Sorry for the long delay, life ran my ass over. Several times. Didn't have access to the interwebs aside from my phone and I wasn't going to attempt typing out chapters on it. Again.

As per usual, this is unbeta'd so any grammar/spelling mistakes are mine alone.

Still own nothing.

Riddick means smooth field in Irish Gaelic, but I chose it for other reasons lol


Riddick smirks at the cards in his hand while the Seeker tears through the camp like an angry badger. A beautiful, shrieking badger.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" the rogue cannot help but chuckle when Cassandra responds to the inquiry with a string of colorful curses that would make a pirate blush.

"Some idiot stuffed my armor full of flowers," she finally seethes after taking a deep breath to calm herself.

Varric, forever in pursuit of a thrilling tale, swivels on his bedroll to peer up at the still steaming Nevarran, "What kind of flowers were they Princess? Maybe you've found yourself a paramour who is trying to gauge how amendable you would be to being swept off your feet."

"Like our high and mighty Seeker has time for romance when she's so busy trying to save the world single-handedly. I'm willing to put money down that the gesture was probably intended to be more like 'Your armor smells worse than a brontos ass and you refuse to let anyone clean it so here are some smelly weeds to make you less odorous' rather than 'I want to break a bed with you'," his fellow dwarf deadpans, and everyone but the dark haired warrior woman bursts into laughter.

"I'm not even sure she understands how the bed would get broken in the first place," Bull adds, his low rumbling chuckle and waggling eyebrows making the woman turn scarlet.

Without a word, Cassandra and her flaming cheeks spin around and disappear into her tent, leaving the rest to laugh and spin ever more unlikely scenarios over the identity of her mysterious would be suitor.

Two days later, her armor still carrying the scent of gardenias, Cassandra is once more on a furious rampage, this time over a set of delicately hammered golden hoop earrings she found lashed to her favorite boot dagger with a piece of deep blue silk ribbon.

She comes crashing into the meeting room where the Inquisitor is lazily pouring over maps with Cullen, Varric, and Blackwall while they discuss where to shift their troops to before winter sets in earnestly.

"Blast and damnation!"

"Problem Seeker?" the former Templar inquires, more than a little annoyed at the dramatic interruption.

"What the hell is this?" she nearly screeches, holding out the jewelry and strip of cloth, "And why was it tied to one of my knives?"

"They appear to be a pair of earrings, made of Antivan gold. Exquisite quality too, by the looks of the workmanship," the Grey Warden unhelpfully offers with a shrug, earning himself a thunderous scowl, "You asked. Perhaps if you rephrased the question, I would be more able to assist you."

Varric snorts out a quiet chuckle as he presses passed Blackwall, then begins to inspect the items while his fellow dwarf waves a dismissive hand, "Maybe you should wear them Seeker. If nothing else than to remind people you're not really a man under all of that metal, bluster, and angst. I mean it's worked wonders for Varric, so I don't see where it wouldn't help you as well."

At his words, Cassandra lets out a howl of frustration before she snatches the gifts back from the storyteller and retreats, hurtling yet another volley of swear words over her shoulder as she goes.

"I sure as hell hope whoever is baiting that woman isn't going to get us all killed before she catches them," Riddick murmurs as the shouting fades and the other men solemnly nod in agreement.

A week later, the Inquisitor is taking a rare moment for himself, barricading himself in his rooms along with several new books demanding to be read. As he sets down his mug of warm spiced cider, he spots an unfamiliar tome resting on top of the stack. He picks it up to read the title and discovers a familiar strip of azure silk resting between its pages. Deft fingers slide the ribbon out, bringing with it a slip of parchment that falls to the rug. With trembling fingers he retrieves the paper and gingerly opens it. It bears only two sentences, but it is enough to set his blood pounding in his ears.

-Bring the book and a bottle of wine to my rooms after the midnight bell has sounded. This is your one chance, don't be late. ~C

Riddick grins to himself, tucking the note back into the book before setting out in search of an appropriate vintage. Sometimes it is good to be beaten at your own game.