric's smooth voice, accompanied, as usual, with a face-splitting grin. Interrupted from her reverie, Cassandra flushed at the sudden realisation that she had been standing and staring for quite some time.

"Varric, come with me, I have something I need to discuss," she said, tones clipped and business-like.

"Absolutely, Seeker, anything you say, Seeker," he replied with exaggerated obeisance, rising from his seat and tossing the assembled group a nonchalant salute.

Walking alongside her toward the Chantry, Varric couldn't help but notice that a gentle smile was playing on Cassandra's lips.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked, tone mildly teasing but eyebrows arched in genuine curiosity.

"It's nothing," she said. They're cute, she thought.