The two were quiet at dinner that evening, and every meal for the next few weeks. Leandra would occasionally catch him looking at her, an unreadable expression in his blue eyes. If she had to guess, it was probably somewhere between 'sadness' and 'lust.' At least, that was how she would describe her own impression. Stop, she told herself. You're acting like a fool over someone you barely even know.

It didn't make things any easier.

One evening, long after the house was silent, she crept down from her room to the servant's wing. Light seeped out from under one of the doors, as she had expected. Malcolm had once told her he was a night-owl.

She knocked, and waited.

The door opened a crack, Leandra could see a glimpse of pale skin and red hair, a single blue eye peeking out. "What…?" he swung the door open the rest of the way. "Leandra? What are you doing here?" She swallowed. Malcolm was ready for bed, wearing a pair of baggy pants… and nothing else. "Sorry," he said, flushing as he gestured for her to come in. "I don't think I'm dressed for company."

"It's all right," she said. Leandra reminded herself she'd seen men without a shirt on before; it was no reason to suddenly become an imbecile. Granted, those men were her father and brother, but even so, she hadn't come here to gawk. "I just… well…" she shrugged, sitting at his tiny desk. "I don't know why I came here. I wanted to see you."

"You see me every day," Malcolm pointed out.

"That isn't what I mean," she said. "We've barely said a word to each other in weeks. Not since—"

"I know," he said, not letting her finish. It had hung unsaid between them for weeks, after all. Why change things now, when they both knew what she was talking about. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you, really."

"What do you mean?" she demanded. "We've had plenty to say until then. One kiss and that it? We can't even be friends anymore?" Malcolm was sitting cross-legged on his bed, looking at her. She groaned, pushing dark hair back. "Maker, this all sounds so absurd."

"No, it doesn't," he said, leaning back against the wall, one leg pulled up to his chest. "I'm sorry. I figured it was smarter this way, for both of us." When she didn't respond he sighed. "There's a few ways this could end, none of them good. In any of them, you'll end up betrothed to some nobleman, probably in the very near future. At best, I end up… not happy about that. At worst? Well, the templars, or your father, or your betrothed, or some combination thereof kills me."

She sighed. "You always talk like you're utterly helpless. You're a bloody mage, not an invalid."

"You think I don't know that?" Malcolm demanded. "The lack of personal freedom really makes my place in the world crystal fucking clear." He raised a hand, lighting the fireplace. Leandra jumped. She had never seen him cast a spell, not since he healed himself on the day he arrived.

"That is what I am."

"I know," Leandra said, nervously glancing at the fire.

Malcolm stood, pacing. "I don't think you do." Lightning surged up and down his arms. He raised a hand towards the desk, waving it through the air and sweeping the papers and books aside with invisible power. "It's easy to say you know I'm a mage, but to see it? Not quite the same, right?" He stopped his pacing, standing directly in front of her. "Horrifying, isn't it? Unnatural, disgusting? Take your pick, I know what people think when they actually see it." Malcolm put his hands on the desk, boxing her in. "We. Are not. The same," he said, glaring at her. Heat was rolling off his skin, hands glowing as they rested on either side of her.

Leandra tensed, narrowing her eyes at him. He was trying to scare her, and she knew it. Trying to frighten off the silly little noble girl. Jumping to her feet, narrowing the gap between them, she grabbed Malcolm by the back of the neck. Now at eye level, she glared at him and hissed "I. Don't. Care." Malcolm's eyes widened, but before he could reply she slammed her lips into his.

They both fell back against the desk. Panting, Leandra ran her hands across his back as Malcolm's mouth moved down her neck. His skin burned under her fingers. After a few moments Malcolm reached down, pushing her skirt up and sliding his hand over her knee.
She tensed as his fingers moved up her thigh. "No?" he asked her, mouth still pressed against her neck.

"I'm sorry," came the response. She blushed, suddenly feeling foolish.

"Don't apologize," Malcolm said, moving to wrap his arms around her waist. "That's fine."

"Really?"

"What kind of brute do you take me for?" he said while smiling at her. Leandra relaxed and hopped up, sitting on the desk. Malcolm moved closer, hands on her hips. Giggling, she pulled him closer still, hooking one of her legs around his waist. He moaned, feeling her press against him. There was a squeak of surprise as Leandra felt him through the thin fabric of his pants. "I, um," he stepped back slightly, blushing. "Sorry. Only human, all that."

Feeling heat flare up within her, seeming to radiate out, she smiled. The knowledge that he wanted her as much as she did him made her bold. "It's all right," Leandra said, pulling him back towards her. She couldn't stop herself from making a mewling sound feeling him nudge against her, separated by their clothes.

"There?" he whispered, thrusting his hips against hers. She gasped, pushing back against him and glad he didn't assume her hesitation meant she didn't want to do anything else. He cautiously began to run his hands across her shoulders and down, moving slowly as though waiting for an objection. Leandra arched her back, pressing herself into him and sighing as his hands reached their goal. Hips pressed together, he captured her small moans with his mouth.

Eventually they managed to separate. Malcolm chuckled, dropping to sit on the floor near her feat and resting his head against her thigh. "If that's what the silent treatment gets me I should have tried it much sooner!"

"You're such a bastard," Leandra muttered. "You were trying to scare me!"

"I was," he admitted. "It was the smart thing to do. For both of us."

She looked down at him, smiling and running a hand through his hair. "And what happened?"

"I'm not terribly smart." He hooked an arm around her legs. "So what now?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Really, we can't do this again," he said. "I know I said that before… but I'm serious." Malcolm looked up at her. "They'll kill me. I know I keep saying that but I'm not joking. The Chantry has killed a lot more mages for doing a lot less."

"You say that like you wouldn't fight back."

"What's the point?" he asked. "A templar could neutralize anything I throw at him, and frankly, I just don't have that mean of a right hook. Even putting all that aside… what's the best we could hope for?" Malcolm looked sad for a moment. "You should probably go. It's late, you don't want to get caught down here."

Nodding, Leandra stood up. Pausing to kiss him once more, she slipped out the door and up the stairs.

"You know they'll have a heart attack." Spinning on her heel, she glanced back. Gamlen was standing in his open bedroom door.

"I… don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit," he said. "You and the mage. We all know." He paused. "Well, I know. Mother and father… they're a little slow to believe perfect Leandra would ever do something this bad. But they'll figure it out eventually."

She paled. "You're out of your mind, Gamlen."

"Right," he said. "Of course I am. You've got a hickey and I'm the madman. Sure." Her brother rolled his eyes. "He's a bloody healer, he couldn't take care of that?"

A hand flew up to her neck. "There is not!"

"But you checked," he said. "Which means there could have been." Gamlen shook his head, giving her a pointed glance. "You're playing with fire, Leandra. And not just the kind he can shoot from his hands."

She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You didn't really say that, did you?"

"What?"

"How long did you spend coming up with that line?" The embarrassment on Gamlen's face gave her the answer. "Goodnight, Gamlen," Leandra said, returning to her own room.

Although there wasn't a repeat of the scene in Malcolm's room, the two did return to a sort of normalcy. Speaking at meals once more, they now added afternoons in the study to their schedules.

Leandra arrived at dinner one evening to see the table set with fine china. "What's going on?" she asked her mother.

"We're having company," her mother said. "Go get changed. Put on your pink dress."

"Um, all right," Leandra said. "Where's Malcolm?"

"Malcolm will be eating with the staff tonight," her mother said, giving Leandra a pointed glance. She felt color bloom on her cheeks. "Go change."

The company turned out to be the Comte de Launcet, his wife, and his son Guillaume. Leandra knew her mother was attempting to play matchmaker once more. The betrothal to Guillaume was nearly a foregone conclusion, but she probably hoped Leandra would come around to the idea. Considering that Guillaume seemed to assume Leandra had roughly the intelligence of a turnip and expressed some concern that she would exhaust herself by getting worked up when she disagreed with something he said, Leandra found a change of opinion unlikely.

Not that it stopped her mother from inviting them over almost weekly for the next two months.

"I swear," Leandra said one night in Malcolm's room after yet another intolerable meal, "he acts as though it's literally impossible for me to have a mind of my own."

"He's Orlesian," Malcolm said with contempt. "What did you expect? You know how they treat women."

"All right, all right, Fereldan," she said, making a face and curling up closer next to him. "I don't care what the damned tradition is, they can't force me to marry him." She glanced over at him. "Can you just imagine the scandal if I said 'no' in the Chantry?"

"I take it that's an unusual occurrence?"

"Unheard of," she replied. "Wouldn't you love to see all their faces?"

Malcolm laughed softly, lips brushing her ear. "Considering that would require me to attend your wedding… I think I can wait for you to tell me about it after."

"Point taken," she said. Leandra shifted, looking him in the face. "I just wish—"

Malcolm put his fingers to her lips. "Don't," he said. "We both knew this wouldn't end well. Don't say it, though."

She sighed. "You're right. I should get going before someone catches me. Goodnight, Mal."

"Night, Leandra," he replied, walking her to the door. Glancing both ways down the hall, Malcolm quickly made sure it was clear before kissing her.